«Tom reached for his glass and emptied it. The burning liquid thankfully intensified the fluffy feeling in his head. He stupidly wondered what would happen if he were to marry Hermione one day. How would he introduce his wife at dinner parties? He could almost see it before him. All those rich purebloods would stand around them, sipping from their wine glasses.

'That's my wife,' Voldemort would proudly announce to them.

'Oh, how pleasant,' they would say politely. 'How did you two meet?'

Voldemort would laugh then and say, 'That's a long story. Isn't it, darling?' He would wrap his arm around Hermione's waist and she would smile up at him lovingly. 'I think it all started back when I was trying to kill her. I almost succeeded, too. In the end I only scarred her for the rest of her life. Gave her some really maiming memories. I did manage to kill all her friends and her family, though,' he would add jovially. 'Such is life. Still have to pay for her psychiatrist.'»

"Ultima ratio"