Notes: Next-to-last chapter. I'm sad too.

Thank you guys so much. I hope this sequence doesn't disappoint. Several issues get resolved, more or less. I hope there are a few surprises too. :)

Chapter Twenty-Five: The Nick of Time

"I'm only going to say this once," Tom said, his voice like the edge of a razor. "Let her go."

Black laughed. "I don't take orders from an upstart eighteen-year-old half-blood."

Hermione winced. Here we go, she thought unhappily.

But Tom did not lash out in violence immediately. Perhaps it was the presence of his teacher. He handed Hermione her wand, giving Black a threatening look as he put it in her hand. His eyes flashed red. Black noticed, his own eyes widening.

Slughorn was standing beside Tom and did not see it. He frowned. "Arcturus, don't do this. Let's all sit down and talk like reasonable people."

Black shook his head mirthlessly. "You shouldn't have come, Horace," he said. "You shouldn't have let him involve you. Unless," he added darkly, "you were involved from the start." He turned to Tom. "Let's find out."

Tom gasped as Black locked eyes with him. His wand hand dropped, and his hand began shaking involuntarily.

"Not much of an Occlumens, are you," Black chortled. "At least when it comes to anger. You wear that on your sleeve. So much anger. Almost everyone did you wrong, I see, starting with mum and dad." He laughed.

Tom let out a cry that sounded very much like pain. "You're not—much of a Legilimens," he managed to retort, clutching his head.

"Your… what is she, really? She indicated that you were very important. How so?"

Tom wrenched his gaze away with the appearance of an intense struggle, breaking eye contact. Hermione wanted to curse the smug look off Black's face, but she had a horrible feeling that if she sent the first curse, Black would retaliate on Tom, who at the moment obviously had the same type of debilitating headache she had right after Black's Legilimency. What did he see? she thought. It couldn't have been the Secret I hold—but there is so much else—

But Tom was not out of the fight as much as Hermione thought. He righted himself and sent a nonverbal curse at Black without warning. Black jumped back, and it blasted a hole in his chair. For a brief moment he stared at Tom with surprise in his eyes, but then he had his wand at the ready. In the background, so did the elder Lestrange.

Lestrange acted first, sending a spell at Tom's head. He ducked, and it ricocheted off a mirror. Fragments of shattered glass fell sparkling to the floor. The spell terminated at a wood carving that rested on Black's side table, sending splinters of wood at Black in the explosion.

Black scowled. "Get out of here, Lestrange."

"But sir—"

"I don't need 'friendly' fire. Stand guard outside the door with the others—and revive them if they are down. Don't harm the Rosier boy. He might be Imperiused."

Lestrange scowled but did as he was told. Unconcerned with rules of engagement, Tom took advantage of the lull to send a curse at Black while Lestrange was closing the door behind himself.

Black sent back a very powerful Reductor before Hermione or Slughorn could intervene—or get out of the way. All three of them crashed backward from the force.

Tom sprawled on the floor on his back, scooting a very short distance over the velvet carpet before friction asserted itself. The satin lining of his robe pocket did not have very much friction, however. Propelled by momentum, the contents of his pocket slid out across the fabric.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. "Why did you bring—"

"Aha! Accio!"

Tom scrambled to his feet as the diary sailed into Arcturus Black's waiting hand.

He pointed his wand at the older man. "Ava—" He blinked and broke off halfway through, apparently reconsidering. Hermione wondered if the wand had anything to do with it. Tom plastered a look of concern on his face and approached Black with a façade of calmness. "Mr. Black, you shouldn't meddle with that. It's cursed."

Hermione and Slughorn got to their feet. Hermione's heart was pounding with anxiety. Slughorn only looked confused at the turn of events. "Tom?" he inquired.

Outside the room, Lestrange Senior let out a roar of dismay and anger.

Black ignored everyone except Tom, at whom he smiled with faux benevolence. "But it has your name on it," he remarked. "Why would you curse your own possession?"

Tom glanced around the parlor mockingly, his gaze settling on various Dark ornaments in turn. "Can't imagine," he said sarcastically. "Look, it's cursed to attack anyone but me or Hermione. Hand it back."

Black opened the cover of the diary. "I looked in Miss Green's head for memories about my cousin and saw an image of this book before she forced my presence out. She said it was hers. I knew that was a lie," he said, smirking. "It's certainly highly magical. I've never come across an object with an aura this strong." He raised his wand. "Specialis Revelio!"

