Word Count: 460
Bellatrix isn't like most girls. Andromeda and Narcissa had always dreamt of their wedding days as children; Bellatrix often found Andromeda and Rabastan in the garden, playing pretend. As she had grown older, she had realized it's common enough. Her old Housemates would talk about their dream weddings. They would swoon and sigh as they planned every perfect detail between giggles.
Bellatrix has never wanted that life. What is the point of being bound to man? Many might say it's for love, but Bellatrix doesn't believe in such silly nonsense. Love his no place in a marriage. Weddings are just silly matters, just a necessity in order to do what must be done.
She is dressed in white because it is traditional, and in the finest silk because she is a Black. She doesn't care. There had been no dress fittings and searching for something perfect. No one stands beside her, dressed in pretty colors. Likewise, no one is there for Rodolphus.
It is a quiet affair. No glitz, no glamor. Bellatrix supposes she looks beautiful. Most girls would have spent hours in front of the mirror, fawning over their reflections. Not her. She couldn't care less about what she looks like.
This is just part of being a Black. Bellatrix never chose Rodolphus, just as she hadn't chosen the date or the location.
She wonders, as she walks down the aisle, a veil hiding her face, if, in a different life, this could have been a beautiful day. Andromeda had run away; she had sought out that fairytale dream. Bellatrix wonders if she should envy her sister for it.
No, she decides, her heart hardening. Andromeda hadn't understood what marriage is meant for. Bellatrix does. Bellatrix will honor it.
She stands before Rodolphus. He lifts her veil, and they say their vows. Is she supposed to feel something? Should there be some light, fluttering feeling in her stomach? Naricssa says Lucius makes her heart race. Why can't Bellatrix feel anything now?
She stands there, stoic. Their lips meet, and she hears a few laughs and cheers from their witnesses, followed immediately by her father's annoying shushing. Nothing changes. She is still just a woman who has a duty to fulfill. There will be no fairytale ending for her.
Rodolphus takes her hand, and he smiles. Is this real for him? The poor bastard. Bellatrix almost pities him. "Shall we, Mrs. Lestrange?" he asks. He sounds so proud of himself.
Maybe she should play along and make him feel better. She can't bring herself to do it. "Let's go," she says impatiently.
This isn't her dream. It's just a part to play, a lie to live. It is her duty, and Bellatrix always and always will be a loyal daughter.
