A/N: This chapter is horridly long. And it took even longer to write. I hope that it pleases everyone, and I pray that I haven't lost readers. There's only one more chapter left to this story - thank goodness; I'm starting to hate it. So I'll give my thank you's and let you get to reading. Thanks to: DeceptiveFates, Autumn's-Smile, YELLOWMONKEY520, Gueneviere, the. dead. addict., SweetChaosAndRevenge, Seed-of-Flame, emeraldice77, ellamalfoy8, libaka, fatcakes, Charming-Lynn, Tigger-180, Alana84, NovelGurl, Barranca, evilangel-001, Vera-Sabe, sarahyyy, ebonyquill, SoraXNamine, fR3ak, Talenyn01, blindfaithoperadiva, and 113crc.
Chapter 39 – Wedding Day Worries
The remainder of time up until the night before the wedding day had been nothing but time full of doubt, worry, anxiety, and irritation. Mary and Janessa hadn't left Hermione alone about preparations and such while everyone else in the castle bustled about. Its many guests, who were all of royal meanings, either caught her and wished her luck or gave her tips while servants of the place came rushing by to care for something or someone.
She had gotten so fed up with hearing about how beautiful she would look and how she needed something borrowed, something new, something old, and something blue. In fact, she had stayed shut up in her room away from all the guests just to be able to relax away from the commotion.
She hadn't even talked to Tom Riddle for that matter. They hadn't much to say to each other whenever they took the time to be together, so they left each other alone in order to avoid the awkwardness. For instance, whenever they sat in the presence of the other, it was nothing but inconvenient silence and quick, stolen glances. So the two had come to an unspoken agreement to give the other the time that they needed to think alone and sit in peace without feeling the other's uncertain eyes upon them.
Hermione heaved a sigh and drew her knees up to her chin. She was sitting in the middle of her bed, her eyes burning with the urge to fight back tears, and her stomach tying itself in knots. Tomorrow was the day; the wedding was nearly there. There was no backing out now, and she knew that because she had came to that conclusion earlier in the day when the King had told her just how proud he was of her. Heaving another shuddering sigh, she felt her throat constrict a little tighter. She wanted to clear her head and sleep without trouble, but that was impossible at the moment. Hoping that a walk might cure her, she rose from the bed, threw on a robe, and headed out into the corridors.
It was just after ten and the castle's occupants all seemed to be snoozing or doing something relaxing in their rooms because no one roamed the halls, not even the servants. She felt so alone and targeted in that moment as she wandered the hallways that she became immensely homesick. She wanted to hear Harry's voice, Ron's laugh, see Ginny's smiling face, hear Peeves cackle and sing, and even the scolding of Professor Snape as she tried to assist Neville in class.
Hermione sniffled and blinked away the tears that were now stinging her eyes, and as she rubbed her cheek with the back of her hand to remove a stray tear, she heard something behind her. She turned around and saw someone strolling up the corridor with their hands in their pockets and their head cast to the floor. She recognized the outline immediately and didn't need the wane light of a nearby room to tell her that it was Riddle.
His eyes landed upon her feet, and he looked up, his onyx orbs trailing the length of her body until they fell upon her face. He stared for a moment before exhaling heavily.
"Tomorrow... I never thought that it would strike me so," he administered in a little more than a mumble. "Although I never imagined that something like this would even happen. I certainly never thought that I would be pacing the corridors of a castle in 1797 at this hour the night before a wedding that I was to be the groom in."
She nodded her understanding and swallowed deeply against the lump that was choking out tears. She had no idea what to say to him, and she feared that if she opened her mouth, she would expressed the fear of marrying him and the wish that she didn't have to now. However, Hermione figured that he already understood her classic cold feet symptoms and so she remained silent instead.
"I suppose we're just suffering from nervous disorders," he half-heartedly chuckled, trying to make her smile at least while seemingly reading her mind. "I'm sure that once we've gotten this over with, and we get to work on what's important, then we'll be just fine. I mean, it's not like it's the end of the world, this marriage... right?"
