Isabella Henrietta Ingrid Margrethe was a princess of Denmark, and the third in line for the throne, only behind her father and brother. She was the first girl to be born to the Denmark royalty since 1946.

She was also a witch. No one in the Danish royal family had ever been a witch, so when she received her letter on the day of her 11th birthday it had been a shock to everybody. Her parents, Fredrik and Mary, were sensible people, and realized that, if their daughter was indeed a witch, then they were going to send her somewhere where she could have the best magical education possible. The letter she had received had instructed her to attend a local Danish school, but her parents had done some research and pulled some strings, and had decided upon Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Even in the wizarding community, being royal had it's benefits.

This was how Isabella found herself standing on a platform, looking at enormous train as children yelled around her. Isabella had been brought up to be well mannered and proper, and suddenly she found herself to be very nervous. She looked at her mother and father and older brother, Christian.

"Do I have to go?" she whispered quietly in Danish, her blond hair shielding her face. Her father knelt down and cupped her face.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to my lillepigen, but to be a great leader you have to embrace who you were born to be." Her mother kissed the top of her head and her brother ruffled up her hair after her mother pulled away.

"Make some friends!" he said loudly in Danish, causing several people to look over in their direction. "Just don't tell anyone your royal, people always get overly excited about that!" She turned her wide green eyes on him looking defiant. "People will always like me better, royal or not!"

"Okay now.." her mother laughed a little, but gave them both stern looks. "Write to us when you've arrived, I'll miss you lillepigen."

"Miss you too mama," she replied, instantly sober again.

"Remember your English," her father instructed. "And stay out of trouble!"

True to her word, Isabella remembered her English and stayed out of trouble. She took her brothers advice and made some friends, although it took a while as she was a little shy, and the British children found her to be a little strange, though they chalked it up to her being Danish. She never told anyone she was a member of the Danish royalty, and now in her seventh year things were finally shaping up for the princess. She had top grades, as was expected from a child in her standing, and while she didn't think she would ever be able to have a career in the wizarding world like she wished she could, life was a happy place for Isabella, who had become a Gryffindor.

The one thing she relished more than anything was her ability to date anyone she chose, so long as it wasn't serious. When she turned fifteen, her father sat her down and explained to her that she had a duty to the Danish people that put them above herself, and that when she married, while she could do it for love (it was the twentieth century after all), she needed to pick someone suitable, and her father made it clear that a wizard was probably not a very suitable candidate. They argued, and left it as a case by case basis. So Isabella, who inherited her mother and grandmothers good looks, dated very avidly through Hogwarts. She hadn't met anyone she found suitable to run a country with her, but she was young and assumed that her brother would be the King, and she could remain a Princess forever.

Isabella started her seventh year of Hogwarts the way she had started her first year, and that was sitting alone in a compartment on the train. Her legs were encased in dark blue jeans, and she had on a simple green shirts and her hair in a ponytail, and she was reading a book, curled up comfortably in the seat, not minding her aloneness. In fact, Hogwarts seemed like the only time Isabella ever had any time alone, back home everything was busy busy, and moved non stop.

She smiled when she heard the door slide open and saw her best friend walk in, Oliver Wood. Oliver and Isabella had met on the train seven years ago, both alone and friendless. They bonded over the fact that they were both foreign, her Danish and him Scottish. They had stayed best friends over the years despite his obsession with quidditch and the fact that she never invited him over during the summer.

"Hey Bella. Good summer?" he asked, sitting across from her. She no longer winced from the nick name, used to the fact that people, Oliver especially, felt the need to abbreviate her name.

"Yeah, I'd say so. Especially enjoyable when I spent a week with some bloke named Oliver Wood. Do you know him? He's a Gryffindor too," she was teasing him.

"Oliver Wood...isn't he obsessed with Quidditch?" he teased back, playing along.

"Yeah, he's barking mad about it. Not sure if he has a personality underneath it."

"Ouch, Bells, that hurts," he said, abandoning their game.

"I'm only teasing," she smiled, flashing perfectly straight teeth at him and putting away her book.

