Lord Voldemort stood on the frosty lawn outside Foss House and stared up at the twiggy, wintry remains of an oak tree. He stalked beneath the tree, his boots crunching on the dead leaves that had collected in piles on the ground. He walked with his hands behind his back, his wand gripped in one hand, and then he heard her voice.

"I killed a man."

"Yes, you did." Voldemort turned a little until he caught Hermione's eye. She was walking towards him, looking absolutely resplendent in a thick woolen cape with her hair tied into milkmaid braids. She appeared to be wearing a long velvet skirt, and she was clad all in black, Voldemort realised. She was dark today.

Maybe she would be dark forever. He blinked.

"I am not as sorry as I should be, perhaps," Hermione posited. "He did have his wand pointed at us, but my old self would have tried absolutely everything else. Stunning Spells. Charged Knockback Jinxes. Oppugno Jinxes and silly things like that. And I would have gotten myself killed, probably."

"But you didn't. Instead Fabian Prewett is dead and you are alive," Voldemort said quietly. He neared her and used his left hand to cup her jaw as he narrowed his eyes and demanded, "Are you sorry about Moody?"

She pursed her lips and shook her head. "You did what you had to do."

"Are you sorry about Dumbledore? About Bellatrix?" Voldemort raised his eyebrows, and Hermione shut her eyes. She was quiet for a moment, and then she said in a low murmur,

"Fred Weasley. Severus Snape. Remus Lupin. Nymphadora Tonks. Colin Creevey. Lavender Brown. And Lord Voldemort."

He knew what she was doing then. She was listing people who had been killed, in her past life, at the Battle of Hogwarts. She was listing the people who had died at a battle that would never come to pass if she had her way. She opened her eyes and insisted,

"We must avoid war. There can be no Order of the Phoenix. Not this time around. No more battles in the streets. You need to sic Mulciber, Nott, Avery, Rookwood, and Cygnus Black on this, Tom."

He nodded. He sucked on his lip and said, "I'd like for my followers to be as useful as possible. If I can command those who have shown me great loyalty to help stamp out any sign of opposition through memory wipes, Imperius Curses… we can't leave a trail of bodies, or the Ministry will be all over us."

"Precisely," Hermione nodded. "You need to get control of this before it eats you alive and turns into a war like it did in my lived existence. But that means shifting minds, not murdering people left, right, and centre. You can discuss the matter with Abraxas when he comes for dinner tonight."

"When he brings Sylvie to witness our handfasting, you mean." Voldemort tipped his head and reached for Hermione's hand. "We are getting married tonight, you and I."

She stared at the ruby ring on her left hand and asked gently, "Are you very certain that I am not a bigamist? That I'm not still married to Ron?"

"Ron isn't even born yet; how could you be married to him?" Voldemort snapped rather tightly. "No. You're not married. You're mine. My Dark Lady. You've said it before, time and time again, that you belong to the Dark Lord. Is it true, Hermione?"

She raised her eyes to him and looked so beautiful that his stomach ached. She nodded and whispered,

"I belong to the Dark Lord."

Abraxas and Sylvie were late. Two minutes late, but, still, Voldemort was pacing anxiously in the midnight blue parlour as he waited for them to arrive. Hermione was coming down once Abraxas and Sylvie had come; Sylvie would go upstairs to fetch her down. So Voldemort was alone, stalking in front of the marble fireplace like a caged rat. He finally plunked himself down at the piano and began rather angrily drilling out chords of a Prokofiev piece that his orphanage matron had prohibited him from playing because it had been "distasteful."

"My Lord, sir?" He could just barely hear Tancy's little voice exclaiming over the violent piano, and he looked up to see the House-Elf jumping up and down, trying to get his attention. Tancy had clad herself in a neat little black velvet creation Hermione had made for her for tonight, and it looked rather funny and odd and just a little adorable on the creature. Voldemort raised his brows at Tancy, who cried out, "The Malfoys is here, My Lord! I is bringing them in for you, sir!"

"Yes. Thank you. Send Madame Malfoy up to get the Dark Lady." Voldemort stood from the piano bench, and he straightened his tuxedo robes. He tugged at his sleeves and at his waistcoat, smoothing and straightening until everything was just so. He cleared his throat and walked to stand in front of the fireplace, and then he saw Abraxas Malfoy striding through the arched doorway, looking regal. His ice-blond hair had been pulled back into a queue, and he was wearing very formal black brocade robes that managed not to upstage Voldemort but still exuded ritual. He held his hands out and then bowed very respectfully as he entered the room.