Again she nodded and hugged herself, clutching her elbows tightly. She accidentally let a sniffling hiccup escape her; the sound of it shattering the silence between them and finally making him see just how truly terrified of this marriage she was.
"Hermione, listen," he uttered softly, pulling a hand from his pocket and reaching out to her. His fingertips brushed gently across her knuckles; her hands were still clutching her elbows as she hugged herself. He was so unsure of what to say to soothe her, so he reached out both hands, placing them atop her own. "It'll be all right; it's nothing too serious. We're just going to look at it as we said we were."
He watched as a tear slid down her cheek in gentle, slick, and noiseless way. He wondered now if it was fear for the wedding in the form of cold feet, or was she horrified by the thought of marrying him.
"Let's leave," he whispered instantly as an idea sprang to him. "We can Apparate to the cave where Meg was and go by foot from there. Or maybe we can Apparate to Bluffshire!" His voice was filled with whispered excitement; he didn't know why he hadn't thought of that idea sooner.
She looked up into his face to see the expression that accompanied such enthusiasm in his tone and saw his eyes glittering with anticipation for her agreement. Behind that anticipation, she thought she sensed something like concern for her. That little bit of sparkling care reinforced her belief in him and the fact that they had to stay until the wedding was over.
"We have to wait until the wedding is through with. Once we're done with that, I'm sure that things will settle for us, just a tad anyways. We have to do as we said before," she assured him with an unfaltering gaze. "We can't raise any kind of alarm by running away, okay?"
He sighed and the excitement slipped from his eyes as he glanced to the floor for a moment.
"Fine," he muttered solemnly while a clock nearby struck the hour of eleven. "It's getting late, and we've got to be up early... Besides, it's supposedly bad luck to see the bride on the day of the wedding before the ceremony, and it will be midnight before we know it. Not that I believe in those silly superstitions, might I add."
"All the same," Hermione remarked, "I don't think we should chance it; there's no need for anymore bad luck."
"Yeah," he breathed in a half laugh. "I'll walk with you back to your room."
She nodded, and they set off at a slow pace for her quarters. A few lamps inside some of the rooms extinguished as they walked by; a sign that the last insomniacs of the castle were finally fading into sleepy states. Minutes dragged by in silence, just as they had before. She became startled when his hand brushed hers while walking. They didn't even bother to look at each other as he tucked his hands back into his pockets while she crossed her arms over her chest.
Tom suddenly became aware of her breathing when an almost inaudible exhale of slight boredom, or maybe nervousness, jumped from her lips. The subtle movements of her shoulders and chest as she walked along beside him caught his eye. She glanced at him and the rise of her shoulders paused at their peak as her gaze lingered. He didn't bother to look away though; she had been staring at his pockets where his hands rested in relaxed partial fists rather than his face. Pondering for a moment, he hesitated, but then finally removed his long-fingered hands from their hiding place. He stared straight ahead, waiting for confirmation of his thoughts that she wanted to take his hand for comfort.
Meanwhile, she chewed the inside of her lip, aware of the fact that he had placed his hands back into her reach. Trying to act nonchalantly, she brought up her delicate digits and scratched gently behind her ear while gazing around the corridor. They were halfway to her room, and she realized time was running out. Inhaling deeply as though bored by the silence, she pretended to unintentionally drop her hands back to her sides. Their pinkies brushed twice before Riddle finally stretched out his hand and caught hers within his.
A smile flickered on her lips, though she tried to hide it, and they continued on that way, hand-in-hand, silent, and somewhat relaxed until the came upon the door to her room. Neither looked at the other, nor did they speak right away, but they released the clasp of the other's hand and stared at the floor instead.
"I suppose I'll see you tomorrow in the church?" he commented in low tones.
"I suppose so," she replied just as quietly as she shifted to face him and looked upon his shadowy figure.
Tom watched her feet for a moment before bringing his eyes up to meet hers. He placed his thumb on her cheek and caressed it lightly.
"We've come pretty far, huh?" he mused.
