So everyone was seated glumly around a table at the Leaky Cauldron; Dumbledore and Hermione on one side, Voldemort, Snape, and Draco on the other. Of course as soon as they had apparated outside and walked into its midst, numerous customers had ran out screaming. Hermione watched them leaving, startled at the customers pushing by her. Dumbledore looked disappointed, and Snape and Draco looked somewhat amused. Voldemort however appeared unmoved by anything; he was leaning moodily against the wall to his right, an unreadable expression on his face.

Madam Rosmerta was cleaning mugs; she had looked up in surprise at hearing the doors bang open, and looked up, dropping the mug on the floor in the process. Luckily an unbreakable charm was cast on the glass...she watched the rest of her customers leave and sighed. They had every right to be running away; she would have herself, if she did not feel bound to serve her customers, regardless of who they might be.

She turned and approached their table, holding a notepad in one hand, a quill in the other. She had served Dumbledore, Draco, Hermione, and even Snape numerous times before - but that was it. Odd group it was though, she had to admit.

"Good evening, gentlemen, lady," she said stiffly. "Will you be ordering anything?"

"Butterbeer," Hermione responded. Draco nodded eagerly.

"A Shirley Temple, if you don't mind," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling behind the spectacles.

"Firewhisky," Snape barked.

"And you sir?" she said, trying to make eye contact with Voldemort, who had his hood down, and she attempted a cheerful smile.

"Just coffee," he growled. He wasn't in the mood for alcohol like the other people seated at the table.

"Alright, it'll just be a moment then," Rosmerta said, and went behind the counter, glad to leave the gloomy table. She came back moments later with their drinks, set it by their places, and collected the bill; three galleons and six sickles from Dumbledore before returning to washing mugs.

Snape took a draught from his glass, while Voldemort sipped a little. He was in a dreary mood; once again setting himself up for being rejected. No girl would go out with him, let alone choose him as a husband, and he was all too aware of the reasons. No one wanted a slimy, pasty-looking mass- murdering psychopath for their spouse. It was the image he had created for himself for the public, although few knew the personality that lay beneath his cold forbidding exterior. Snape was doing much the same; he saw Hermione as choosing Draco; she wouldn't of course, choose Voldemort by a long shot. Similiarly, Draco had always prided himself on being able to get girls based on his family status, power, riches, looks, grades, and other features, but these qualities meant he'd attract shallow girls who would desert him in a moment if they found out he wasn't all that great – Hermione would definitely choose Snape – she was smart enough to know he was more than just an ex-professor – as to Voldemort, he knew that was the last person on earth she'd pick to be her man.

Dumbledore drank his Shirley temple, holding his pinky in the air. He set it down and glanced at Hermione sitting next to him.

"Well, Hermione? I've given you three months exact to make your decision – I find time always helps me think things over; it was certainly helpful while deciding whether or not to hold the Triwizard Tournament, wouldn't you agree? Ah yes, I'm getting off track. I've arranged for a possible marriage in the church in Hogsmeade, if it is desired – so who have you chosen as your life-partner?"

Hermione breathed deeply; she was aware of four sets of eyes on her – twinkling blue eyes behind the spectacles, steel gray eyes looking at her as if preparing themselves for something – rejection perhaps, icy black tunnel-like eyes seemingly looking uncaring, indifferent towards her, but lighted with curiosity...and a pair of red eyes – the eyes she would be gazing in for the rest of her life – first thing she would see when she woke up in the morning, and the last thing before she went to sleep at night – red eyes that currently stared at her – what was it? In a flashing instant before he recovered his cold exterior, it looked like – longing and sadness – a hint of crushed hope and a slight flicker of regret – once she got past the cold red exterior, it was like looking into his inner soul ...it was so hard to describe his feelings in words and even then she knew she was failing...

She didn't know what she was doing with her life, or why she'd made this choice in the first place. Once Harry found out he'd be devastated. Not to mention the alarmed reactions much, if not all, of the wizarding world would have...well, for now, she'd see how the owners of the four pairs of eyes on her would react...

She opened her mouth and closed it. Was this really what she wanted? There was still a good soul beneath the cruel exterior formed over more than half a century...she could see that just looking into his eyes...