"My Lord," he murmured. "What a marvelous occasion. How very honoured Sylvie and I are to be a part of it all."

"Yes, well. There would have been a grand wedding, if our enemies hadn't confronted us in Diagon Alley," Voldemort said primly. "I'd like you to organise a squad of people with access to The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, to other important records, to the Daily Prophet… people who hear things and know things. I want you to have these people root out anybody who's got a bone to pick with me. Anyone who seems like they're going to act on their disappointment with me needs to have their mind altered. No more violence."

"Of course, My Lord," Abraxas nodded. "And you should know that Rookwood and Yaxley have already done all the work fully expunging yours and the Dark Lady's records at the Ministry. As far as the Ministry of Magic is concerned, what happened was self-defence. There are no active warrants for arrest, as of today. No bounties."

"Well, that is a relief," Voldemort sighed. "Hermione will be glad to hear it."

"Sylvie's telling her," Abraxas nodded. "We thought she might want to know, before her wedding, that she is not a wanted criminal. The Wizengamot ruled this morning that you were on the receiving end of an attack and that you had no choice but to cast an Unforgivable."

"I thought they didn't make those sorts of exceptions," Voldemort said, narrowing his eyes, but Abraxas said with a little cough,

"It's amazing what a room full of easily-influenced people will do without Albus Dumbledore there dictating their every move, My Lord."

"Quite so." Voldemort was pleased then. The incident in Diagon Alley had dominated headlines in the Daily Prophet, and apparently opinions on what had happened were quite mixed in the public. Some had been very afraid that one of the Killing Curses could have hit an innocent bystander. Others understood the position Hermione and Voldemort were in. Some people interviewed thought the enemies who had attacked Voldemort were insane, and stressed that Voldemort's message for Britain was right and just. Others expressed scepticism about just who this climbing "Lord Voldemort" thought he was.

"The bride has arrived!" Sylvie Malfoy's voice rang out, and Voldemort snapped to attention. He watched as Hermione followed Sylvie into the midnight blue parlour, and suddenly he couldn't breathe. He tried. Inhale, exhale. In theory, he knew what to do. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not when he saw just how beautiful she was.

She was wearing champagne lace - not white, a very deep cream - with a high neck and long sleeves. The bodice was fitted and showcased her tiny waist. The light-as-air tulle skirts blossomed outward beautifully around her, her train dragging behind her as she walked. Her hair had been pulled into a chignon at the base of her neck, and a great length of champagne lace matching her bodice had been pinned in there, along with a cluster of three peach roses. The lace veil fell heavily down Hermione's back and joined with the train. Her makeup was simple and peach-toned, and she wore the ruby pendant Tom had gifted her around her neck.

She was the most beautiful witch in the entire world, Lord Voldemort thought, his eyes searing like mad, and he was going to marry her. She was the most intelligent witch, the most creative and powerful and damned capable witch, his wondrous time traveller, and he was going to marry her.

"Please, will the two of you stand together for a photograph? I have brought my camera!" Sylvie Malfoy joyfully pulled out a small handheld camera, simpler than most models wizards used. It was a very expensive version of a magical camera, Voldemort thought, and it would produce very good pictures once Sylvie got them developed on Diagon Alley. He moved to stand by Hermione as she clutched a bouquet of peach roses in one trembling hand, and he murmured down to her,

"You took my breath away when you walked in here. I mean it."

"Tom." She said his name so quietly that he barely heard it, but he just reached for her hand and squeezed a little. He realised he was staring at her, and she was staring at him, and then he heard a few clicks and there was a flash.

"But that was beautiful!" Sylvie Malfoy exclaimed. "We'll get a few more after the handfasting."

"Tancy has the ribbons right here. I has them!" burst the House-Elf from where she stood near the arched doorway. Hermione giggled a little as Tancy rushed forward and nearly tripped and fell. She raised her wide blue eyes to Hermione and asked gravely,

"Is the Dark Lady very certain that Tancy should stay? Tancy can go if -"

"Tancy, we couldn't possibly do it without you here," Hermione said, reaching down to touch at Tancy's head. Tancy shut her eyes and said quietly,

"The good Dark Lady is the most lovely bride in all the world. Isn't she, My Lord? Isn't she?"

