A/N: So I underestimated a bit and didn't know that I had as much as I did left in me to write for this story. I decided - at 12 pages on what I had originally wrote - to half this chapter up into 40 and 41. I had only intended it to be 40 chapters, as many of you know, but it was just entirely too long to be one chapter. Hope that doesn't annoy too many of you. Now, the thanks and then the chapter. Thanks to: katrin4p, Youko-sama, the. dead. addict., Gueneviere, blindfaithoperadiva, Hater-of-heartless-critics, Autumn's-Smile, evilangel-001, Skavnema, ebonyquill, Vera-Sabe, sarahyyy, ellamalfoy8, fatcakes, 113crc, KoolAidNightmare, Barranca, Jenny-Beth, Charmanth, Alana84, NovelGurl, and Just Bee 26. And finally, as I said, the chapter...

Chapter 40 – A Wedding Night Ruined

"What are you babbling about?" Tom hissed as he held Hermione by her elbows, willing her to calm herself. "Say it again... this time slowly."

She sighed and shook her head.

"We have to find that guy."

"What guy?" Riddle asked.

"He looks incredibly like you," she explained. "He's a bit taller with lighter hair and a thinner, more pointed nose, but he looks exactly like you otherwise."

"And his looking as I do is a crime?" Tom inquired somewhat confusedly.

"No!" she breathed in exasperation. "Don't you realize who he is?" When Tom shook his head, she threw up her arms in exasperation, knocking his hands away from her. "He's the real Aramis," she snarled through gritted teeth. Realization dawned on Riddle's face, and he suddenly got a distant look in his eyes as he began formulating a plan.

"Okay," he muttered, "okay. We need to... we need to find him. Where did you say you last saw him?"

"When we were leaving the church. He was in the crowd, trying to shove his way to the front and bellowing to us. I'm surprised that you didn't see or hear him."

"It was a little hard over the bells," Riddle snipped. "But that's irrelevant right now. We need to find him. Surely he'll try to sneak in with the entertainers for tonight... if he's smart, that is."

"I just hope that he doesn't raise any sort of alarm," Hermione fretted. "And what do we do with him once we spot him?"

"We'll need to lure him away from everyone. I could Imperius him to do that," Tom plotted. "And then we'll need to erase his memory and send him away."

"But what if he spots us first and causes a commotion?" she presented. "In fact, what if he's in town right now causing a riot?"

"It wouldn't be in his favor to do that," Riddle dismissed. "He'll wait until he can corner us and prove that he's right. At least that's what I would do."

"All right, but what happens when he gets one up on us and corners us? What if he reveals that he's the real Aramis and-"

"We'll just have to be alert enough to see him first. That's all there is to it."

Hermione had a bad feeling about this plan, and her doubt couldn't be more unnerving.

Riddle glanced around. The night was growing late, and the festivities had been moved inside for the draw of gnats, mosquitoes, and other flesh eating bugs and pests. Not to mention most of the people were getting ready to leave, yet something bothered Tom immensely. The real Aramis had not bothered to show his face and there was no sign of usurping in the slightest. There had been no whispers of an odd young man in town and certain no sign of oddment in the entertainers that would suggest he was disguised as one.

Turning to Hermione, who was latched to his left arm, Riddle leaned towards her and whispered in her ear.

"Have you see any sign of disturbance or noticed the man again?" he inquired, making a shiver run the length of her spine as his breath warmed the already burning skin of her ear.

"Not the slightest," she muttered back. "And it's growing hot and tiresome in here... not to mention I can no longer stand the smell of alcohol."

The room had taken on the odor of a dirty bar tavern from the drink after drink that had been poured. Vodka, champagne, wine, rum, and other foul stenched beverages that brought on drunken states and merriment in the wedding party guests. Hermione had even glimpsed the Count and Countess Montagu as the Count became sick and deposited the contents of his stomach into a vase out in the hallway. Hermione grimaced at the thought and shook her head.

"Your face is the brightest shade of red I've ever seen," Riddle announced to her in slight worry as she huffed out a breath, tried to shift herself in her dress, and dabbed sweat from her brow with a lace handkerchief she had been given by Mary earlier. "How about some fresh air."