Hermione held her breath for a fraction of a second. In the next moment, a wave of extremely aggressive magical force blasted from the pages of the book in a blinding blue flash. Black was thrown backward, skidding across the floor into the wooden leg of a sofa, already unconscious from the intense magical attack.

Tom's eyes were wide. One corner of his mouth curled upward slightly, and he managed a slight laugh of relief. He waved his wand and silently cast a Summoning Charm. The book flew back into his hand, and he put it into his pocket again.

"You shouldn't have brought that," Hermione said at once. "Why—"

Before she could finish the question, the parlor door slammed open to reveal a frightened and infuriated Lestrange Senior. His head whipped around. His eyes widened at the sight of Arcturus Black sprawled unconscious against his own sofa.

"What did you do?" he shouted at Tom.

"Stand down," Slughorn warned. He pointed his wand at Lestrange.

"I'm not standing down!" Lestrange raged. "That little viper"—he pointed his wand at Tom—"did something to Roland!"

"It's useless," Tom said to Hermione and Slughorn. "And I'm sick of this. These fools want a fight. Let's give them one." He raised the Elder Wand. "Confringo!"

Lestrange almost dodged the curse, but not quite well enough to avoid being knocked over. Beyond him, Hermione quickly observed who was still in the fight. The elder Nott was on his feet, clutching his wand, anger in his eyes. Young Nott was also back. Vincent Rosier was shaky but standing. And Roland Lestrange—

Hermione's heart sank. Something was very wrong. He was seated in a corner, eyes wide and cheerful. He was using his wand… to play, she realized. A carved grindylow figure was doing some sort of dance before him, and he was smiling just like—

Just like a child, Hermione thought as the truth hit her. Tom had Obliviated someone before bursting into the parlor. Clearly it had been a very powerful spell—or augmented by a powerful wand.

Tom met her eyes and merely shrugged.

Lestrange's father was back on his feet. In the next moment, he and the elder Nott directed curses at the small group. Slughorn, Tom, Hermione, and Rosier formed a defensive circle and fired back as the younger Nott rejoined the fray.

"Blood-traitor," Nott accused Rosier. "How can you fight with them?" He cast a nasty hex at him.

Hermione tried to block it, but she and Slughorn were engaged with Nott's father. Weakened from the Cruciatus Curse, Rosier was not quick enough to dodge the hex. He groaned and fell to the ground, thoroughly out of it this time.

Tom snarled in anger, but he was fighting Lestrange. Hermione left Slughorn to Nott's father and took on the son. As she dueled her classmate, Hermione watched out of her peripheral vision with a strange kind of detachment as another classmate continued to laugh childishly and clap for the duelists.

What have I done? she asked herself in between hexes. She realized that she had been asking herself that particular question a lot lately. The timeline—the Lestrange brothers probably won't exist now, or different ones will. I don't know how much of his memory Tom wiped, but it was a lot. It will take years for him to re-learn what he needs to.

"Take this, Mudblood! Crucio!"

Instantly Hermione jumped away, enraged that Nott would use an Unforgivable and call her that. "Petrificus Totalus!" she responded. He was not fast enough. He froze into a block and crashed to the ground. She turned her attention to the elder Lestrange at once.

Slughorn cut down the elder Nott with a sweeping motion. He disarmed the wizard and tied him up. "I'm sorry," he said, "but you can't do this." He considered further and cast another spell. Nott's eyes fluttered shut as he fell unconscious.

Now only Lestrange was left standing. He glared at each person in turn, aware that he was outnumbered but unable to control his anger. He whipped his head toward his son, who was observing the duel with wide-eyed innocence, and then back to Tom.

"What did you do to my son, you misbegotten Muggle-spawn?" he raged.

"Showed him mercy he didn't deserve," Tom taunted. "I'm afraid he won't get those memories back, but he'll be quite all right in about, oh, ten years. And more useful, since he won't hate me." He watched as the elder Lestrange's face turned red.

"Crucio!" Lestrange roared, all reason gone in the miasma of outrage.

Tom dodged it effortlessly. "Is that the best you can do?" he mocked, his voice heady with triumph and exhilaration. He raised the Elder Wand dramatically, a smirk on his face, playing for the camera—if there were one.

Hermione felt a horrible sense of foreboding. In the same moment, Lestrange bared his teeth in a malicious grin and whirled to face her instead.