"Yeah," she agreed while putting her hands around his waist and pulling herself closer to him. He embraced her before maneuvering so that she was looking up at him. He bent his neck slightly as she pressed upward on the tips of her toes. Their lips met in an all too sweet, subtle, and comforting kiss. At that moment, Hermione wondered what kissing in front of hundreds of people inside a church would be like tomorrow during their wedding. Would it be awkward or would it be as sincere as the chill-inducing exchange they were sharing right now? She couldn't be sure, but either way, she had calmed down some about the wedding.
Backing away, she gave him a small smirk before opening her door, all the while still facing him as she backed into her room and shut the door slowly. She turned to walk over to the bed when her door opened once more. Hermione looked back over her shoulder and saw Tom advance in one swift, large step. She turned fully as he reached out. One of his slender hands came to rest upon her shoulder while the other slid itself between her hair and her cheek. Before she knew it, she was drawn into another kiss by him, making it very apparent that their first kiss had been far too short for his liking and simply not enough.
A tingling sensation spread from her lips where the texture of his somewhat thin mouth against hers was sparking a passion within her. Her hands attached themselves atop his own before slinking along his forearms to his elbows. Her knees buckled, and he let his arms slide around her lower back. She clung to his neck now as their kiss prised the life from the other's mouth and left no room for either to breathe.
She was now pressed against him as his hold kept possession over her and refused to let her back away again. The feeling of him being so close and solid in front of her ignited something in her brain that drove her near mad as a feeling like a fiery arrow pierced her lower abdomen. He too felt a fiery sensation, but his burst in his veins and plainly screamed his need of her as an involuntary shiver traveled his spine when she let her fingers glide into his jet black hair. Their kiss was renewed a few times within the minutes that they stood there; neither were sure of what the time it was while their hands moved rapidly to grasp the other in place after place.
Suddenly regaining some composure and feeling that she should probably call a stop to things, Hermione pushed lightly against his shoulders, and he relinquished his grasp upon her midriff and lips.
"You should probably get going," she breathed heavily. "I mean, as you said, we've got to be up early, and I think we should wait before... well, just wait to continue this another time," she confessed whole-heartedly.
He rubbed the back of his neck where her hands had been and left their mark with a stirring, prickling sort of warmth. He gave a modest nod before stepping closer to her, bending forward, and placing a tender peck upon her cheek. Riddle backed off only an inch before whispering to her; his breath hot and shiver-inducing upon her skin.
"Good night," he bid before stepping back, turning, and leaving.
Her hands laid flat over her abdomen, pressing upon the skin, muscle, and tissue, willing the ardent feeling there to settle so she could sleep.
She had slept peacefully all night, and when she woke, she blushed at the remembrance of a dream she had had. Butterflies stirred and whirled in her stomach as she recalled the details in a bashful, but giddy mood.
She rose from the bed, her face rosy as a smile made her features glow in the early morning light. It was just after sun up, and Hermione had to be up and ready by ten so that she could be taken down to the church in the middle of town for the eleven o'clock wedding. Things in town were likely to be just as hectic as they were in the castle because everyone had taken up residency in the tavern rooms, inns, with family, and many were still arriving for the wedding from what she could see as she stared out the window.
She turned and looked around the room, wondering just how the day would come off. Last night had renewed her vigor for the wedding and Tom, and now nervous anticipation was mixing with glee inside her as she pondered what to do first. Should she hunt out Mary and Janessa so that she could bathe, or should she just sit in her bed until she was called upon? A docile rapping of someone at the door answered the question for her.
She no sooner turned toward the noise when the door creaked slowly open and the Duchess poked her head inside.
"Oh good! You're awake," she beamed as she opened the door fully and came in with Mary and Janessa behind her. "Your ladies have prepared a special bath for you. Come, come." The older woman crossed the room in a scurry of clunking heeled shoes on the floor. She swept Hermione towards the door as she talked about meeting up with her niece so that the young relation of hers could tend to the bride's hair for the event. "It'll be glorious, I assure you," Rodmilla continued to babble as they made their way down the hall.
It wasn't long before they were entering a room that smelled strongly of sweet scents. Hermione's stomach rumbled as the Duchess stood rambling about the latest fashions in Paris while Mary and Janessa grabbed a wooden bucket and began scooping some kind of liquid into Hermione's bath water. The steam of the water billowed about them, breaking their brows into an instant sweat.