"I'm marrying Tom Riddle," she said firmly, just like a Gryffindor. And a smile grew on her face – Dumbledore was unmoved as always – no doubt he had probably foreseen this or something...Snape looked as if he had been slapped in the face, and both of Draco's eyebrows shot up into his hair, his mouth a perfect 'o.' Neither of their reactions matched that of the man in question; he looked shocked, to say the least – he jolted, and sat up straight, staring at her wide-eyed, an eyebrow raised as if in question to what his ears perceived. His mouth was gaping open; he was speechless.

Snape opened his mouth to protest. She couldn't do this. No. Not after all he had done for the Order – countless spy missions, saving Potter's petty life, putting up with Black, and now all of that would be in vain. He knew all too well that if Granger married his master, the Dark Lord would have a permanent link to the side of Light, and would undoubtedly obtain information about all they had been working for ...all it took was three drops of Veritaserum and Granger would be spouting out everything...even if said master was sitting right next to him, he didn't care. He had to change the Know-It-All's mind about this, even if it meant a Cruciatrius or his life.

"Miss Granger – you do realize you can't do this; if you do, you're as good as stabbing your dear friend Potter in the back. Marrying the Dark Lord means you're going against all that that annoying brat has ever done for your ungrateful turncoat hide; if you carry through with this, no doubt the Dark Lord will be informed through you of valuable information pertaining to the movements of Potter, the Order, Dumbledore, the Ministry, and the Aurors, resulting in a possible downside to the side of Light. Hell – you're going against your own values, Miss Granger – against everything you've ever held close to your heart, Gryffindor as it is; your muggleborn heritage, muggle family, /friends/; you would turn against all of that in a second?" Snape said, desperately trying to hold on to his patience, and make his point clear to the infuriating woman across the table from him without pissing off his lord as well.

Dumbledore nodded his agreement. Draco looked confused beyond all comprehension; he looked bewildered, and struggling to grasp on to the meaning of the words his ears were picking up. He caught names, but couldn't piece together all the startling new information shot at him from both the mudblood and his Head of House.

"How can you be so sure of what will happen? You have only seen one part to a many-sided man; there are many other faces that he has, even though he doesn't bother showing you. And don't forget, I believe I had a choice in the matter as to who I would pick. Don't be offended Snape, as ultimately my choice is in your best interest, as well as my husband's," Hermione answered indignantly.

"I had always thought you to be the clever know-it-all, yet your logic is worse than Longbottom's. Miss Granger, marry that man and you're throwing all that away, and your happiness, your friendships, your sanity, identity, innocence, and eventually your life will be thrown away as well. I for one do not see how you can choose so rashly," Snape sneered.

Voldemort was furious at Snape's perception of him; he backhanded Snape, causing him to fall into the table, knocking himself out. Had he been himself, he would, of course, had cast a Cruciatrius on Snape for speaking so rashly and bluntly – so boldly against him; hell, for speaking against him in the first place. As it was, he was stuck sitting across from Dumbledore, the girl had actually agreed to marry him, which he had never foresaw, and the wife he would be marrying in less than an hour was sitting across from him, arguing with his Death Eater. His mind was lost as to why she decided to marry him given their past. He had tortured her, threatened her life, tried to kill her best friend, called her mudblood, killed people she was close to, people of her heritage and background, and still she wanted to marry him. He had heard of Gryffindors being brave, stupid, and forgiving, but this was insane. And he knew she wasn't stupid, which just made it more confusing.

Dumbledore finally spoke.

"Well then, I'll leave the happy couple to it; so everything is settled. This is most unexpected, but it should turn out interesting no less. Come Draco; and bring Snape with you; I'm not so sure it's wise to wake him after he's been knocked out from a semi-drunk state," he said, smiling like the senile wizard he was, and gesturing for Hermione to move so he could leave.

Hermione stood up and stood some distance from the table. Even now, she wasn't so sure what she was doing. Dumbledore left with Draco, who was suspending Snape with a simple Levitating spell. Once they were out of sight, Voldemort rose from his seat and came to Hermione's side, not knowing what to say; his thoughts were whirring inside his head, regrouping and dividing and twisting out of shape and appearing and vanishing and turning like so many gears in a machine; those four words, "I'm marrying Tom Riddle," and then she had stood up for him in front of one of his death eaters; it was confusing. Why did she want him? And how was her marrying him ultimately in Snape's best interest as well as his? What did she have to gain from this marriage? How was she so sure that there were many faces to him – that the Lord Voldemort was only one part of him?

