Three weeks ago, you had been sitting around the Deatheaters meeting table, Lord Voldemort on one end of the long edge and a smoldering fireplace with a huge flame on the other, keeping the members of Voldemort's closest army warm during the cold winter month.

You were sitting between Draco and Mattheo, the two other teenagers at the table, the three of you being sixteen and the youngest Deatheaters.

Voldemort had stood up, announcing to the room that he had something to say before his eyes focused on you and your parents, a smirk spreading across his noseless face.

"We are going to wed our children, Mr. And Mrs. Blackwood." He had said, eyes darting to you and Mattheo as you both sat still in your seats. "Your child and my son will be married in three weeks, to bring our families together and make us stronger." _

Now you're in a guest room of Malfoy mansion, getting ready for your wedding to a boy you hardly knew. Sitting at a vanity you pull out your hairbrush/comb and start to fix up your hair as you think to yourself.

Sure, you knew Mattheo, you'd spoken many times and hung out with Draco after Deatheater meetings. But you knew you didn't actually know him, not like you'd wished you knew the one you were getting married to.

You knew you couldn't get out of it, any wrong move against Voldemort or his word and it would be the last time you saw the light of day. You also didn't want to let your parents down, you knew this mean a lot to them and knew that Voldemort would take it out on them if you didn't behave like you should and obey his every word.

Sighing, you look at yourself in the vanity mirror, taking in your appearance. This would be the last time you had any free will - as much as you could've had while still obeying that is. The last time you would look at yourself in the mirror and smile to yourself while thinking about your future - though you knew you hardly had one with your family.

You didn't want to do this.

Turning your back to the vanity, you decide you could go for a cigarette.