"What is that?" the young Gryffindor girl inquired as she took a closer look at the tub and its contents, which weren't their normal clear state, but a cloudy, milky white.
"It's a special bath," Rodmilla replied before either Mary or Janessa could speak up. "It's a nice hot bath mixed with buttermilk, and we've even went into town this morning and bought you a particular soap with which to wash."
"A particular soap?" Hermione repeated with a questioning raise of her right brow.
"Yes," the Duchess answered with a nod while furrows sank into Hermione's forehead. "It's made with honey and oatmeal to scent your skin and leave it unblemished and smooth."
"Oh," the Hogwarts Head Girl uttered; she was still a tad uncertain about whole ordeal. "Then I'll take that," she said, forcing an awkward smile as she grabbed the soap from Mary and approached the bathtub, "and you may leave me to it."
"But you won't be requiring the assistance of your ladies in waiting?" Rodmilla quizzed in an unsure manner as she glanced to the two maids.
"The Princess never asks our assistance. Ever since she came back, it's been that way," Janessa responded for Hermione, who nodded her agreement and watched as the eldest of the three shrugged before she and the two maids left the room.
Turning back to her bath, Hermione breathed in the aroma and sighed contentedly; she was actually looking forward to this bath to relieve the tension and stress of the week.
Tom sat up in his bed like a bolt of lightning had hit him as a high-pitched, metallic clink and a dull, hollow clunk filled the once quiet room. He cast his wide eyes about quickly while his left hand flew under his pillow and gripped his wand.
A startled looking servant boy stood halfway between the bed and the door, a can of shoe polish and a wooden brush lay upon the floor around his feet as he clutched Riddle's black boots to his chest.
"I'm sorry, sir," the young child blurted as he got a fearfully apologetic look upon his face and scrambled to pick up the dropped items.
"That's fine," the older of the two mumbled as he released his grip on his wand, leaving it under the pillow. He rubbed his face and swung his legs out of bed. "What time is it?"
"It's just after eight, sir," the boy replied. "Shall I send for Milo, my brother, to have your badges and stuff polished as well?"
"Um... sure," Tom answered uncertainly. "What about a bath?"
"Madeline is waiting until I've brought news that you've awoken. George will be bringing up some breakfast for you while Maddie readies your tub," the small servant informed.
"Oh... all right," Riddle nodded, still slightly disoriented as he watched the boy stoop and gather what he had fumbled earlier before leaving with slight difficulty.
Riddle laid back on the bed and stared at the canopy for a moment, but soon his eyes were closed again, and he was drifting in and out of an odd dream about a boy who came to take his pillows to be cooked. Riddle wasn't sure how long he had been laying like he was, with one leg dangling over the edge of the bed and one arm as well, but he awoke as another servant, this one older, came in and cleared his throat loudly to bring Tom back to reality.
"Your breakfast, sir," the teenaged boy offered as Riddle shook his head, ruffled his hair, and blinked away the sleep from his eyes. George sat a tray on Tom's lap and began to speak again. "Is there anything that I can get for you now?" Riddle shook his head as he began tucking into his food. "I'll be waiting outside to remove the dishes when you've finished and then I'll clean your room. Madeline should be here in a half an hour." Again Tom nodded since his mouth was filled with egg this time.
"Ouch!" Hermione protest. She was sitting at a rather enormous vanity in Rodmilla's room while the Duchess sat holding up necklace and earring pairs, one after the other, trying to get the bride to decide on one while Janette, Rodmilla's niece, pulled and yanked a brush through Hermione's hair.
"I am sorree," she apologized for the umpteenth time in fifteen minutes as she pulled tiny wire bristles from Hermione's hair.
The Hogwarts Head Girl flinched, although it was not because Janette began ripping the brush through her hair again, but because she was starting to get a splitting headache, and Janette's Fleur-like accent wasn't helping the situation any. In fact, it only served to aggravate Hermione more, and she desperately wished that she could just be left alone to take care of the mess on her own.