"Avada Kedavra!" the man shouted, pointing his wand right at her chest.

Instinctively she made to swerve out of the way, but she knew she would not be fast enough. He was too close.

In the same moment, Tom flung himself before her and threw an arm directly in front of the incoming green light. The Killing Curse struck his forearm. His breath caught in his chest, his eyes fluttered shut, and he crashed to the ground.

"No!" Slughorn cried.

The same word was screaming through Hermione's mind. This was bad. When he revived himself, Slughorn would see.

At the same time, though—

He took that curse for me. For me.

There was no time to sort out the conflicting emotions. For now, there was still the fight with Lestrange, who was fighting to kill her too after what had happened to his son, and she wasn't protected like Tom was—

"Crucio!" Hermione screamed at Lestrange. The wizard moved out of the way, and her curse hit the wall, shattering plaster into dust.

Horror and grief filled Slughorn's face at the loss of his all-time favorite student and the anguish of the poor hero's surviving fiancée, so manifestly intense that she would cast the Torture Curse in revenge.

But there would be time for pathos later, he reminded himself. They had to win first.

Lestrange turned around and sneered ferally. "You take my future; I take yours," he spat. He cast a curse at Hermione, which she dodged.

Actually, I've already done that myself, she thought.

Slughorn and Hermione cast spells at Lestrange in the same time, a Petrificus and an Expulso. The pair of curses caught him in the chest, and with a look of momentary disbelief, he froze and flew into the wall, striking his head with a horrible crunch and falling to the floor insensible.

As Slughorn turned away from Lestrange, something caught his eye—as well as Hermione's.

Tom was moving. His color returned, his eyes opened, and he grabbed the Elder Wand. He stood up, his eyes gleaming red. He breathed heavily, clutching his wand and rubbing the bruise on his arm where the Killing Curse had struck him. He gazed at Lestrange's figure with disappointment—apparently that he did not get to cast the curse in retaliation—and walked toward it.

Hermione was glad he was alive. She felt ashamed of that on more than one level, but she was.

Tom was examining Lestrange's crumpled form. "He's dead," he remarked in surprise. "Looks like he broke his neck. Who sent him careening into the wall?"

Hermione gasped in horror. She had not been responsible for anyone's death since she had left her old timeline, and it was again an unpleasant, disconnecting, depersonalizing jolt to learn that she had killed someone, even inadvertently. She gazed at Lestrange's body. "I did," she said in a small voice. "I didn't intend that to happen. Professor Slughorn Petrified him, and I used Expulso on him. I didn't mean to kill him—"

He shook his head in disbelief. "He cast the Killing Curse at you, Hermione. I really don't understand why you keep wanting to save people who want you dead."

"People such as yourself?" she shot back, her voice shaky.

He paused for a moment, but his gaze hardened again. "I never harmed you. What happened in your original timeline wasn't me."

Slughorn had been oblivious to the exchange between them, his stare never having left Tom since he revived himself. "Merlin's beard, Tom! I'm not complaining, but how are you alive?" he exclaimed.

Hermione suddenly felt a chill of fear for her professor.

Tom raised an eyebrow and threw a calculating, level gaze at Slughorn. "Oh, I'm pretty sure you'll figure it out, Professor."

Hermione grimaced and closed her eyes for a moment. Why, Tom? she asked herself in despair. You could have told him anything. He'll believe whatever it takes to avoid thinking ill of you. She knew why, of course. Oh, she knew why. Her gaze flickered to the wand he held. "Antioch Peverell was an arrogant man who wanted to humiliate Death. He killed a wizard, then boasted of being invincible…."

Slughorn's face had turned ashen. His gaze darted to Tom's pocket. He shuddered for a moment, closing his eyes—and closing his mind to the conclusion. "Oh, Tom, you didn't—our little discussion last year—but no, of course not," he dithered anxiously. "Lestrange just didn't cast it right. That's it, isn't it?"

Tom gazed at Slughorn with wordless contempt.

No other response was necessary. Slughorn winced and wrung his hands at Tom's nonverbal confirmation. "Oh, Tom, you shouldn't have—I mean, not that I wish you were dead, or Hermione, but—oh dear, oh dear…."

Disdainfully ignoring his professor's moral dilemma, Tom strode forward, robes billowing, hair mussed. Now that they had won, he was strutting about with the arrogance of a conquering lord. He swirled the Elder Wand in the air and nonverbally tied up the unconscious Arcturus Black. He waved the wand again to awaken him.