"And a change of clothes," Hermione suggested.

They had no more than glanced at the door to the ballroom when the King, who was quite tipsy and hiccuping his every sentence, stood from his seat at the head of the hall beside the Duke and called attention to him.

"To my-" a hiccup, "daughter and-" hiccup, "son-in-law." Another hiccup escaped him, and he began falling to the right, only to be caught by the very unsteady Duke and some servants as eyes turned to Hermione and Tom.

"That's the fifteenth toast he's made to us," Tom murmured to her through clenched jaw as he forced a smile.

Everyone stared for only a moment as their attention was drawn back to the King who called for more liquor to be brought out from the cellar's supplies. A vase in the corner of the room was knocked over as Mary and Janessa laughed loudly and playfully batted at twin soldiers. The attention was then turned again to the King, who roared out the chorus of some unknown song which he didn't even seem to know the words to, but was soon joined by the Duke, Count Montagu, and others.

Hermione and Tom saw this as their chance to slip from the room without notice. However, neither had figured that the King would call for them to join in.

"Ana! You remember this so- Ana? Child, where are you going?" boomed his majesty.

"Uh... we were just going to get some fresh air," Hermione called back.

"Ah ha, yes!" her pretend father laughed rapturously. "Fresh air," he echoed with a snort and an elbow to the Duke's side, causing him to slosh his drink down the front of him. "Then do not let me stop you! I should enjoy the grandchildren that will come of this night!"

Hermione, had she been better prepared, might not have choked on the air she was breathing as those words fell from the King's mouth. Her heart stopped and then immediately began to beat frantically against her chest as though something was about to plunge a knife in it. She glanced to Tom who seemed to have stopped breathing altogether. His face was a bright shade of hot pink, and his ears rivaled the color of a supremely ripe tomato. She forced a lopsided grin to those around them and grabbed Tom's sleeve as he seemed rooted to the spot, catcalls following them as she pulled him from the room.

Once out in the hall, she shivered and shook herself from the thought and the malodorous stench of the room. Riddle, on the other hand, had pressed his face to the wall in an attempt to cool the heat that had rushed to his cheeks and ears. He slanted his head against the cool stone and glanced at her as another garbled song began to drift merrily from the drunks in the ballroom. She returned his gaze and soon found herself fighting a smile; it was a fruitless attempt though as a smirk spread her face into brilliant gaiety. Shortly after, she found her shoulders shaking with the attempt not to laugh.

Tom pushed himself away from the wall as she let out a ringing peal of laughter that echoed the length of the corridor. He stared at her as though she had something growing from the tip of her nose as she bent forward and began clutching her sides as she laughed some more.

"You're as mad and drunk as that old fool in the room," Riddle administered as she tried to stand, but found herself unable as another bout of laughter overcame her and she began slapping her knee in obvious amusement.

"Your," she chuckled out. "Your... face!"

"What?" he snapped.

"Your face," she managed again as she stood and wiped away a tear or two. "It was... it was the most vivid shade of coral I've ever seen."

"Oh yes, very funny," he uttered as he rolled his eyes, but his efforts to look displeased were short lived as the infectious smile on her face spread to his. He snickered at the memory of the King stumbling about the platform on which his throne was and soon found himself joking with her about the guests as they linked arms and headed for her bedroom.

By the time they reached her quarters, both were breathless and unaware of the shadow-clinging guest who had trailed them since they left the corridor outside the ballroom.

Hermione pushed open the door and stepped inside, unhindered as Riddle followed and dropped down onto the bed. He kicked off his boots and removed the badges from his jacket as she began rummaging in her wardrobe for a comfortable dress. She flipped past hanging garment after hanging garment, the glimmer of the ring on her left hand finally catching her attention. She stared at it and then looked back over her shoulder at Tom. He was laying on his back on the bed, his legs dangling over the edge as he tossed his badge into the air and caught it, much like a cat frolicking with a ball.

She bit down on her lip and continued to gaze at him for a moment, and she found that the longer she looked at him, the more she wanted to talk to him about their marriage. Was it real? Did he take into consideration the vows as much as she had? Was he all right with pretending? Would it disappear if and when they got back to the future? Her heart gave a terrible pang, and she sighed as she crossed to her vanity and sat down.