Hermione grumbled something as Janette groaned and threw the brush over her shoulder, startling Mary and Janessa, who were grooming Rodmilla's dogs, which yipped and snarled at the thrown object.
"'Er 'air eez... just so-"
"Why not let me handle it," Hermione griped in a commanding tone rather than a questioning one before picking up a comb and picking at the knots. She winced and cursed under her breath as she untangled one frizzy ball after the other. "There," she finally sighed, laying down the comb while her head gave an enormous throb. She rubbed her temples and closed her eyes as Janette ran her fingers through Hermione's now soft and smooth hair.
"Much better!" Janette praised as she grabbed a small metal container whose contents chinked and rattled. She opened it and began sticking bobby pins between her lips as she started pulling Hermione's hair into all sorts of loops, twists, and buns.
"Nothing too extravagant, okay?" Hermione advised somewhat fearfully. She worried that her hair might end up piled a foot off her head and in a million bows and flowers.
"Sir?" a young servant girl of no more than fourteen called as she peeked into the room where Tom was bathing.
He turned and looked at her, a towel hanging about his hips and water beaded on his chest. She immediately swallowed and turned a bright, glowing strawberry color as she bowed her head and stared at the garments in her hands.
"If you're finished, the King has had your suit for the wedding brought to your room as well as your boots and badges, which have been freshly polished," she informed. "Here are some newly cleaned underclothes and a robe for you to put on until you get to your room." She laid the things on a chair by the door and then excused herself, her head still bowed as she turned quickly and scurried from the room.
Riddle crossed the room, removed the towel and dabbed himself dry, and then adorned the thin, cool, white attire. He grimaced at the thought of how stupid he must look in the form-fitting tights and tight, starched button-up. Shaking his head, he pulled on the robe and left the room for his own private quarters.
When he entered, he found the bed already made, his things laid upon them in and orderly fashion. He shut the door, shook off the robe, and tossed it onto a coat hanger by the wardrobe. He grabbed his slacks, pulling them on over his underclothes and leaving them unbuttoned as he thrust his feet swiftly into his gleaming black boots. He buckled them and stood, doing up the tie and button to his pants as someone knocked at the door.
"Come in," he called, not bothering to look at the door as he pulled on the jacket and began buttoning the fastenings.
The door flowed open without a peep from its aged hinges, the King studying Tom as he finished dressing and grabbed his badges to place them on the left breast of his uniform. Clearing his throat, the older of the two stepped further into the room, past the doorway, and shifted the fine oak box in his hand. Looking up, Riddle paused and waited for his visitor to speak.
"I see that the servants have everything in hand," he announced as he crossed the room, tucking the box under his arm before he straightened Tom's collar. "This suit is a fine fit on you. I must commend the tailor when I next see him."
Riddle still had yet to speak as he watched the other man shift the box and give it a good hard look before thrusting it at his future-son-in-law and heir.
"What's this?" the young groom asked as he held the box and eyed the King with a questioning, but respectful gaze.
"My wife's father passed it on to me, as he had no sons of his own, and now I'm passing it to you. I wore it only on special occasions... my wedding, my coronation, my first day as king, and at the birthing of my Ana. I hope you'll wear it for all your purposeful events as well."
Letting his brow furrow, Tom stared at the King for another moment as the man glanced somewhat anxiously from Riddle to the box and back again. Gaze sliding to the gift, Tom opened it and was surprised to see a brightly shining white leather belt with gold buckle and sword sheath fastening.
"Thank you, your majesty," Riddle murmured, removing the present from its case and disposing the wooden box upon his bed as he undid the buckle on the belt he was already wearing. He pulled the black leather strap off with ease and began threading the new white one through in the old one's place.
"You'll be needing this," the King informed as he grabbed the sword, which was inside its white gold sheath. The older of the two slid it through the fastening on Tom's belt and stood back to admire the look. "Let's hope it fits you longer than it did myself," the King chuckled as he heave a sigh and sat upon Tom's bed for a moment of silence.
Riddle was unsure of just what he should say, but he didn't have to ponder it long as the King began speaking again.
