Voldemort sat in his familiar dusty emerald-green armchair by the
fireplace, in the same room where he had killed the Riddle's gardener in
Harry's fourth year...not that it mattered anymore. He had a body now, so
having Wormtail as a servant to help him with everything was useless. For
once he sat alone, deep in thought, while nursing a cup of Oo Long tea, a
Chinese tea he was particularly fond of. No blithering Wormtail, arrogant
Lucius, or other annoyances disturbed his peace.
He held the letter sent through time by his mother; he was furious at first, being unable to refuse...she was not just some far-off descendant, but his own mother – his own mother, asking him to seek out a Gryffindor mudblood for the 'sanctity union of marriage' – he had chuckled at that – as if he would be wound up in that...but the darker seriousness of the matter descended on him. He had to marry whoever it was, annoyance as they would undoubtedly be, being a Gryffindor and all that...
He was a half-blood, so she could refuse his offer...that is, if she knew he was a half-blood. Currently only that blasted Dumbledore and that brat Potter knew of his true lineage – everyone else thought he was as pureblooded as purebloods went. He wouldn't even be going around asking her hand in marriage if the owl with the letter hadn't come during a Death Eater meeting, of all times...his followers expected him to find someone to serve him and satisfy him, some whore that couldn't refuse his offer as he was thought to be pureblood. It would damage his reputation completely if it leaked out that he was a half-blood – less pure than Potter, and a plain hypocrite – killing muggles when his own dad was one. It wasn't that he cared about or had ever cared about Ministry law, but he had to keep up appearances if he was to have his followers – it would be horrible if they turned their backs on him and reported to Dumbledore's bloody order –they knew too much, and there were too many to stamp them out completely.
He tortured many of his followers that night, the night he received the letter. Many left shaking in terror.
That was of course, until an idea came to light.
Potter.
With all his friends.
His two most loved Gryffindor friends, Ron Weasley, pureblood with red hair, poor, Quidditch-nut. Hermione Granger, intelligent mudblood witch.
She satisfied both the mudblood and Gryffindor requirements. She was eighteen. She had graduated. She was intelligent. And she would get him closer to Potter. Much closer. If he married her, she would either see Potter, or if he forbid it, see him in secret or send owls. Either way, he'd be much closer to the damned boy-who-lived-and-consistently-infuriated- him-to-no-end. Perfect. And Potter was close to Dumbledore. And he was in the Order; an added bonus. Add in the fact that the Order was connected with the Aurors, and well, he was ecstatic – it was so beautiful...
And then he found out first-hand from Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape that they received eerily-similar letters. And that they had locked on to Hermione Granger as well. He had a 1:2 chance of having her...
A ratio somewhat demolished by factors taken into consideration. Hermione had a choice now. He was old, ugly, mean, evil, cruel, violent, merciless, and her best friend's public enemy #1. And that was putting it lightly. Lucius' kid and his Potions master were Sexy Gods by comparison to him. He stopped for a second. Sexy Gods??? He burst out laughing. Not just an evil cackle, but he threw back his head and laughed. Had Wormtail been there, he would have wet his pants. Or fainted. A matter that only fueled his laughter.
Draco was somewhat shocked when the letter came to him several days ago from someone far back on his dad's side, now only a name on the tapestry hanging in a forgotten room somewhere, marking the Malfoy family tree.
He had went to that family tree immediately after; all of the wizards and witches were purebloods, going up at least six generations before a half- blood appeared. And he would be polluting the sacred line, as pure as royalty, poisoning the proud Malfoy line forever thanks to some twisted, deranged ancestor – marrying a Gryffindor mudblood – honestly. He traced his finger over the name three generations above his own, embroidered in silver thread on an emerald-green background.
The only Gryffindor mudblood he knew of was Hermione Granger.
Thank Merlin Lucius, as he called his father, was not here at the moment, but in Azkaban, thanks to bloody Potter. Lucius would have disowned him, thrown a fit, beat him, and hexed him into next Thursday if he heard what his son was planning to do.
There was no question though. It had to be done.
In a way, it might be a good thing. Potter had gotten rid of Dobby. Perhaps Potter's best friend and soul-mate could take Dobby's place. From what he knew of Hermione, she despised house elves' role in the wizarding world, that she had formed a club to give them equal rights and sick leave and clothes and salaries and went so far as to trick them into wearing clothes...it still made him laugh thinking of it.