She looked up into the mirror to see that he was propped up onto his elbows and staring at her reflection as she stared at his. He had stopped tossing his badge about and had a serious, yet kindly contemplating expression on his face.

"What's wrong?" he questioned carefully, his voice the tone a mourner would use with someone who had just lost a close friend or family member. Did he think she was mourning herself for the situation she was in with him?

"Is it," she began, but found herself tongue-tied and losing courage to confront him about her thoughts and his. She sighed and removed her gaze from the mirror to the surface of the vanity before her.

Her hands laid there delicately, and she found herself marveling at the difference she would have once seen in them if she had been at Hogwarts right now. They would have been covered with darkening spots on the fingertips and sides from ink due to writing essay after essay for her as well as Ron and Harry. They might have even had a bandage or two from Potions where she might have cut her finger while preparing ingredients. But never had she imagined that they would look so frail and pale, thin, delicate, and unlike her own. She certainly had never imagined that she would be seventeen and wearing a wedding band.

"Is what?" he inquired, and she became aware that he had removed himself from the bed and closed the distance between them. His hands brushed her shoulders and gave a comforting squeeze as she tried to rebuild her courage.

Meanwhile, neither were aware of the eyes that watched them so intently from the shadows outside the door that stood ajar.

"Is this... this marriage... Is it real?" she finally quizzed. "Is it real to you?"

"To me?" he repeated, catching the significance in those two simple words.

He inhaled deeply and moved to her left side, kneeling and looking up at her profile. It hit him suddenly that she was his wife now. But did she consider him her husband? Was that why she had ask? 'No. You know why she asked. She asked you if it was real as though she were hurt by the thought of you thinking it wasn't. You had thought about those words carefully today before saying 'I will', so why shouldn't it be real?' he thought to himself.

"I meant what I said today, Hermione," he uttered softly, taking one of her hands in his and raising the other to touch her chin. He turned her face to him and stared at her with eyes of ebony truth. "I meant everything. I will love you, comfort you, honor you, keep you, cherish and forsake all others for you." Tears welled in her eyes. "I promise you that I will."

"No matter what?" she pleaded weepily.

"No matter what," he promised with a nod of his head and an affectionate rub of her chin.

She grabbed the hand that held hers with both of her own now and gave it a squeeze as tears danced at the corners of her eyes, mere seconds from falling as the door to her bedroom creaked open fully.

Her head snapped around as Riddle jumped to his feet. They both stared as though seeing as ghost as Aramis, the real one, walked into the room with Porthos behind him.

"Sorry to intrude upon your sentimental moment, dear Princess, or should I say... what was it he called her?" Porthos inquired as he brandished a pistol at the couple before him and glanced to his accomplice.

"Hermione?" offered Aramis, his voice instantly striking up mistrust in Hermione's heart as fear laced through her body.

The intruders were both holding weapons, Porthos a pistol and Aramis a sword, and they were now closing the bedroom door.

"Imagine my surprise," Porthos began as he stepped further into the room, "as I lay in a hospital bed, my injuries slowly healing," here he gestured to his side, the clothes there bulking from bandages. "And lo and behold, who should happen upon my bedside but Aramis?" Porthos gave a laugh and looked to the young man beside him with his dark brown hair and thin, protruding nose.

"I must confess that he wasn't happy to see me," Aramis picked up. "I mean, we had our rivalries as boys, but his hatred towards me was astonishing. I who had helped he and his father countless times by ridding ourselves of pestilential servants and even that satanic witch from town. So... I thought he was mad with fever and demanded to see his father, the General."

Porthos sneered at Riddle at the mention of General Mardon. It would seem that the blond-haired son of the corrupt military leader had caught wind of Tom's defeat of his father on the cliffs of Siren Hollow.

"I was very much in shock to hear that the good General was, in fact, dead and supposedly by my own hand," Aramis continued as he stepped towards the bed and flicked the comforter with the tip of his sword, cutting the fabric open. Hermione paled at the thought of what it might do to flesh. "I denied this accusation fervently, and Porthos began thinking that I was fevered. He asked me why I was not at the church getting married to my precious Princess. I had no idea I was to be betrothed, so I left to find out for myself."

