A/n: This chapter is written partially from Tom's POV and the reader will be addressed in third person. The POV shift starts in the second half, after the divider, just so you know :)

Starting to brew the antidote for Mors Grano happened to be easier than you had anticipated. The potion's base was quite similar to any other healing draught, and so was its production. You had decided to begin the laborious process, even though the Banshee tears were missing. According to the recipe, they were the last ingredient to be added, so you still had a lot of time to find them, even if you still didn't quite know how.

For the first few weeks, there was nothing more to do than letting the Moondew cook and stir it frequently. The cauldron stood in Tom's room, its content simmering steadily, ready to be examined at any given moment by one of you.

Professor Beery had denied you the bonus points for the N.E.W.T.s after you had told him that the Moly had unfortunately died. Those points were the least of your problems, however.

The plant had, in fact, bloomed beautifully, ready to be added to the potion.

And that was when the difficulties began.

As soon as you let the blossoms fall into the cauldron, the potion started to smell. Very strongly. The mixture reacted in a way that wasn't described in the book and started to produce yellow steam, as well as a sour, headache-inducing scent, which reached beyond the walls of Tom's room. The fume filled up every last inch of his dorm and even seemed to creep out into the Slytherin common room. Other students had started mentioning the weird smell and even Dippet, who had paid Tom a number of unfortunate surprise visits, started to get suspicious.

You had sent your parents an owl to inform them that you wouldn't come home during your semester break. They weren't exactly happy about it; you had never stayed at Hogwarts during the holidays after all. But you had insisted, telling them there was so much studying to do until they finally let go. That wasn't even a lie. There was a bunch of work to do. Granted, not all of it was related to school, but you still had a lot on your plate.

Tom stayed in Hogwarts for the week as well. You weren't sure but highly doubted that he had notified his own family about it. And to be fair, they wouldn't really care about that, would they?

Even though the school was practically empty and only a mere fraction of students stayed along with you, those who did stay complained about the biting smell in all of Slytherin's dormitories. On Sunday evening you heard that the housekeeper had been sent to seek out the source and Tom was informed that Mr Carpe would start his search the next morning.

So there you were, worrying about what to do, stirring the cauldron for the twentieth time within the last minutes, hoping it would steam less, the more you whisked through it. No matter how hard you concentrated, how many options you took into account, there was nowhere you could possibly drag the cauldron to, where its scent would go unnoticed.

The Potions classroom was off-limits, even though it was much better equipped for the fumes. Slughorn would spend a lot of his time there, to prepare tasks for the upcoming semester.

You had even considered taking it home and telling your parents about it. But using the Floo-Network with an item this heavy wasn't possible, and taking the train with a simmering cauldron seemed ridiculous. Besides that, the antidote still took months to finish, so you would have to take it back to Hogwarts a week later anyway.

Hell, you had even thought about taking that damned kettle out onto the Quidditch pitch or into the forest, so no one would smell it anymore. But you couldn't leave it out in the open, of course.

The moment you had given up all hope and realised that you couldn't go on brewing the potion in Tom's room, or anywhere else, he had told you about another possibility. There was this room on the seventh floor he had discovered in his fifth year. He called it the Come and Go Room and he was positive that no one besides him, not even the teachers, knew of its existence. The room must have been enchanted, according to Tom, and only appeared when you were in dire need.

So the two of you went there the same night, in a cloak and dagger operation, levitating the cauldron behind you. You had covered it with a white sheet so that if someone saw you, they at least wouldn't know initially what you were doing. The disguise was weak and you knew if Dippet or any other teacher would spot you, you would be screwed.

Luckily none of them was there when you rushed through the halls, aside from Warren O'Connor, a Ravenclaw fifth year, who patrolled on a corridor next to their tower. He was too far away to detect the poorly hidden cauldron and didn't even seem to look at you after he had recognised Tom.

When you had finally arrived, chest heaving, thoughts rushing from relief and tension, Tom instructed you how to summon the Come and Go Room. You walked past the stone wall three times and imagined, very carefully, what you needed. An airtight room that allowed you to keep on brewing your potion in peace, that no one would be able to find unless you wanted them to. Suddenly, a door appeared. You looked at Tom and he nodded before you took the handle and opened it.

The small room behind the door was, simply put, perfect. Your very own Potions laboratory. Dark and nifty, it offered enough little cabinets to store all the ingredients for the antidote, as well as a worktop to put the cauldron on. Everything looked as if it had been custom made, just for this purpose. Which it was, you had just created it all yourself.

Now that the cauldron was in a safe place Tom felt more at ease and actually thought that the semester break could turn out to be enjoyable. Why did that relax him, though? A question he had asked himself more than once. He didn't have to care, nor did he have to help his fiancée to save her sister. Then why had he done it?

He didn't have a logical answer to that question, even though the illogical one seemed to wave at him from the back of his head. He shrugged it off. But there were so many questions of the same kind running through his mind. Why did he care? He had never cared before. For anyone. That girl wouldn't bring him where he wanted to be just by marrying him. Sure, her family was respected. Of course, they were purebloods, which was why his Grandfather had taken notice of them. But it had never been Tom's wish to marry her. So why didn't he mind the thought anymore? The idea of seeing her walking down the aisle had repelled him immensely when he had found out what Marvolo's plan had been. And now it didn't. He had gotten used to the idea. It even bugged him to think about the fact that the marriage wouldn't happen by chance if the antidote was finished soon enough. Then why did he help her?

