The doorbell to a quaint hole in the wall bookstore, at the end of Diagon Alley, rings out when a tall, light skinned man enters. Clad in his work attire and austere manner, the smile that overtakes his features when he spies the girl behind the desk, opposite of the entrance, seems foreign. Looking up when she acknowledges the sound of her door being shut, a smirk slowly spreads across the lips of Hermione Granger, the owner of the book filled room.
"Tom Riddle, back yet again?" Hermione asks in faux curiosity, allowing her voice to filter through the confines of her small bookstore, when the aforementioned gentleman steps up to the counter.
"I hope that you can aid me in my most recent search," he states, leaning one arm against the wooden countertop with his left, while removing his hat with the right.
"I just received an interesting shipment today, actually. I'm sure they'll be to your liking, morbidity and all," she quips, beginning to make her way to the box, before his voice stops her.
"Well, unfortunately today, I did not come seeking any reading material."
"Oh? It seems you have arrived at the wrong venue then, Mr. Riddle, as there cannot be anything more for you here."
"Are you quite certain of that?" he asks, his voice oozing out the words seductively.
"I am," the learned witch states firmly, arms crossed over her frock in mock determination.
"That's a shame love, because I had come here with the intention of securing a wife, believing I had found a worthy candidate. It seems," he pauses, replacing his hat atop his head, "I have been mistaken."
Lightly, he turns on his feet, nearly halfway to the door when she calls out to him.
"Tom Marvolo Riddle, you come back here this instant!"
Smiling, the man pivots about once more, coming face to face with an infuriated beauty. Gods, did he love to light her on fire.
"How dare you propose in such a manner. I am not property to be acquired, you bastard!"
"Bastard? Ouch love, that almost stung."
"I can do a lot more than bruise your ego, you great brute, if that's what you want," she warns, eyeing his wand hand hanging dangerously close to his pocket.
"You wouldn't be the witch I love if you couldn't. Now, I believe a proper proposal is in order."
Dropping down onto one knee before the unamused woman, he looks up at her with softened, sombre eyes.
"Hermione Jean Granger, will you do me the honor of becoming the woman that I will wake up next to every morning, that will give me a swift kick in the bollocks when it is rightly deserved, and the one who I may call mine for the rest of my life?"
Biting her lip, Hermione gazes down at the persuasive eyes, willing her to commit to him. The unguarded hope shimmering on the surface of his irises is enough to make her quake at the knees, but she had never been one to indulge him even that much, instead preferring to allow him to guess. Her resolve and determination is what had drawn him to her first, after all. Stepping forward, she extends her left hand, allowing him to place the ring upon her finger.
Softly pulling her in close, he whispers in her ear, "A June wedding, perhaps? I hear they're quite fashionable these days."
"Have I ever been one to conform to societal norms?"
"No, I suppose not," he admits, before lowering his lips to hers for a good and proper snog.