It might not be so bad having Hermione as his wife – he could make her clean the house, cook his food, clean and fold and put away his clothes, and of course as she was his wife he could legally do whatever he wanted with her – it'd be like having a house elf only with special privileges. She was so fixed on the joys of being a muggle – maybe she'd like doing all the cleaning and cooking and chores around the house muggle-style? Back- breaking labor, harsh chemicals, on hands and knees wearing gloves...and he'd be there sipping lemonade and laughing at her, possibly with a lover or two on the side.
Hell, he could always threaten her with his father, with the Dark Lord, threatening to kill bloody Potter or Weasley or her family...she'd do anything he wanted...
He grinned.
He went to a Death Eater meeting that night, fully aware that last time a meeting was held, Voldemort had received a similar letter as to the one he received. This time it was just himself and Snape present with their Dark Lord. Apparently Voldemort had read their minds and found out not only that they got practically the same letters, but they had all unknowingly fixed on one girl. Voldemort was furious; he tortured Snape and Draco through the Cruciatrius curse, yelled at them, but it did no good. Fixed as he was on marrying someone who would link him to Harry Potter and Dumbledore's band of misfits, aka the Order, he didn't really want to married, let alone to a mudblood Gryffindor. Draco had his heart set on marrying Hermione to put her through living hell by having her be Dobby's replacement – it would serve her right for humiliating him every year grade-wise – no matter what, she was better than him, smarter than him...It would serve Harry right too. And thus the three decided to confront Hermione at once and get it over with – also, it'd be a nasty shock – her reaction would be priceless in Draco's view.
Surprisingly, she took it better than he expected...damned Gryffindor bravery. Yet probably not brave enough to marry Voldemort – he crossed that name off the list. So it was between him and Snape – he never thought he'd be running against his favorite teacher in anything...
Stupid know-it-all. She'd probably chose Snape, seeing as he was the one with more brains out of the two of them. He could match her intellect far better than he could – Snape was after all, farther in his years, more mature...
Snape walked back to his potions lab at Hogwarts – ah, the joyful peace and quiet – no ruddy dunderhead students running around wrecking havoc on his poor dungeons. Honestly, a few more years and he wouldn't be surprised if the roof fell on him. Not that that was entirely a bad thing.
He didn't know why he pinpointed Hermione as a wife in the first place. Although she was a witch with a mind beyond her years, the first student he had stumbled upon in years and years who matched his brain power neuron for neuron. Gryffindor or not, she was clever and smart enough to help him with his year's work of potion-making.
He had spent so long on potions – so many orders to fill, for Pomfrey's collection in the hospital wing, Dumbledore's healing potions, Voldemort's poisons, and any research he was asked to do or took on for himself. There were so many potion orders to fill and work on – he really needed an assistant. Someone he could trust not to blow up dangerous potions, risking his health and his precious dungeons. He had people help him during detention, but all too many botched the simplest potions – she was the only one he trusted enough to brew potions such as Lupin's Wolfsbane potion during one detention – as usual she performed that task perfectly.
He really needed an assistant, a partner –
Not to mention, his only real girlfriend in life had been Lily, Harry's mom – for a few months, before bloody James took her from him. Since then, he had gone into Dark Arts working for Voldemort, and become the cynical, diabolic, sarcastic, bitter, cruel man he was now. He needed someone in his life to fall back on.
He couldn't kid himself anymore. He needed someone, but someone who had brains – he'd kill himself if he were stuck with a ditzy, airhead, preppy plastic wife who flirted with other males, giggled too much, and spent way too much time on picking out shoes to buy with his money, or other frivolous acts known to women.
Currently the only witch he knew of that met that description, and was Gryffindor and muggleborn, was bloody Miss Granger. Friend of Potter. Member of the Golden trio, the dream team, the three Musketeers, the Gryffindorks, whatever you wanted to call them. He sat down and rubbed his temples, feeling an oncoming headache.
Soon he found out that Lucius' son and the Dark Lord had received similar letters to the one he received only too recently, and that they had also targeted Hermione. Poor girl.