"You know, I came here to talk to you about more than just this belt," he muttered solemnly. "I want to address the matter of my daughter... and your future responsibilities together."
"Your majest-"
"Please," the King continued, holding up a hand to halt the interruption, "let me finish. My Ana is not as fragile as many would think, believe me I know... but that doesn't mean she doesn't need just as much love and care, if not more, than others. She's a special girl, with whom not only comes love and a lifelong companionship through marriage, but also a great deal of responsibilities. Upon your marriage and my resignation of the throne, the country is going to look to you for guidance and ruling, so do what you must with a peaceful mind and a peaceful heart. Let both be steady and sure, strong-willed and smart, and only think of my Ana and this country as well as your future children before deciding on something completely."
"I understand."
"I thought you would... Now, I've said my honest advice and previously given my blessing, so I'll alert you that the coach waiting to take you to the church will be arriving in a few moments. Now hurry." Rising, the King huffed out a labored breath and walked with regal determination toward the door. He left, and Riddle dropped onto the bed in his place, pondering if the King had addressed Hermione and what he might have said to her.
Hermione pulled back the deep crimson curtains of the carriage an inch and glanced out at the church as her ride slowed to a stop. It was a tall building of bronze-colored brick. She wondered how she couldn't have seen it from the castle before with its enormous steeple which housed an intimidatingly large bell. Some gray pigeons spotted the edge of the tower windows, and Hermione fervently wished that she could be as they were when one took flight and two more followed. Sighing, she wondered where Tom was and how he was doing.
"Nervous, my darling daughter?" asked the King from beside her.
She turned her head and found that she couldn't respond; her voice had left her in the moments of realization brought on by the stop of the carriage. She could now hear the sound of people gathered outside, calling their best wishes, love, adoration, and praises to her.
The King smiled warmly, encouragingly as he took in the beauty of the young girl he thought to be his daughter. It brought a tear to his eye as he glanced her flawless face, her elegant hair pulled into its bun with a crown of gems made to look like lilies, and her innocent glow in her wedding gown.
"I am so proud of you, Ana," he uttered softly.
She nodded and jumped a little as a thud sounded outside the carriage door and the crowd started to grow silent. The handle of the coach turned and clicked, and the King slid from his seat to exit the coach first.
"It's time, love," he said as he peered back inside.
Hermione's stomach clenched and did an odd somersault that made her breath come with a hitch. She felt sick as she slid forward on the seat and gave her white, elbow-length gloved hand to the King. Hermione grabbed some of the fabric near her knees and pulled her skirt hem to her ankles as she stepped out onto the wooden pedestal. It took nearly all her willpower not to clamber back into the carriage as awed eyes and bright faces gazed at her in reverence.
The King laced his left arm through her right and clutched her right hand in his left. She squeeze his arm, and she felt him shake a bit as he tried to suppress a chuckle with no success.
"Relax," he whispered as her eyes anxiously darted from left to right among the crowd. That's when she spotted something that made her heart leap into her throat and almost gag her.
She did a double take and saw a young man in the crowd who looked remarkably like Tom at first glance. As she stared at him, she noticed that his nose was slightly thinner and more pointed and that his hair was a lighter shade of dark brown instead of onyx like Riddle's. He seemed to be a bit taller, too, but other than those few differences, he was the young Dark Lord's double.
She tried to remain externally composed as she looked away, but on the inside, her nerves were doing odd dances as they tingled uncontrollably. Her stomach felt as though she had just jumped from a hundred feet or more with no parachute, and her chest felt as though she had swallowed an entire bucket of ice. She shivered slightly, despite the warm sun upon her, and became even more panic-stricken when she heard her name being called, or rather that of the Princess.
"Anastasia! Princess Anastasia! Princess Ana!" It was Riddle's double. He was pushing his way through the front of the crowd; he was obviously trying to keep parallel with Hermione and the King as he begged their attention. "Your majesty!"
Hermione prayed that the King would keep his eyes straight ahead as they started up the large stairs of the church. She felt her insides jolt as the bell overheard rang once and then twice. She let out an inaudible sigh of relief as they rang a third time and drown out the shouting young man, who, as Hermione looked back over her shoulder and saw, had been pushed back by curious Londoners as they tried to crowd the entrance and stained glass windows to watch the wedding.
