Chapter Five: He vanishes that you may understand

Soon

"I realised something," he said as he stepped behind her, casually removing himself from her line of sight in a way that was deliberate enough to make her blood jump in her veins.

"What?" she asked, hearing the way her breath caught in the single word, her fingers tightening into fists at her sides as she fought the shiver that threatened to rip its way through her. "What did you realise?"

His breath ghosted against the back of her neck and she sucked in a sharp little gasp, hearing him laugh softly behind her.

"It's a dangerous disadvantage," he murmured, his lips following the curve of her shoulder as he brushed her hair aside. "Feeling, that is," he went on, as his hand traced the neckline of her jumper.

"How -" Hermione asked, then paused, swallowing, as his other hand drifted around the curve of her hip to rest lightly against her stomach. "How so?"

He laughed again as she leaned back against him, and he reached beneath the jumper to palm her breast, pressing and pinching and teasing and how -

"Are you thinking of him?" he whispered, his lips right by her ear; his teeth a taunt, a temptation, as they grazed the lobe; and Hermione jumped as his fingers dove beneath her waistband, his hand curving to fit itself around her.

"No," she said, her voice low, catching in her throat as she arched her back, pressing into him, her hand moving to tangle itself in his hair as she surrendered to a tremor of longing at the feel of him, hard against her.

And as he bit down on her neck and squeezed her breast and pushed her underwear roughly aside, it was true. He was all that she thought of.

Before - 19th February 2000

Her first thought when she saw him outside the gates was that it was a ghost come to life. Pale, thin, and covered in blood, it took her a few moments to recognise him, and when she did it was a bone-deep shock.

"How did you find us?" Draco demanded, his voice hard, steady as his outstretched arm, his levelled wand, and Anthony glared at him, his lip curling with disgust at the former Death Eater, before he raised his hand, a scrappy piece of parchment caught between his fingers.

Hermione leaned forward, squinting in confusion and then disbelief as she realised that the parchment held in Anthony's hand was -

"Where the hell did you get that?" thundered Ron, reaching out to grab the Marauder's Map, but Anthony was quicker, jerking his arm back, whipping the Map out of reach.

"Smith," he said, the name dripping derision. "Little shit searched Potter's body after he died, and he found this."

"How would he even -" Hermione started to ask, but stopped when Anthony turned his derisive gaze on her.

"Really? As though Potter was ever subtle about it," he said. "I'd be surprised if there was a DA member who didn't -"

"That doesn't explain why you have it," Hermione cut him off quietly, her wand still out and levelled at Anthony's head.

Years. It had been years, and yet he was here - had survived, somehow, on his own. Hermione frowned - on his own? A quick glance at Daphne was met with a shake of the head - the other girl able to read the suspicion in Hermione's eyes.

"Smith wasn't an idiot," Anthony said. "Figured he'd keep hold of this until he could prove it was worth something."

"What is it?" Draco asked quietly, and Hermione started, realising that of course he wouldn't know.

"The Marauder's Map," she said quietly. "It's a map of Hogwarts, and it shows," she swallowed a sudden swell of horror. "It shows everyone in the castle, moving in real time."

"It shows WHAT?" Daphne squeaked, and Draco dropped his wand to look at Hermione, his expression aghast.

"Did it not occur to you to mention that Potter had a fucking magical map of the castle on him when he died?" he hissed, and Hermione saw Anthony smirk slightly as she flushed.

"It didn't occur to me that anyone who knew what it was would be enough of a -" she struggled to find a suitable word to convey the depths of her disgust.

"Toerag," Anthony said quietly. "But now he's a dead toerag, so his plan to sell you all out to You-Know-Who has been somewhat derailed."

Hermione fought a shiver at the cool way that Anthony shrugged off the murder of one of their former classmates, but then he glanced at her, and she caught a glimpse of the haunted, hunted look that was hidden beneath the blood on his face, the bruises on his jaw.

"You weren't tempted to sell us out yourself?"

Anthony's eyebrows pulled together, and he looked away from Hermione to scoff at Draco. "I'd like to think I'm not quite as much of a shit as Smith, thanks very much."

"We'll see," the blond wizard's jaw set in a sharp line and his eyes narrowed to slits. Anthony jerked, taking half a step backwards as Draco forced his way into his mind through Legilimency. For a moment there was silence except for Anthony's ragged breathing, and then abruptly Draco dropped his wand, his whole posture relaxing.

"He's clean," he said. "But he's still got some explaining to do."

Then - 17th May 2002

"What do you want?" he whispered, the words pressed into the skin of her chest as he followed the line of her bra with his mouth, the heat of his breath making her skin pebble with gooseflesh.

"Just…" Hermione whispered. "Just - please - just -"

He shifted a knee between her legs, settling his hips against hers and resting his chin on her breastbone to give her a serious look. "Do you want me to make love to you, Hermione?"

She blinked in surprise, frowning as she struggled for an answer that wouldn't be somehow insulting -

"Or do you want me to fuck you until you forget whatever it is you're scared of?" Anthony pushed himself up on his elbows, his copper-brown hair glinting in the bluebell light of his room. Hermione laughed in spite of herself, raised a hand to place it against the reassuring pressure of his bare chest - strong and warm and alive.

"What makes you think I'm scared?" she asked, looking not at his face but at the contrast of their skins, hers a soft gold and his several shades lighter. Her voice sounded small, almost defensive, and she felt the rumble of his laugh under her fingers.