At least it wasn't so bad. She had a choice. He knew she'd cross Voldemort off immediately, no matter what he might do to her, as far as coming after her seeking revenge. She had Dumbledore and the spoiled brat Potter on her side. So it was between him and Draco. She would pick Draco, he knew it. He was as old as her parents, a Death Eater, her former professor, Head of Slytherin, a spy, greasy, pale, big-nosed, and to put it short, mean and ugly. Draco was her age, had his whole life ahead of him, and hell – he had the looks – he was not a bad student, and he even played Quidditch.
Snape shrugged. Isolation and solitude had shaped his life before, why shouldn't it now?
Time went on. Nearly three months had passed since that afternoon in Dumbledore's office, since the letters came. The Gryffindor and The Three Slytherins got on with life. Sure, it was in the back of everyone's mind, but after so much, you just have to let it go and go on, hard as it is.
She had gone to Diagon Alley to pick up several books, anxious to continue her studies. Her potions-making, charms, transfiguration, and arithmancy skills were now much more adept then they had been, if that was possible for her.
She had seen Harry and Ron frequently over that time, resolved to spend as much time with her valued friends as possible, as she doubted she could have them by her side once she married.
Ron hadn't noticed, but Harry certainly saw the longing look she gave to couples on the street, or the strange, almost sad look she shot Ron when he mentioned his girlfriend. He asked her about countless times in private, but she refused to say a word, knowing it would hurt him.
Hermione had nearly forgotten about that moment back in early July. It was now late September, a peaceful fall Sunday.
It was over a cup of tea and a croissant that a familiar owl flew in her window, holding out a scroll on its leg. She untied it, and the owl took off, clearly not waiting for a response. The scroll was sealed with the Hogwarts crest; she dug her nail under it and opened it. Dumbledore's loopy handwriting met her eye.
She read down the letter and felt a weight drop down in her stomach, felt weight pressing on her shoulders. She wasn't hungry anymore; she pushed the croissant away.
/Dear Hermione Granger,
How was your summer? Mine was delightful; I managed to convince Minerva to go on a Mediterranean cruise with me, although Snape said he would have nothing of the sort, and walked off muttering something about 'frivolous cruises – the things muggles come up with.'
I am most sorry, but I don't mean to put unnecessary strain on my owl (Godric is his name) by making him fly long feet of parchment across the country, so I must post a simple reminder in the hopes of jogging your memory back to July sixth, I believe it was, when we had our discussion in my office over who you wished to join with in the bond of marriage bliss.
A week from today, at five-thirty in the evening, I expect you to be present at the Leaky Cauldron. I have made an appointment with the minister at the stone church in Hogsmeade should you request to marry there and then.
-Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts
PS – Tom saw me with the Romeo and Juliet book you threw at my head – he incinerated it, I'm afraid. Should you wish a copy of Shakespeare's lovely play, the kind fellow at Flourish and Blotts will be able to help you, I'm sure./
Hermione scowled in disgust and scrunched up the note, before throwing it on the floor.
She didn't know who to marry – all were abominable choices; it was no wonder they were single...
That letter certainly put a damper on her spirits.
The rest of that week, she wandered about in an angst state, distracted by the choice she had to make no matter what she was doing, restless, unable to finish things, and she settled into a state of insomnia and not eating once again. She was dreading next Sunday, which only meant it crept up faster, like in their fourth year when Harry was dreading the first task in the TriWizard Tournament – ah, thinking of Harry hurt, knowing she would probably never see him again.
On Saturday, the night before her eventual marriage, she had a light dinner – just a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich and a glass of water – she didn't see a point in bothering with her cooking skills when it was just herself she was cooking for. Of course that would all change in less than twenty- four hours.
And she still didn't know who she'd marry – she had crossed Voldemort off the list a long time ago, but still – Draco or Snape? Draco or Snape? Draco had looks, Snape had brains...
She felt old – she wasn't the type that could handle with this type of thing...of course Harry always had his life controlled by the two extremes walking the Wizarding world – Albus Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort. As did many others, now that she thought of it.