Hermione felt herself growing steadily sicker as Aramis began his recount of seeing her and the King entering the church and then she and Tom exiting the same place. He scoffed his congratulations while Porthos growled menacingly like a rabid dog held by a fast breaking chain. It would seem he was about to snap at any moment.

"When Aramis returned," Porthos resumed as Aramis laughed and stared at his double who was angered by a rather crude comment made towards Hermione, "I began to take in the changes in his appearance. I'm sure you see them even yourself. I realized then that the Aramis who was marrying the Princess that day was, in fact, an impostor. To further my belief in this miraculous conclusion, the real Aramis," here he gestured to his evil companion who was fixedly regarding Hermione with a fascinated and scary sort of stare, "regaled me with the tale of how he murdered the real Princess and her lover, the baker's son."

"It was quite entertaining. Shall I relay it to you as well?" Aramis interjected with a merciless laugh as Hermione felt her eyes go wide with fear and her lip quiver. The real Princess was dead; the poor King, if he knew, it would break his generous heart. "I tracked them for quite some time," Aramis began when no one objected to his retelling of the tale. "Weeks even. Finally, I caught up with them outside some little church in a forest-surrounded town. I stalked them silently as they took up residence in a barn, and the baker's son began trying his luck at working for a baker in that village."

Riddle shifted his weight, and Porthos aimed his pistol with a steadier hand and narrowed eyes as though to tell Tom to remain still and not even think about retaliating.

"I watched for a night or two while they sat as lovebirds in their cage of a barn, talking of the future and the children that they were to have. I had heard enough to last a lifetime, so I burst in and put a bullet to the young man's head. Of course the Princess squealed her head off and cried over his lifeless body as she pleaded for her own life and begged to know why I had killed her one true love. I laughed and taunted her for a while with the tale of how Porthos and the General were back at her castle home, posed to poison the King and overthrow the throne. She cried and pleaded with me to leave her father alone, but I just laughed and served her the same fate as her lover."

Hermione's body convulsed, and she felt bile rise in her throat. She was sitting in the room with a man who made her skin crawl as he talked about his merciless murder as one would talk about getting perfect marks on a school project.

"It was quite a scene that farmer found the next morning when he brought them breakfast. Their bodies surrounded in a pool of crimson straw and blood. The back of their heads blo-"

"Enough!" Riddle shouted as Hermione turned her head and winced from the foul image Aramis was putting into her head.

"I wonder if the King and the servants will be as sick and startled when we do it to you two," Aramis snickered manically. Riddle couldn't believe that he had once murdered just as carelessly as this man; it was apparent then that Hermione had made a conscience grow in Tom.

Hermione's fingers fumbled at her sleeve as they rested in her lap. If she could just get her wand from inside the arm of her dress and get a firm grip on it, she would take Porthos out because he posed the most threat to them with his pistol. Then surely Riddle could brandish his own sword and battle with Aramis long enough for her to make sure Porthos was out and then rid themselves of the other nuisance.

"Who shall we get rid of first?" Aramis inquired of Porthos.

"I want to get my hands on your impostor to avenge my father," Porthos grumbled through clenched jaw as he glared daggers at Tom. "But we mustn't do it here; the noise will draw far too much attention, and we run risk of being heard."

"Fine. We'll take them into the woods near Siren Hollow Cliffs. You can kill that sorry bastard, and I can have my wedding night with Princess Hermione," Aramis plotted with a sadistic grin as he glanced the length of Hermione's body.

Riddle's nostrils flared and his jaw became taut as he looked upon the real Aramis with pure hatred. Tom shook his arm as though angered, but he was really trying to remove his wand from his sleeve. He thanked Merlin that Hermione sat before him, hiding his efforts to loose his weapon.

"Find something to tie them with," Porthos ordered as he kept his gun trained on the couple at the vanity.

Aramis nodded and turned his back, and as soon as he had, both Tom and Hermione raised their wands in the blink of an eye and cast their curses.

