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"Avada Kedavra." Harry whispered, closing his eyes. He expected to feel the impact of Riddle's spell connecting with his body. But he didn't.
A flash of brilliant green light wrenched his eyes open, as a roar entered is ears. Whether it was from the spell or his furiously beating heart, he couldn't tell. A thud followed.
He looked at the girl on the floor. Her eyes had closed with the impact, and there was no sign of malice on her face. It was Hermione, lying there. Not Riddle, who had tormented him daily, murdered Dumbledore, and threatened his life. Just Hermione. Her soft brown hair was splayed over the floor, and her wand, which must've fallen from her hand when she fell, had rolled a few inches away.
Harry knelt and gently picked it up. This was not the wand Hermione Granger had carried. This had the feel of Riddle through and through. The dark ebony gleamed, and felt cool and heavy in his hand. He stood slowly, pocketing it.
"You shouldn't do that."
Myrtle hovered in front of him. He'd forgotten that she was there.
"Not nice to steal from the dead, you know."
Harry just walked through her.