She decided to watch a video to get her minds off things – she went to the video shelf and ran her finger down the spines, skipping over the Disney section she had from when she was a small child, but she couldn't find anything. Wait. Disney. She went back – and pulled out an old time favorite, /Beauty and the Beast./
Hermione nodded and put it into the VCR, grabbed the remote, and flopped on the couch. She turned on the TV and for once actually bothered watching the previews, knowing this would be her last time seeing a movie, let alone Disney. Once she married she wouldn't have the advantages muggles have with electricity.
Watching Belle go around the villages, reading a book, she was strongly reminded of herself. Guston (A/N: spelling?) seemed a bit like Harry, in the having girls and admired and revered upon as a hero by the local village – although she was more interested in Harry than Belle in Guston. Hermione hit her head against the remote – why did everything have to remind herself of her future? The Beast – well, that was obviously either Snape or Voldemort – Draco neither looked like a beast nor had a beast's temper, nor was feared as one by the "local village."
Interesting – the Beast locked Beauty in her room, imprisoning her in the castle – had a fiery temper, but softened once he met Beauty, saving her life when she tried to escape, and letting her leave once she saw her loved one was sick – of course it was then that she noticed Guston had gathered a riot to storm the castle, and meanwhile, the Beast's servants were guarding the doors. Interesting how much the Beast changed over the course of the movie...
And then Belle came back to see Guston (Harry! Hermione thought) and the Beast fighting on a rooftop, as both wanted her. And as the Beast lay dying, Belle said "I love you" and the spell was broken, he became a prince again, and they married.
Hermione giggled. "Prince" – yes of course, she was marrying "Prince Charming" tomorrow and all would be right with the world, she thought sarcastically.
A thought came to her. Of course. She could change him. Whoever she married, she could change him – make him more docile. Draco could always find a wife – he was young, Quidditch star, Malfoy, bright, cute – finding a girl wouldn't be a problem for him. So it came down to a choice between – well, she had crossed Voldemort off long ago, but now it seemed an attractive option (A/N: sarcastic pun fully intended). She could marry Snape, but what good would that do, other than being taunted by her former classmates and forced to stay at Hogwarts in the dungeons for most of the year until he graduated?
Voldemort though...she could make him more docile...maybe not loving, but neutralize his violent tendencies among other things. And the Death Eaters and Order members, her friends – would have to meet eventually, if it were because of her. And – Voldemort could do with a major make-over...make him sexier...
Hermione grinned. This would be fun. Voldemort didn't know what he was in for.
He held the letter sent through time by his mother; he was furious at first, being unable to refuse...she was not just some far-off descendant, but his own mother – his own mother, asking him to seek out a Gryffindor mudblood for the 'sanctity union of marriage' – he had chuckled at that – as if he would be wound up in that...but the darker seriousness of the matter descended on him. He had to marry whoever it was, annoyance as they would undoubtedly be, being a Gryffindor and all that...
He was a half-blood, so she could refuse his offer...that is, if she knew he was a half-blood. Currently only that blasted Dumbledore and that brat Potter knew of his true lineage – everyone else thought he was as pureblooded as purebloods went. He wouldn't even be going around asking her hand in marriage if the owl with the letter hadn't come during a Death Eater meeting, of all times...his followers expected him to find someone to serve him and satisfy him, some whore that couldn't refuse his offer as he was thought to be pureblood. It would damage his reputation completely if it leaked out that he was a half-blood – less pure than Potter, and a plain hypocrite – killing muggles when his own dad was one. It wasn't that he cared about or had ever cared about Ministry law, but he had to keep up appearances if he was to have his followers – it would be horrible if they turned their backs on him and reported to Dumbledore's bloody order –they knew too much, and there were too many to stamp them out completely.
He tortured many of his followers that night, the night he received the letter. Many left shaking in terror.
That was of course, until an idea came to light.
Potter.
With all his friends.
His two most loved Gryffindor friends, Ron Weasley, pureblood with red hair, poor, Quidditch-nut. Hermione Granger, intelligent mudblood witch.
She satisfied both the mudblood and Gryffindor requirements. She was eighteen. She had graduated. She was intelligent. And she would get him closer to Potter. Much closer. If he married her, she would either see Potter, or if he forbid it, see him in secret or send owls. Either way, he'd be much closer to the damned boy-who-lived-and-consistently-infuriated- him-to-no-end. Perfect. And Potter was close to Dumbledore. And he was in the Order; an added bonus. Add in the fact that the Order was connected with the Aurors, and well, he was ecstatic – it was so beautiful...