Hermione felt somewhat less worried about the wedding now as she silently feared the interruption of the young man, which would in turn reveal that she and Tom were, in fact, frauds. What would they do to them if they found out that Hermione and Tom weren't who they had been pretending to be all this time? Would they hang? Would they have to make a hasty getaway to Bluffshire and risk exposure of the magical world?
She bowed her head and shook it slightly to rid herself of the thoughts as a procession of young women in flowing golden and silver dresses began following the King and herself towards the altar. Hermione tried not to look up at Tom because she knew that he would be able to read her panic at once and possibly mistake it for regret upon the wedding. That was one of the last things that she needed; she didn't need to make enemies with him or have quarrels pop up.
Before she knew it, they had passed the many rows of pews and were stopping before three stairs. It was now that Hermione noticed the music of a violin, piano, and harp. The sound produced by them wasn't the traditional wedding march, but it was a sweet, melodic, and soft tune that reminded her of something that would be played during a summer romance scene in a movie.
The King released her hand and pulled his arm from her own, fear sparkling in her eyes as he did so. He gripped her shoulders, kissed each of her cheeks, and lingered for a moment at her left ear as he whispered to her.
"Your mother would be so proud." He sniffled and turned to the right to walk to a raise platform upon which sat Mima, her family, Hermione's ladies in waiting, the Duke, and the Duchess.
Hermione turned away from the group as the King sat and took the handkerchiefs offered to him by the Duke and Mima. Hermione bit at the inside of her lip as she placed her foot upon the first stair, inwardly feeling apprehension against taking those last few steps to Tom, the altar, and the church official. Her feet barely touched even the edge of the three stairs as she ascended and then took the last two steps to Tom. He glanced at her in an expressionless way before turning back to the priest who began a Latin chant in an echoing voice. He crossed the air above them, and they both knelt as rustles of garments from the gathering behind them let them know that everyone had leaned forward and were now bowing their heads.
Hermione felt her legs quiver, and she worried that she wouldn't be able to get back up off the garnet and gold pillow on which she now knelt. A prayer escaped the stern lips of the priest as she and Tom kept their heads bowed. Riddle shifted, his shoulder brushing hers as he muttered to her while the pray was echoed by the watchers of the wedding.
"You look beautiful."
Her cheeks twinged, and a smirk perked the left side of his mouth as they sat up straight and then rose. Tom assisted Hermione and kept a tight hold on her hands with his as the church official began reciting the vows.
"Dearly Beloved, we are gathered together here in the sign of God – and in the face of this company – to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony, which is commended to be honorable among all men; and therefore – is not by any – to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly – but reverently, discreetly, advisedly and solemnly. Into this holy estate these two persons present now come to be joined."
Hermione felt her throat become like sandpaper as she thought about the words while the priest continued in his loud, dry, echoing drone. She recalled to mind the words 'honorable among all men' and 'is not by any – to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly'. Was she taking this lightly? Her stomach lurched, and she decided that she certainly wasn't. But was Tom?
"This occasion marks the celebration of love and commitment with which this man and this woman begin their life together. And now – through me – He joins you together in one of the holiest bonds," the priest continued as Hermione tuned back in to what he was saying.
Hermione looked to Riddle and saw that he was staring at the official with a glazed-eyed look. Was he even paying attention to what was being said? Was this, to Riddle, all just as they had said earlier? An act? The longer Hermione thought about it, the more she felt sick. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she swallowed against the dry, constricting lump in her throat. It wasn't an act to her. She was taking what the priest said seriously; that's how marriage vows were meant to be taken. To her, this was real.
"These moments are so meaningful to all of us, for what greater thing is there for two human souls than to feel that they are joined together – to strengthen each other in all labor – to minister to each other in all sorrow – to share with each other in all gladness," the priest called to Hermione, Tom, and the church at large. "This relationship stands for love, loyalty, honesty and trust, but most of all for friendship. Before they knew love, they were friends, and it was from this seed of friendship that is their destiny. Do not think that you can direct the course of love – for love, if it finds you worthy, shall direct you."