Not knowing what to do, he followed Hermione, walking a step behind her and to the side, not knowing how his life was about to change.

Neither said a word, or came closer than a meter of each other. Hermione followed Dumbledore's directions from the letter he gave the Sunday before and made it in front of the church.

She didn't know why she was doing this, yet she was, and she had no idea what would happen. Normally before planning something, she'd plot out the how – how she'd do it, why she'd do it, and she'd consult books to check on it, and consider all the possibilities. This felt so unlike her – anything else in the past. But then again, she had considered all the possibilities – kill herself, which she didn't want to do, kill all three 'suitors,' which while would make Harry and Ron happy, she'd end up in Azkaban and she didn't want to be a murderer. And she decided why she'd do it the night before; to try and make a change in the wizarding world, to make people see the world wasn't just black and white but so many shades of gray. And how – well, she'd just work that out as it came along. A lot of improv, but she didn't know what else to do. There were too many variables and factors in what she was planning to do to write out the steps. As to books – well she was doing something completely different than the norm, wasn't she? If anything, when all this was over, if it would be over, she'd be the one writing the books.

Now that she looked at it, her plan was a bit far-fetched, a bit ambitious, unrealistic. But for now, she saw just taking it one step at a time...and only continuing on to the next step if the first one was accomplished. Before the wizarding world joined in unity, Harry and Voldemort had to accept each other and form a friendship. Before that happened, they had to be acquaintances. Before that was a truce agreeing not to kill each other. Before that was Voldemort agreeing to this because of her word. Before that was him loving her. Before that was forming a relationship with Voldemort where he cared about her. Before that was marrying him. And speaking of marrying him, here they were; right outside the wooden arched doors, set in the marbled church wall. She pushed the door open and out of politeness held it for Voldemort; he took his time walking through; she had no idea whether he was doing this to annoy her, physically weak, didn't want this and was savoring bachelorhood, or if going through churches hurt him for some reason...it wouldn't surprise her though; he was as close to a demon as demons get.

He was walking behind her but came to her side; they still had a space of about three feet between them though, despite the fact that they were in a church about to get married. Hermione walked around a bit before finding the priest praying to the Virgin Mary in a room off the main one. She waited until he was done, and asked him if he could marry her to her fiancé. He nodded and came into the main room with her; they found Voldemort in the middle, idly surveying the stained-glass windows and altar, however he came over seeing Hermione back with the priest.

The priest saw Voldemort and backed away holding up a silver crucifix. Voldemort tried to hide a smile; the priest was acting like he was a vampire or something...then again, he did look like one...sort of.

The priest, a short balding man with a comb-over, came to Hermione, shaking, and spoke to her in frightened whispers, "He's here! It's him! You- Know-Who! Where's the aurors when you need them? Get out your wand – I'm only a squib!"

Voldemort heard his whispering however; he started cackling...ah, such a stupid priest. If he could, he'd kill the priest on the spot, but he needed his services if he was to be wed. Maybe afterwards...ah, but Hermione would get upset. Not that he cared. But the Daily Prophet would find out if a man was killed by Avada Kedavra in Hogsmeade...the last thing he wanted was having the press find out about him and the mudblood getting married.

Once Hermione reassured the priest that it was ok, that yes, she was marrying You-Know-Who, yes, she knew who he was, no she was not high or Slytherin, the man, defeated, went to the altar, and gestured for Voldemort to stand by his side, although the poor priest looked as if he wanted to be any place but here.

Hermione looked at the settings and frowned. Even if no people were present, she still wanted her marriage to be a little more than this. A little more festive. She brought out her hand and conjured a white carpet on the floor between the aisles, pink rose petals to lie on it, and white flowers and white candles by the altar; flowering vines with pretty white flowers winded around the rail separating the altar from the rest of the church, and candles lay on the floor, like a path, and hanging suspended in air five feet above the priest's and her husband's heads. She was dressed in a muggle white strapless wedding gown with pearls and beads and shimmery embroidery and lace worked into the dress; a formfitting bodice and a graceful full skirt that formed a train at the back; she wore a veil. Voldemort's robes were black, as usual, but a silky gleaming black, with draping sleeves and coming almost to the floor.

The priest and Voldemort looked around; the priest smiled, while Voldemort merely glared at the white flowers and candles, and the rose petals on the floor and his wife in a muggle wedding dress...he was courteous enough, however, to soften his glare when he turned to face his wife, down the aisle from him.