There was something inside of him, something that he couldn't just pinpoint yet. Something that made him do the things he had done, even when it had gone against his own benefit. Something that made him care less and less about himself. It must have turned all of his morals upside down, because somehow, and he couldn't explain why, the most important thing was seeing her happy. He didn't even know when his priorities had changed. When he had stopped putting himself first. But it had happened. And that irritated him beyond belief.

She had been so easy to dislike. Back then, when they were sitting in her dining room alone. When she had stared at him, eagerly waiting for him to feel sorry for her. So conceited. Desperate for his attention. But then again, she had been so easy to like. When had he started giving in? At first, he had been nothing more than disgusted. Appalled of the uproar that had gone on inside his head. That nasty feeling in his chest and his weak knees. But once he had surrendered, it had begun to feel good.

All he wanted - no - all he needed now, was to make sure she was safe. Protect her. Help her. That wasn't just an act of kindness though. He had figured out that apparently, he mirrored her emotions. When she was pleased, he was too. When she was angry, he couldn't help but feel furious as well. When she was sad, his chest stung with her.

It felt like a purpose. Like she was the earth's centre and everyone else, even himself, merely spun around her. She had his full attention now and he didn't plan on taking it from her anytime soon.

If someone were to ask him why, he wouldn't even know where to begin. How does one describe the meaning of everything? He could start with her glow. That devotion she seemed to radiate anywhere she was. Her relentless spirit and how ready she was to combat anyone with it. How tender she was with people that deserved it. And how ruthless she could be with the ones who didn't.

The way she moved in her sleep, slowly and gently, turning over and unknowingly stealing his blanket at least twice a night. The way her chest moved up and down when she lay next to him. How her eyes seemed to light up when she awoke and looked at him. The hours he had watched her. Held her. Felt her skin brushing against his own, just like in this moment. How could anyone experience that and not have the urge to keep it? To freeze those moments in time and lock them up, safely, for nobody to see.

Tom wasn't sure if she was aware of how nervous she made him. He knew how to hide it, but was ever so annoyed at how much he depended on being close to her. And he usually wasn't the one to become jittery. That was the response he normally got. Freda Morris, for example, couldn't seem to think straight when he had taken her out once, during their sixth year. Merlin's beard, that lass was nerve wrenching.

Quite contrary to her. No one had ever done that to him. She had crawled under his skin and into his head, drugging his mind until almost every single thought he produced revolved around her. But he knew his place. She hadn't befuddled him just to make him her pawn. He knew because that was what his family had done ever since he could remember. She had never done him wrong. Maybe that was why he had helped her. And why he was willing to do anything for her, even if it meant for him to suffer. He was the antagonist in their story. And if he was poison, she was the remedy. If he was the villain, she was the treasure worth saving.

Tom's pitiful monologue was interrupted when she woke up, opened her eyes and looked at him.

"Morning," she said quietly and smiled.

He looked at her for a moment. If only she knew.

"Morning," he replied.

She stretched her arms in the air and yawned, then turned towards him and ran her fingers along his jawline. Bliss.

"How long have you been awake?" she asked, staring at the stubble on his chin that her thumb had just touched.

"Not long," he lied. "Just a few minutes."

She grinned and placed a kiss onto the left end of his lips. "I have to get up and stir the potion. Care to join me?"

"Sure," he nodded.

"Good. Oh, and I think I'm going to go to Diagon Alley in the afternoon. To buy the Foxgloves. I have to add them next week."

"I'll come."

She exhaled and pulled him in, nuzzling into his neck.

"Do you think we should go to Knockturn Alley as well?" she asked, her voice muffled. "While we're there. I want to see if any store offers Banshee tears."

"I don't think they do," Tom said and she lifted her head to look at him.

"But where else then?"

"I think I know where we could get some."

She nodded, urging him to tell her.

"Well, I'm sure Morfin owns a flask. He had to get it if he wanted to brew the antidote, didn't he?"

"But if they never planned on curing Elsie entirely, I don't think he would have gotten them."

"Marvolo never planned on curing her," Tom said. "Morfin did. He's a Potions master. One that doesn't care about legality. He knows every last person that deals with ingredients like that. Even if he never intended to free her, I'm sure he got them just in case he ever needed them for himself."

Her eyes roamed his face while she thought about it. "So what can we do now? Go to your house, search his chamber and steal the flask?"

Tom shook his head. "That won't be as easy. They're always home, Marvolo has his eyes everywhere. Even the house-elves would alarm him."

She frowned, brows furrowed while she lightly tugged on his hair.

"They'll be gone," Tom went on. "In late March. The Order of Merlin gets honoured and they are both invited. We could go then and try to find it."

There it was again. That spark in her eyes.

"Okay," she answered. "Let's do it then. But for now, let's stay in bed for five more minutes."