"You," he said. "You just couldn't"—

He swiped the wand. Blood erupted from the gash that suddenly appeared on Black's forehead. Black winced in severe pain but tried to control his face and his dignity.

"—stay—"

Another swipe, and a cut on Black's cheek. He cried out.

"—out of it!" he roared, slicing cleanly across the man's nose, cutting through nostrils.

"Tom!" Slughorn exclaimed.

"Why couldn't you stay away from her?" Tom shouted. "What did she ever do to you?"

Black spat blood. "The two of you are apparently trying to start some sort of bloody revolution, that's what! She told me herself—she showed me a memory of going back in time! She's apparently arranged your political rise all along."

Tom shot Hermione a look that made her heart hurt, and then he snarled at Black. "You are raving, and you are damned lucky that I feel more like exposing you to the Minister than giving you what you deserve." He raised the wand, scowling.

"Tom!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Stupefy!" Tom roared. Arcturus crashed to the floor, eyes fluttering shut. The curse was cast so powerfully that he fell unconscious again.

Tom turned to Hermione with a furious glare. "Why did you tell him that? Were you in the process of making a deal with him?" Bitterness oozed from his words.

Hurt by the accusation, she stared back at him hard. "I had already told him no, and he Legilimensed me! He was about to get your little secret, so I gave him mine instead to pacify him!"

Tom's face changed. "You showed him… to protect me?" The light in his eyes flickered white for a moment.

"If you wish I hadn't—" she began hotly.

"No! You just… gave him your secret to protect one of mine." He spoke the words in an awed, almost reverent tone of voice.

Slughorn had not paid attention to this conversation either. He was still hovering around Black, sweating. "Tom, this is bad," he said. "He's the head of the Black family—very close to the Minister—and with Lestrange already dead, you can't just slice him up like this and leave him here—"

Tom growled, the moment of calm lost. His eyes flashed with red light again. "Oh, can't I? Why not, Professor? I'd love to present him to the Minister like a cut of meat!"

"Tom!" Slughorn exclaimed, appalled.

Tom whirled around, his robe swinging around his legs from the weight of the diary. He looked wild. Hermione glanced at him and momentarily thrilled with something, either fear or some twisted sort of desire—or a strange mix of both. He was certainly intimidating—too intimidating, really. This was not right. This was—

"On second thought, I really should just kill every last bloody one of them," he snarled.

"Tom, you can't!" Hermione exclaimed, her heart pounding.

"Oh, but I can." He smiled mirthlessly and raised his wand over the unconscious Arcturus Black.

In a fraction of a second, Hermione's thoughts whirled, converging quickly.

"It masters you," Grindelwald had said. If Death had made the wand, then it had it in for Tom on a personal level. If the Peverells had made it, it had centuries of hostile Dark magic embedded in it, primed to take out anyone who was arrogant enough to claim mastery. And Tom was nothing if not arrogant.

A memory from another world intruded. "The idea of the Dark Lord in possession of the Deathstick is, I must admit… formidable," Ollivander said. This time, the Deathstick might create the Dark Lord, if she let it.

She had changed history. She and Tom had received credit for the defeat of Grindelwald, not Dumbledore. He was going to go into the Ministry. He was not pushing blood purity ideology. He would be immensely influential. He probably would be Minister for Magic in a decade if he wanted—unless he ruined it for himself, as he was about to do, because of that wand.

He had a Horcrux, but he would not have six—or seven. He would have the one, so he would not lose his mind from overdoing it. He would have the confidence of knowing that it was there without the nasty side effects.

And he had two of the Deathly Hallows.

He will want the complete set. This kind of power would be too intoxicating to control. He would want the cloak—which the Potter family held. He didn't know that at the moment, but once he decided to focus on acquiring the Hallow, he would find it out.

An alternate timeline of events in which the Potters were targeted for a very different reason flashed before Hermione's eyes.

No. Never again. I can't fix everything, but I will fix Harry's life, and I will save Tom from that thing.

Had Lestrange briefly been master of the Elder Wand—until Hermione's curse killed him? Was she now the owner? Or had Tom retained mastery by beating the curse? It didn't matter. Either she was the master, or she was about to become so—for a second.

She pointed her wand at Tom. "Expelliarmus!" she cried.