"How was your brothers wedding?" Oliver asked her. Her older brother, Christian, had gotten married over the summer, which was huge news in Denmark. She wondered how much she should tell Oliver, or if it had even made news over in England.

"Oh...it was this big drawn out affair, totally boring." She brushed it off, like she did with all family things, too afraid to give anything away that might reveal who she was. At this point, Isabella was certain that Oliver wouldn't have cared one way or the other what family she was born into, now it was about keeping up the lie. She was more afraid that, if he realized she had been lying to him for the past seven years, he would instantly hate her, and a life without Oliver was one she did not want to imagine. So, even though lying was the most un-princessly things she could do, she kept it up, hoping he would never find out.

"Well, it's awesome he found someone he can love more than himself," Oliver joked.

"It's all anyone can ask for in this life," she responded, the biggest smile on her face.

What Isabella didn't know was that Oliver was soul-crushingly, head over heels, blind man seeing the sun for the first time, in love with her. He had suspected he might be the first time he heard her voice all those years ago, with her funny Danish accent, but he wasn't positive until the summer before their second year, when he had to spend three agonizing months away from her. He had watched her date countless boys in Hogwarts, taught her to play Quidditch, wiped away tears, and spent hours laughing and talking with her. He often wondered if she found it weird that he never dated anyone, and he wondered even more if he told her how he felt, what she would say. He hadn't been able to work up the nerve to tell her, as Isabella was beautiful (and he was sure his opinion wasn't biased), but since this was their seventh year he knew it was do or die, and Oliver Wood never said die. He wanted this whole year to be his year with her, so he had practiced what he would say to her all summer, along with devising new Quidditch tactics that were guaranteed to give them the house cup.

And so, it was with a deep breath that he began. It was dark now, and she was reading her book again, although she had changed seats and was sitting next to him, her elbow resting against his head, and some of her hair was on his shoulder. They had been sitting in silence for the last two hours, a comfortable one for her and a nervous one for him.

"Isabella?" he began, thinking now it was too late to go back, and if he didn't tell her now he never would and would regret for his whole life.

She looked up, placing a finger in her book and closing it as to not lose her spot. Oliver hadn't called her Isabella in years and the look on his face was a mixture somewhere between terrified and very serious. "Oliver."

"I need to tell you something."

She blinked, wishing he would smile or something, she was suddenly very afraid that he was going to say something terrible, like he knew what a terrible liar she was, or that he hated her. Oliver was taken aback by how scared she suddenly looked, and wondered what was going through her mind. He grabbed her hand, causing her to lose her spot in her book.

"I want to tell you something I've been trying to say to you for seven years. It's hard...you're my best friend, you know?"

"You're mine too!" she reassured him, squeezing his hand.

"I think that's why it's been so hard to tell you. I didn't want to ruin anything, but I have to say it now or I'll regret it forever. Isabella...Bella...Bells...I am...and have been, since I met you...in love with you."

The silence was so thick in the compartment you could have cut it with a butter knife. "What?" she whispered in Danish, not even realizing she wasn't speaking English anymore. Oliver did not take this as a good sign.

"I love you. Yep. That's all I've got," he said again, figuring if he was going to let her crush him, he was really going to let her crush him. She continued to stare at him like she had never seen him before, and he just sat there feeling stupid.

"Jeg elsker dig," she murmured, looking into his eyes.

"Bells...you know I don't speak Danish," he said sadly. Her face broke out into a radiant smile. "Well you need to learn that phrase."

"Why?" his eyes were locked on the floor. "What does it mean?"

"I love you," she said, smiling when his brown eyes met hers, and without thinking or planning it, she brought her face over to his and kissed him in what was the best moment of seventeen years of her life. She forgot about being royalty or doing what was right for her people, about Olivers ignorance at who she was, she forgot anything except the boy sitting next to her and they way he smelled and tasted, and how perfect this moment felt. It was like they were made for each other, specifically designed for this exact moment, sitting in this exact train compartment kissing each other. Like their whole lives had been leading up to this moment, and nothing else mattered.