And then he found out first-hand from Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape that they received eerily-similar letters. And that they had locked on to Hermione Granger as well. He had a 1:2 chance of having her...
A ratio somewhat demolished by factors taken into consideration. Hermione had a choice now. He was old, ugly, mean, evil, cruel, violent, merciless, and her best friend's public enemy #1. And that was putting it lightly. Lucius' kid and his Potions master were Sexy Gods by comparison to him. He stopped for a second. Sexy Gods??? He burst out laughing. Not just an evil cackle, but he threw back his head and laughed. Had Wormtail been there, he would have wet his pants. Or fainted. A matter that only fueled his laughter.
Draco was somewhat shocked when the letter came to him several days ago from someone far back on his dad's side, now only a name on the tapestry hanging in a forgotten room somewhere, marking the Malfoy family tree.
He had went to that family tree immediately after; all of the wizards and witches were purebloods, going up at least six generations before a half- blood appeared. And he would be polluting the sacred line, as pure as royalty, poisoning the proud Malfoy line forever thanks to some twisted, deranged ancestor – marrying a Gryffindor mudblood – honestly. He traced his finger over the name three generations above his own, embroidered in silver thread on an emerald-green background.
The only Gryffindor mudblood he knew of was Hermione Granger.
Thank Merlin Lucius, as he called his father, was not here at the moment, but in Azkaban, thanks to bloody Potter. Lucius would have disowned him, thrown a fit, beat him, and hexed him into next Thursday if he heard what his son was planning to do.
There was no question though. It had to be done.
In a way, it might be a good thing. Potter had gotten rid of Dobby. Perhaps Potter's best friend and soul-mate could take Dobby's place. From what he knew of Hermione, she despised house elves' role in the wizarding world, that she had formed a club to give them equal rights and sick leave and clothes and salaries and went so far as to trick them into wearing clothes...it still made him laugh thinking of it.
It might not be so bad having Hermione as his wife – he could make her clean the house, cook his food, clean and fold and put away his clothes, and of course as she was his wife he could legally do whatever he wanted with her – it'd be like having a house elf only with special privileges. She was so fixed on the joys of being a muggle – maybe she'd like doing all the cleaning and cooking and chores around the house muggle-style? Back- breaking labor, harsh chemicals, on hands and knees wearing gloves...and he'd be there sipping lemonade and laughing at her, possibly with a lover or two on the side.
Hell, he could always threaten her with his father, with the Dark Lord, threatening to kill bloody Potter or Weasley or her family...she'd do anything he wanted...
He grinned.
He went to a Death Eater meeting that night, fully aware that last time a meeting was held, Voldemort had received a similar letter as to the one he received. This time it was just himself and Snape present with their Dark Lord. Apparently Voldemort had read their minds and found out not only that they got practically the same letters, but they had all unknowingly fixed on one girl. Voldemort was furious; he tortured Snape and Draco through the Cruciatrius curse, yelled at them, but it did no good. Fixed as he was on marrying someone who would link him to Harry Potter and Dumbledore's band of misfits, aka the Order, he didn't really want to married, let alone to a mudblood Gryffindor. Draco had his heart set on marrying Hermione to put her through living hell by having her be Dobby's replacement – it would serve her right for humiliating him every year grade-wise – no matter what, she was better than him, smarter than him...It would serve Harry right too. And thus the three decided to confront Hermione at once and get it over with – also, it'd be a nasty shock – her reaction would be priceless in Draco's view.
Surprisingly, she took it better than he expected...damned Gryffindor bravery. Yet probably not brave enough to marry Voldemort – he crossed that name off the list. So it was between him and Snape – he never thought he'd be running against his favorite teacher in anything...
Stupid know-it-all. She'd probably chose Snape, seeing as he was the one with more brains out of the two of them. He could match her intellect far better than he could – Snape was after all, farther in his years, more mature...
Snape walked back to his potions lab at Hogwarts – ah, the joyful peace and quiet – no ruddy dunderhead students running around wrecking havoc on his poor dungeons. Honestly, a few more years and he wouldn't be surprised if the roof fell on him. Not that that was entirely a bad thing.