"So she is," Voldemort agreed. Abraxas took the two ribbons - one silver and one gold - from Tancy and then stood before Voldemort and Hermione. Sylvie gladly accepted Hermione's roses and set them aside, and then Abraxas began said,

"I have before me a witch and a wizard. Is it the intention of these two to be wed?"

"It is," said Hermione and Voldemort in unison. Abraxas nodded.

"Let the witch give the wizard a ring as a token, a sign of devotion from this moment forth. Binding together the witch and the wizard in marriage, fidelity, always in strength, the ring is a symbol of this union forged."

Voldemort pulled out the simple platinum wedding band he'd procured for himself and passed it to Hermione. He let her slide it onto his fourth finger, and she smiled broadly at him. He flexed his hand a few times, getting used to the feel of the wedding ring on there. He liked it. He liked it quite a lot.

"Let the wizard give the witch a ring as a token," said Abraxas, "a sign of devotion from this moment forth. Binding together the witch and the wizard in marriage, fidelity, always in strength, the ring is a symbol of this union forged."

Hermione's hand quivered as Voldemort slid her little gold band on beside her ruby ring. He'd sent away for a gold band with inlaid rubies, and they sparkled and shone beside her pretty red ring. He raised his eyes to her and stroked at her hand with his finger. Then he and Hermione joined their right hands, and as Abraxas used his wand to aim the ribbons at them, magic compelled the ribbons to twine around their forearms, wrists, and hands in a beautiful braided pattern.

"My good Dark Lady," Abraxas began, "Do you promise to be this wizard's wife through good times and difficult times, through happiness and sadness, through prosperity and difficulty, honouring your union all the days of your life?"

"I do." Hermione vowed. She nodded vigorously. Voldemort grinned. He couldn't stop himself, not when he heard those words from her. His ears rang a little as Abraxas asked,

"My good Dark Lord, do you promise to be this witch's wife through good times and difficult times, through happiness and sadness, through prosperity and difficulty, honouring your union all the days of your life?"

"Oh, yes." Voldemort smirked. "I do."

"Then let your magic and souls unite. I pronounce you now as man and wife. So may it be," said Abraxas Malfoy. The ribbons dissolved into thin air, and Voldemort tugged at Hermione's arm. He dragged her against his body, moving his hands until one was at the small of her back and the other was holding her cheek. He kissed her, gently at first and then more firmly. He heard clicking, saw a flash out of the corner of his eye, and he knew Sylvie was taking photographs. Somehow, he didn't mind. Let Sylvie Malfoy capture this. Let Sylvie immortalise the moment Voldemort's mind registered that Hermione Granger was his wife.

She was the most beautiful witch in all the world, he thought, and she'd still wanted him even when he'd been scarred and broken. She was the most brilliant and intelligent and capable witch who had ever lived, and she was his. She had come back in time with the intention of destroying him, but instead she'd fallen in love with him. Instead she'd surrendered herself entirely to the Darkness, and now she was burned through with embers for him. She was his Dark Lady, and he would be nothing without her.

Suddenly he realised something. Odysseus had talked about the two of them dancing at their wedding. Her skirts would be too long for dancing. But now there would be no grand wedding. Had he changed the timeline? He pulled back from the kiss, abruptly confused, and watched Hermione's eyebrows furrow in consternation.

"Tancy," he said rather sharply, "was there any post today?"

"Just ten minutes before the Malfoys came, sir," Tancy answered. "I wasn't wanting to trouble you with it, sir; it specifically says on the outside, Deliver to the Dark Lord After His Marriage."

"Go and fetch the post, Tancy," Hermione said urgently. "Please."

Tancy Disapparated, and when she reappeared in the parlour a moment later, she held out an envelope to Voldemort. He ripped it open so quickly that he almost tore the letter inside. He unfurled it, ignoring the complete bafflement of Abraxas and Sylvie Malfoy as he did. Hermione read over his shoulder as he took in the very brief letter.

They play songs on the Wizarding Wireless sometimes that are good for dancing. Just be careful of those lovely skirts.

Congratulations.

O.S. and friends

Author's Note: Thank you for reading and reviewing.