"It's your wedding, Tom," she said, as if that explained everything. And in a way it did. She waved her wand one last time before putting it in a secret pocket within her dress and Pachebel's Canon started up out of nowhere; a beautiful piano piece she remembered hearing at a neighbor's wedding she went to, before Hogwarts. The priest gestured for her to walk down the aisle, and she did...gracefully, walking to her doom, she knew, but behind the veil, wearing a wedding dress at last, wearing pearls in her ears and around her neck, walking in elegant strappy white sandals, holding a bouquet of white lilies, she felt like a princess. She had of course been complete in her spell, including the necessary wedding accessories, but she didn't bother with makeup or doing her hair; she'd get married as herself, not some unnatural form of herself plastered in beauty products. If men didn't like her looks, that was their problem.

Walking to her doom; she saw Voldemort standing at the altar, getting ever closer...she didn't know why she kept on walking, but somehow she felt she had to do this. Not just for the wizarding world. Not just for her husband. But for herself.

Neither took their eyes off each other; she had put up so many pretty festive decorations, but all she saw was his cold red eyes watching her descent down the aisle. It was only a minute or so, but it felt like forever...

Voldemort was watching her...he had been single all his life and now he was to marry her...he had never expected getting married...sure when he was a small child he might have thought of his future once or twice, maybe seen himself settling down and having a family, but by the time he went to Hogwarts, he had his mind up that he wanted more in life...and he got oh so much more. And now it was like going in reverse back to that childhood dream after becoming something very close to what he fantasized about while just a Hogwarts student. Still...marrying her of all people...had he known when they had met each other, when she had been dragged into a battle by Potter, and had to fight his Death Eaters...or when he saw visions of Potter, he was often with her or some redhead...and now she was his soon-to- be wife, walking down the aisle; she looked a little nervous, a little reluctant and not sure of herself, but overall she seemed determined in a way...she had a purposeful stride.

She came to the altar, by his side, and the music died down. They were still standing about three feet apart, neither wanting to intrude on the precious space...

The priest opened the Bible and read the selection for marriage....Hermione was paying attention to every word, and as she looked over, she was surprised that Voldemort was too.

Finally the priest came to the end...

"You sir, do you take Hermione Granger to be your lawfully wedded wife, until death do you part?" the priest asked.

Voldemort looked startled at being addressed so politely, or maybe it was the mention of his future wife, or parting at death...or a combination of the three. He nodded and in his high cold voice hissed, "I do."

Hermione looked at him as if he had grown an extra arm...she had never expected those words to be directed at her from Lord Voldemort, resident Dark Lord, Heir of Slytherin...said person merely flashed her a nasty smile. The priest turned to her.

"Ma'm, do you take Tom Marvolo Riddle to be your lawfully wedded man, until death do you part?"

Hermione looked transfixed with something close to horror as she uttered the two words that would change her life forever. "I do," she whispered.

"I now pronounce you wizard and wife. You may now kiss the bride," the priest said.

Hermione's eyebrows shot up at 'kiss;' surely she wouldn't have to? But then, she was getting married...she hardly noticed as Voldemort slid the gold band on her finger, and she slid it on hers – rings the priest had received earlier that day from Dumbledore.

Voldemort looked at her; she was too young for this; he was so much older, and it just wasn't right...but why was he clamming up now? Why was his morals showing up now, of all times? He had done much worse things to girls even younger than her...

It was to be perhaps, the first kiss in his life...he couldn't remember the last time kissing someone or being kissed in return.

He reached out his hand and slowly lifted the veil covering her face, pulling it back, exposing her face. He cupped his hand around the back of her head, and his other arm he brought around her waist, pulling her to him, closing the three-foot distance. He raised his eyebrows slightly as if to say "Well?," never removing his eyes from her petrified face. Tom leaned closer to her, and sealed his lipless mouth on her glossed parted lips. Her pupils contracted before returning to their normal size, and surprisingly, she deepened the kiss, wrapping her arms around him. Later she wouldn't know why she did it...it just felt so right...

At last they broke free, needing to breathe. Nothing could be heard except each other's heavier-than-normal breathing...

"What did I just do?" Hermione asked, as if trying to assure herself that it wasn't true.

"You married me, of all people," Voldemort said, amused at her reaction.