He didn't know why he pinpointed Hermione as a wife in the first place. Although she was a witch with a mind beyond her years, the first student he had stumbled upon in years and years who matched his brain power neuron for neuron. Gryffindor or not, she was clever and smart enough to help him with his year's work of potion-making.
He had spent so long on potions – so many orders to fill, for Pomfrey's collection in the hospital wing, Dumbledore's healing potions, Voldemort's poisons, and any research he was asked to do or took on for himself. There were so many potion orders to fill and work on – he really needed an assistant. Someone he could trust not to blow up dangerous potions, risking his health and his precious dungeons. He had people help him during detention, but all too many botched the simplest potions – she was the only one he trusted enough to brew potions such as Lupin's Wolfsbane potion during one detention – as usual she performed that task perfectly.
He really needed an assistant, a partner –
Not to mention, his only real girlfriend in life had been Lily, Harry's mom – for a few months, before bloody James took her from him. Since then, he had gone into Dark Arts working for Voldemort, and become the cynical, diabolic, sarcastic, bitter, cruel man he was now. He needed someone in his life to fall back on.
He couldn't kid himself anymore. He needed someone, but someone who had brains – he'd kill himself if he were stuck with a ditzy, airhead, preppy plastic wife who flirted with other males, giggled too much, and spent way too much time on picking out shoes to buy with his money, or other frivolous acts known to women.
Currently the only witch he knew of that met that description, and was Gryffindor and muggleborn, was bloody Miss Granger. Friend of Potter. Member of the Golden trio, the dream team, the three Musketeers, the Gryffindorks, whatever you wanted to call them. He sat down and rubbed his temples, feeling an oncoming headache.
Soon he found out that Lucius' son and the Dark Lord had received similar letters to the one he received only too recently, and that they had also targeted Hermione. Poor girl.
At least it wasn't so bad. She had a choice. He knew she'd cross Voldemort off immediately, no matter what he might do to her, as far as coming after her seeking revenge. She had Dumbledore and the spoiled brat Potter on her side. So it was between him and Draco. She would pick Draco, he knew it. He was as old as her parents, a Death Eater, her former professor, Head of Slytherin, a spy, greasy, pale, big-nosed, and to put it short, mean and ugly. Draco was her age, had his whole life ahead of him, and hell – he had the looks – he was not a bad student, and he even played Quidditch.
Snape shrugged. Isolation and solitude had shaped his life before, why shouldn't it now?
Time went on. Nearly three months had passed since that afternoon in Dumbledore's office, since the letters came. The Gryffindor and The Three Slytherins got on with life. Sure, it was in the back of everyone's mind, but after so much, you just have to let it go and go on, hard as it is.
She had gone to Diagon Alley to pick up several books, anxious to continue her studies. Her potions-making, charms, transfiguration, and arithmancy skills were now much more adept then they had been, if that was possible for her.
She had seen Harry and Ron frequently over that time, resolved to spend as much time with her valued friends as possible, as she doubted she could have them by her side once she married.
Ron hadn't noticed, but Harry certainly saw the longing look she gave to couples on the street, or the strange, almost sad look she shot Ron when he mentioned his girlfriend. He asked her about countless times in private, but she refused to say a word, knowing it would hurt him.
Hermione had nearly forgotten about that moment back in early July. It was now late September, a peaceful fall Sunday.
It was over a cup of tea and a croissant that a familiar owl flew in her window, holding out a scroll on its leg. She untied it, and the owl took off, clearly not waiting for a response. The scroll was sealed with the Hogwarts crest; she dug her nail under it and opened it. Dumbledore's loopy handwriting met her eye.
She read down the letter and felt a weight drop down in her stomach, felt weight pressing on her shoulders. She wasn't hungry anymore; she pushed the croissant away.
/Dear Hermione Granger,
How was your summer? Mine was delightful; I managed to convince Minerva to go on a Mediterranean cruise with me, although Snape said he would have nothing of the sort, and walked off muttering something about 'frivolous cruises – the things muggles come up with.'