He scrambled, but it was too late. The Elder Wand soared through the air and into Hermione's left hand. She took the wand between her hands and snapped it in two across her knee. Tiny splinters of wood fell to the floor.

Tom shrieked in dismay and lunged for Hermione, all thoughts of killing Black banished from his mind with this distraction. She tossed the pieces of the wand aside and pointed her own at him, her heart pounding.

He stopped cold, withdrew his yew wand, and directed it at her. His facial features were settling into a look of betrayal and outrage.

Slughorn had watched in consternation as the scene unfolded. His face fell at the sight of his favorite couple threatening each other. "Tom, let's be reasonable now. Lower your wand," he said weakly.

He continued to point his wand at Hermione, apparently not hearing. "Cruc—" Tom broke off at once, unable to complete the curse. He looked ashamed for even beginning it.

Hermione merely gazed back at him. "Cast it if you want to, Tom," she said. "It won't repair the Elder Wand, and you're the one who would have to live with it."

Slughorn's eyes widened at the mention of the Elder Wand. He glanced at the broken pieces with shock and something that looked very much like regret. Hermione and Tom ignored him.

"You said once that you didn't want to lose me," she continued. "Is that still true?"

He stared daggers at her. "You destroyed it. You betrayed me," he said flatly. He still pointed his wand at Hermione's chest.

"Tom, you don't really want to curse her. Just lower your wand," Slughorn said again, his face still ashen, his voice still weak.

"I didn't betray you," she said clearly. "I'm trying to save you."

"Sure you are," he scoffed. "You know how much I wanted it, and you snapped it."

"That wand has been betraying you. It would have ruined everything. It almost did. You couldn't have killed them all. You would have gone to Azkaban for it—or you would have had to go on the run. All your ambitions would have been ruined. You know it's true."

His wand hand shook. He was unable to cast anything at all at her.

Hermione continued to gaze back at him. "The wand was a trap set by Death—or Dark magic. It doesn't even matter which."

He hesitated, frowning faintly as he remembered the actions the wand had manipulated him into doing or almost doing. "I guess… it was."

"It wasn't the key to the power and influence you want. You already have that in yourself." She paused. "But curse me if you must."

His eyes widened, and the pupil glints were shining their natural white as he gazed at her. "I can't," he whispered. "Not you." His wand hand dropped for a fraction of a second.

Then he turned aside, raising his wand, and directed it fiercely at Slughorn. "I'm sorry, Professor, but you know too much," he said.

Slughorn's face somehow grew even paler. He fumbled for his own wand. Tom's eyebrows narrowed at the movement. He opened his mouth to cast the lethal curse.

"Stop."

Tom turned away and looked at Hermione.

"Put your wand up, Tom. Right now."

"You must be joking," he said in disbelief.

"I'm not," she said seriously. "You spared Grindelwald; you can spare Slughorn. This is just the magic of that wand. It got inside you. The magic is probably angry. It's making you want to curse somebody. This isn't you." She wasn't sure she really believed that, but she wanted Tom to believe it—and make it true.

"The Elder Wand is broken," he sneered. "I want to curse him for knowing too much about my—activities."

Slughorn gulped. "Wait—you mean Hermione—"

"Finally paying attention now, I see. Yes, Hermione watched me do it," Tom said smugly. "Wouldn't have guessed that, would you, Professor? Aren't we all full of surprises today?"

Slughorn gaped at Hermione in astonishment, then turned back to Tom, his eyes pleading. "Tom. Listen, please. I don't know, and don't want to know, anything more, but… it would have been a damn shame if the Killing Curse had taken either of you. It's… good… that you're both still alive. I'm… glad to have been of use." His face was twisted in revulsion at his own words, forced out like a flow of treacle.

"See? It's all right," Hermione coaxed Tom, perfectly well aware that Slughorn was simply trying to keep himself alive, but still glad that he spoke up.

Tom sneered at Slughorn. "Always trying to take credit to yourself, even if it disgusts you. You just cannot help yourself. Guess what, Professor? I already knew how to do it."

"Tom, please lower your wand," Hermione said. "This is the Elder Wand's magic trying to make you do something reckless. A parting shot. It only ever served Death's purposes, so what do you suppose it thought of you?"

He paused, considering that.

"But if you defeat its influence, you'll have mastered it." She breathed deeply, almost in disbelief at what she was about to say, but it was her last chance to stop him by persuasion. "Don't kill him. There is another option. I've used it myself. You only have to… clean… the past few minutes."

