Brown. Dark Brown. The kind of brown that bled into blackness, framed by long, luscious lashes, darkened even further under the shadows cast by his hood. Pale skin and black hair and cheekbones that could cut glass—no, diamonds—no, anything. Bellatrix did not believe in love until that moment, but in that moment, it was the only thing she believed in.

When her eyes met his, Bellatrix knew she was home.