I am most sorry, but I don't mean to put unnecessary strain on my owl (Godric is his name) by making him fly long feet of parchment across the country, so I must post a simple reminder in the hopes of jogging your memory back to July sixth, I believe it was, when we had our discussion in my office over who you wished to join with in the bond of marriage bliss.
A week from today, at five-thirty in the evening, I expect you to be present at the Leaky Cauldron. I have made an appointment with the minister at the stone church in Hogsmeade should you request to marry there and then.
-Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts
PS – Tom saw me with the Romeo and Juliet book you threw at my head – he incinerated it, I'm afraid. Should you wish a copy of Shakespeare's lovely play, the kind fellow at Flourish and Blotts will be able to help you, I'm sure./
Hermione scowled in disgust and scrunched up the note, before throwing it on the floor.
She didn't know who to marry – all were abominable choices; it was no wonder they were single...
That letter certainly put a damper on her spirits.
The rest of that week, she wandered about in an angst state, distracted by the choice she had to make no matter what she was doing, restless, unable to finish things, and she settled into a state of insomnia and not eating once again. She was dreading next Sunday, which only meant it crept up faster, like in their fourth year when Harry was dreading the first task in the TriWizard Tournament – ah, thinking of Harry hurt, knowing she would probably never see him again.
On Saturday, the night before her eventual marriage, she had a light dinner – just a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich and a glass of water – she didn't see a point in bothering with her cooking skills when it was just herself she was cooking for. Of course that would all change in less than twenty- four hours.
And she still didn't know who she'd marry – she had crossed Voldemort off the list a long time ago, but still – Draco or Snape? Draco or Snape? Draco had looks, Snape had brains...
She felt old – she wasn't the type that could handle with this type of thing...of course Harry always had his life controlled by the two extremes walking the Wizarding world – Albus Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort. As did many others, now that she thought of it.
She decided to watch a video to get her minds off things – she went to the video shelf and ran her finger down the spines, skipping over the Disney section she had from when she was a small child, but she couldn't find anything. Wait. Disney. She went back – and pulled out an old time favorite, /Beauty and the Beast./
Hermione nodded and put it into the VCR, grabbed the remote, and flopped on the couch. She turned on the TV and for once actually bothered watching the previews, knowing this would be her last time seeing a movie, let alone Disney. Once she married she wouldn't have the advantages muggles have with electricity.
Watching Belle go around the villages, reading a book, she was strongly reminded of herself. Guston (A/N: spelling?) seemed a bit like Harry, in the having girls and admired and revered upon as a hero by the local village – although she was more interested in Harry than Belle in Guston. Hermione hit her head against the remote – why did everything have to remind herself of her future? The Beast – well, that was obviously either Snape or Voldemort – Draco neither looked like a beast nor had a beast's temper, nor was feared as one by the "local village."
Interesting – the Beast locked Beauty in her room, imprisoning her in the castle – had a fiery temper, but softened once he met Beauty, saving her life when she tried to escape, and letting her leave once she saw her loved one was sick – of course it was then that she noticed Guston had gathered a riot to storm the castle, and meanwhile, the Beast's servants were guarding the doors. Interesting how much the Beast changed over the course of the movie...
And then Belle came back to see Guston (Harry! Hermione thought) and the Beast fighting on a rooftop, as both wanted her. And as the Beast lay dying, Belle said "I love you" and the spell was broken, he became a prince again, and they married.
Hermione giggled. "Prince" – yes of course, she was marrying "Prince Charming" tomorrow and all would be right with the world, she thought sarcastically.
A thought came to her. Of course. She could change him. Whoever she married, she could change him – make him more docile. Draco could always find a wife – he was young, Quidditch star, Malfoy, bright, cute – finding a girl wouldn't be a problem for him. So it came down to a choice between – well, she had crossed Voldemort off long ago, but now it seemed an attractive option (A/N: sarcastic pun fully intended). She could marry Snape, but what good would that do, other than being taunted by her former classmates and forced to stay at Hogwarts in the dungeons for most of the year until he graduated?
Voldemort though...she could make him more docile...maybe not loving, but neutralize his violent tendencies among other things. And the Death Eaters and Order members, her friends – would have to meet eventually, if it were because of her. And – Voldemort could do with a major make-over...make him sexier...
Hermione grinned. This would be fun. Voldemort didn't know what he was in for.