Riddle felt something pull at his heart after these words. It was as though his pump of life was snagged by a hook on a fisherman's line and was being dragged off out of Riddle's reach to where he had no control over it. Tom glanced to Hermione as though she were the one holding the reel which had cast this line, and instead, saw her gazing fixedly at their joined hands. The confused look upon her face and the words that had recently escaped the priest's mouth made him ponder their relationship.
Was this love? Had they been friends? He had never really, truly known friendship. He had those around him who had promised their loyalty, but they weren't friends. They were merely disgusting followers who were trying to watch out for their own backs. None of them had really cared for him as Hermione had. She had nursed him back to health, fought him with such passion where others would never have dared even look at him in a defiant manner. Love was obviously the courage that fired that passion. And most importantly, she had drawn forth feelings in him, like the one that had just occurred, when no one else had even done anything remotely like that.
It was in that instant that Tom realized that Hermione was and would be a friend to him when he needed it. He also realized that he felt something even deeper than friendship for her. The feelings she had stirred in him the night before when he kissed her both at her bedroom door and inside her bedroom had been completely foreign to him. The arousal was hot like fire, sparking at his limbs, muscle, veins, and brain. It had been enjoyable and frightening all at the same time. But had she felt the same? Was she feeling the same right now? Was this real to her, too?
The sudden announcement of Tom's name from the priest drew him quickly from his reverie, and he glanced at the older man who was standing beside him and Hermione.
"Do you Aramis D'Artagnan take Anastasia Marionette, Princess of England, to be your wife – to live together after God's ordinance – in the holy estate of matrimony? Will you love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer, for better, for worse, in sadness and in joy, to cherish and continually bestow upon her your heart's deepest devotion, forsaking all others, keep yourself only unto her as long as you both shall live?"
Tom thought for a split second, recalling some of the words of the promise just asked of him. 'Love her? Comfort her? Honor and keep her? To cherish and continually bestow upon her your heart's deepest devotion? Forsaking all others? Keep yourself only unto her?' He thought through those words again, the silent, anxious waiting of the church seemingly on pause to him, but not to Hermione who feared the split second pause.
"I will," Riddle finally answered in a calm, serious, and surprisingly truthful tone.
"Do you Anastasia Marionette, Princess of England, take Aramis D'Artagnan to be your husband – to live together after God's ordinance – in the holy estate of matrimony? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer, for better, for worse, in sadness and in joy, to cherish and continually bestow upon him your heart's deepest devotion, forsaking all others, keep yourself only unto him as long as you both shall live?"
"I will," Hermione repeated Tom without even a thought of pausing.
From behind Tom came Arthos with a silver platter resting on his palms. He held it up to the priest who grabbed two small, golden rings from tray. They were unmarked, but shone brightly in the sun that filtered into the high windows.
"May these rings be blessed as a symbol of this affectionate unity. These two lives are now joined in one unbroken circle. Wherever they go – may they always return to one another. May these two find in each other the love for which all men and women yearn. May they grow in understanding and in compassion. May the home which they establish together be such a place that many will find there a friend."
The priest handed both Tom and Hermione a ring and nodded his approval for them to slip them on the other's finger.
"May these rings on their fingers," the priest called as Tom finished placing his on Hermione's finger. She grabbed his hand and held the ring between her fingertips. "Symbolize the touch of the spirit of love in their hearts," the priest finished as Hermione looked meaningfully into Riddle's eyes and finished pushing the band into place. "May the rings represent a promise to one another that will forever remain unbroken – a promise of love, devotion, friendship, affection, and honesty."
The last words of the priest were garbled as Hermione became lost in the look that Tom was giving her. It was pure. It was honest. Overall, it was loving, affectionate, and promising. Doubts dissolved, and her heart lifted as the cheers of those around them sounded. She suddenly became aware of the fact that he had drawn her close to him. Her eyes glittered and a smile danced over her features as he lowered his mouth to hers in a simple, tender kiss that extracted a joyous wail from the Duchess and a whistle from Arthos.