"Stupefy!" Hermione and Tom cast in unison. Two jets of red lightning-like light shot from their wandtips and blasted Porthos from his feet. His pistol fell to the floor as he hit the wall behind him with a tremendous force.

Aramis whipped around and pointed his sword out in front of him, instantly bewildered by the fact that his partner was unconscious, slumped against the wall as Tom and Hermione stood aiming two long, thin, wooden rods at him.

"What did you do to him?" Aramis demanded as Tom stepped past Hermione and held out his wandless hand as though to hold her back and shield her from harm.

"Serpensortia!" snarled Riddle as he gripped his wand tighter and grit his teeth.

A gun-metal gray snake burst from the end of the wand, and Aramis instantly dropped his arm to his side, the sword clattering to the floor as his face dawned an awed looked.

"What d'you... what's... how d'you?" stammered Aramis as he held up his hands to shield himself from the snake as it slithered across the floor and started to raise itself up, ready to strike. "Make it go away!" shouted the real Aramis D'Artagnan.

Tom just smirked nastily and watched with pleasure as the eight foot, slithering stalker struck out to intimidate its prey. Apparently it was working because Aramis stammered more foolishly, the color draining from his face.

"Make it go away!" he repeated in a terrified tone as the snake did a sort of dance with its head and sized him up. Aramis stamped his foot at the creature, hoping to make it turn tail and move away from him, but it only hissed angrily.

"Careful," Tom warned. "Don't upset it. You wouldn't want such a beautiful creature to see you as a threat. She's a Black Mamba, named for the color on the inside of her mouth, but her victims wouldn't know that. Most don't live because she's one of the largest, most venomous snakes in the world."

Hermione felt terror grow in her as she drew her legs up onto the vanity seat with her while the thin, gray beast hissed as though in a trance. Riddle chuckled darkly and aimed his wand at Aramis.

"Petrificus Totalus," Tom whispered as though taunting Aramis with the knowledge of what those two words meant. However, the frightened young man soon found out as his limbs clung to his body, and he tottered, unbalanced by the sudden drawing in and constricting of his body.

He toppled forward onto the floor, and the Black Mamba hissed loudly in a mad fit as it lunged forward and attached itself to the petrified neck of Aramis. Hermione gasped and turned her head quickly as Tom bid the snake to do something in Parseltongue. Hermione heard Aramis groan three more times, and when she peeked over her shoulder, she saw three more wounds that weeped red tears.

"Riddle, please!" Hermione begged as Tom started to hiss out more directions.

He turned and saw the ghostly pale color of her skin as she shook and sat with wide, unblinking eyes of pure horror. He pointed his wand silently at the snake, and it incinerated on the spot beside Aramis who now lay moaning, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as a sweat broke out onto his body and something disgusting leaked from the corner of his mouth.

"Are you all right?" Tom inquired as he looked away from his handiwork and back to Hermione, who was trying to stand, but was too shaky to manage without holding onto the vanity.

He noticed now the odd color of her skin. She had been deathly white a moment ago, but now she was growing to be a moldy sort of gray. She looked like death was at the doorstep of her life, about to enter the house. He stepped closer and grabbed her hand as he looked her over for any sign of injury. Surely nothing had happened to her, right? She had been sitting within his watch. He was sure she hadn't been shot; the handgun had never fired. He was certain she hadn't been stabbed or bitten, and he could see nothing that said otherwise anywhere on her body.

"Hermione, what's the matter?" he asked, his voice somewhat frantic as he looked into her eyes; they were no longer the gorgeous chocolate brown he enjoyed, but a light, honey brown as though fading.

He squeezed her hands; they were warm and that was a good sign. Tom touched her cheek and saw something at alarmed him even further. He, too, was becoming an odd shade of grayish skin. He held out his hand in front of him and felt his stomach do an odd flip as he realized that he could see the light through his hand. But wasn't that impossible.

"Her-mi-nee," his voice faltered and sounded weird to him, almost as though it were clouded by static and unnecessary, unwanted breaks in syllables and sentences.

"Tom!" Hermione shrieked, her voice echoing as everything went black. It would seem that they had both passed out.