Something finally dawned in his eyes. It was the same look that had appeared on Grindelwald's face after he had been away from the wand for a few minutes. At last, Tom nodded briefly. The hardness in his face melted.

Tom regarded his teacher for a moment before sending a Stunner at him. Slughorn fell to the floor, his eyelids fluttering closed.

Tom raised his wand again. "Obliviate!"

Hermione winced. She had essentially told him to do it, and it was infinitely preferable to what he was otherwise going to do, but it still—appropriately, she supposed, if ironically so—brought back uncomfortable memories.

She breathed heavily. He listened, she told herself. He listened to me. He still listens. At least there's that.

Tom glanced at her. "Hermione?"

She looked up at him. "You should do it to Black too. I know you don't want to, but Slughorn was right. We can't just leave him for dead. We should clean him up too, before we owl the Minister. Still, he saw things—he was far too interested in your diary, and he knows I traveled back in time."

Tom scowled but did not dispute her point. The intoxicating, reckless arrogance that the Elder Wand had bestowed upon him was apparently dissipating, just as it had with Grindelwald. He moved toward the spot where Black lay crumpled.

I killed someone. I killed someone and snapped the Elder Wand and Lestrange lost all his teenage memories and Tom was killed but—

She got up and joined Tom next to Black. She began to heal the wounds on his face. Having a task to do cut off the surge of overwhelming thoughts.

"You gave him your secret. For me."

He was thinking of that again. She was glad of it. It was better that he think about things like this when his thoughts focused on her, rather than vengeance and obsessive protectiveness. She glanced at him with a tiny smile. "Yes. And… you risked yours for me."

Some time later, Slughorn—his memories edited to remove Tom's survival of the Killing Curse and all related comments that followed it—had sent an owl to the Ministry informing Dippet, Dumbledore, and the Minister of what had happened. The combatants had been tied up and Stupefied. The elder Lestrange's death and the present condition of his son were going to be explained as unfortunate accidents, which Hermione supposed was true for one of them. It was hard for her to object too much to what had happened to Roland Lestrange without hearing her conscience call her a hypocrite, and she supposed that at least the young man could start anew. Vincent Rosier was again revived, sipping a general antidote that Slughorn carried.

Melania Black, Arcturus's wife, had also been located in the house and told. She was appalled and humiliated, and it was evident even to those who were not Legilimens that she was innocent.

"He's been closeted in this room with his friends a lot lately," she said. "Will he—"

"I'm sure the Ministry will know that there are… extenuating circumstances," Slughorn said.

Mrs. Black winced, understanding exactly what Slughorn was alluding to.

As they awaited the Ministry arrivals, Hermione sat on the sofa next to Tom. His arm was around her, his hand gently touching her upper arm. She thought about what had just happened.

Would he have done that if it had meant truly dying? Hermione was inclined to say no. She might have wanted it to be otherwise, but she was under no more illusions about him. That means—she revolted against the conclusion for a moment, but it was no use—that since he hadn't been in the curse's path at first, I was actually the one it protected from death.

The fight, she thought, was full of irony heaped upon sick, twisted irony. Tom hadn't killed anyone—though he had wanted to—but she had, albeit by accident. A Deathly Hallow was destroyed and a Horcrux was not. And that Horcrux had arguably saved her as much as him. That was one thing she had never expected.

Would Tom have darted in front of that Killing Curse if he hadn't been keeping the Elder Wand? She supposed he might have, since he knew that death would be permanent for her but not for him, but the wand's magic might have given him the final push to do it. There was no way to know now—unless the same situation arose again. She didn't want it to be tested in that way.

Still, Voldemort from her time would not have taken a Killing Curse for anyone, Horcruxes or not. Even being temporarily clinically dead would have meant weakness and vulnerability to him, and no one would have been worth that in his mind. Tom might not have truly risked his life for her, but he had risked other things, if anyone he could not silence had seen him revive. His liberty, his career, his reputation… and a part of his soul. That was significant. That mattered. Even if the Elder Wand had played a trick on him, trying to make him put himself at risk of exposure, it still mattered.

He would have done it without the wand's influence, her heart supplied hopefully.

She gazed at his face. He met her eyes and managed a weak smirk, but it was masking something else: fear, a terrible, crippling fear. And relief that the fear was not realized.

He would have.