"Please," Anthony murmured, shifting his weight to one side and moving to capture her hand in his. "You and Malfoy are hatching some insane plan to get information out of You-Know-Who. If you're not scared then you're an idiot. And," he reached over her head, pulling her hand with his, stretching her arm upwards, "We both know you're not that."

Hermione stared back at him, disarmed, not sure whether to be relieved or afraid. She was just tired, she realised. Tired of pretending, of plotting and hoping and planning and keeping secrets. Tired of the itch beneath her skin that was half longing and half fear and wholly frustration.

Please, Hermione; his voice echoing in her mind, making her heart speed and her throat tighten, and she just wanted to forget - to just let herself not think for however long she could -

"Well?" Anthony asked, smiling his most disarming smile, and Hermione sighed, shifted under him so that she could move her other hand up to stroke the reddish scruff that lined his jaw.

"You don't mind?" she asked softly; somehow impossibly glad that he wasn't asking her to lie about it, that he didn't seem to expect anything more of her.

Anthony's eyes, a soft, mossy green - so unlike Harry's, she found herself thinking - held hers as he leaned over her, not breaking her gaze as he brushed his lips across her mouth. "I know what it's like to need to forget," he said quietly, and when Hermione pressed back against him, when she closed her eyes and licked her tongue across his lips, she felt a tension she hadn't realised was in his body relax.

"I know I'm not him." The words were gentle, kind against her skin, and Hermione sighed, feeling forgiven for something she hadn't even let herself realise that she was feeling guilty about.

It didn't occur to her until later to wonder what it was that Anthony was forgetting; whether there was somebody that she should have known she wasn't.

Now - July 10th 2002

"I wondered if you'd be back." Anthony's voice was careful when he opened his door to find her standing there. Hermione was thrumming with nervous energy; the almost argument with Ginny, the terrible feeling of being caught between fear and excitement; and the echo, still of her dream.

Revenge is something you take -

Anthony crossed his arms casually, his body angled to fill the doorway. A barrier, but not an insurmountable one, and still Hermione could feel her mouth threatening to twist into a grimace; guilt trying to claw its way out of her stomach and onto her face.

"Well," she said, spreading her arms a little helplessly. "Here I am."

He watched her for what seemed a very long moment, making heat rise up her neck and into her cheeks. Finally he dropped his arms, and stepped back from the door.

"You'd better come in then."

It was as much a practical consideration as it was an invitation, but Hermione stepped past him anyway into the blue-lit room, and was abruptly assailed by the memory of the last time she'd been there.

His hands his lips his voice -

"Do you want a drink?" Anthony asked, snapping Hermione out of her reverie, and she looked at him, still and watchful. He'd arrived at the end of their first winter in Hogwarts, and though he'd never said much about the nearly two years he'd spent on the run she knew it must have been bad.

Knew that there must be things he wanted to forget.

Unbidden, the spray of Smith's blood painted itself across his cheek in her mind's eye, and Hermione shivered, feeling suddenly cold in the bluish light.

"Hermione." She blinked, the image disappearing into Anthony's quizzical frown. "A drink?"

"Yeah," she smiled, giving herself a shake. "Any of that firewhiskey left?"

Professor Vector had, as it turned out, kept her office well-stocked with Ogden's finest, and Anthony pulled a bottle of it from a nearby cupboard rather than answering, summoning two pewter beakers that Hermione vaguely recognised as having been part of the standard NEWT Potions kit.

"So," Anthony said, once he'd poured the drinks and floated Hermione's over to her. "What brings you here?"

It was so different from last time, when they'd already been a little tipsy, when she'd been too on edge and wanting and needing to escape and -

She'd needed it then. And she needed it now.

"You were right," she said, draining her cup and setting it on the floor before crossing the room to where Anthony had leaned against the desk that was pushed up to the wall. "Before," Hermione murmured, resting her elbows on the hollows below his collarbone and pushing his hair back from his face, "When you said you're not him."

His eyebrows twitched together, and he made a little hum of enquiry, but Hermione was glad when she heard the dull tap of his beaker against the desktop; when she felt the solid weight of his hands settle at her hips. "You're not him," she whispered, tipping her head and moving her mouth towards his, gazing at him from under her lashes. "But then, I think there's someone that I'm not either."

Anthony went still, his eyes widening slightly. "I -" he stammered, but Hermione silenced him with a light kiss. Anthony groaned softly, his hand coming up to catch in her hair, holding her there as he deepened the kiss, his tongue flicking across the seam of her lips.

"It's okay," she said softly, when they came up for air. "If we're just using each other then I don't -"

"Be quiet," Anthony said, as his hands made their way beneath the thin cotton of her shirt to slide over her skin, holding her tight against him. "If you need my help to forget, then I'm happy to give it."

"Very generous of you," Hermione whispered, letting her hands trail down his slim torso to find the buckle of his belt, which she opened with a flick of her fingers.

Anthony smiled at her, and just for a moment she saw a flicker of her own sadness reflected in his eyes, before he closed them and nudged his nose against hers. "I'm a very generous man."

If the others knew then they said nothing, and Hermione was grateful for it. Being with Anthony silenced the echoes in her head of conversations that she had never had, quieted the jangle of her nerves whenever she thought about what had to be done. The days slipped by in the oddly sleepy way of high summer, their edges blurring into one another in a tangle of sheets.

"What do you think you'll be willing to give," Anthony asked her, "to bring him back?"

Hermione blinked, touched her fingers, so lightly, to the tiny line at the edge of his mouth. "Anything," she whispered. "I'd give anything to bring him back."

She thought of that conversation now, reflecting on the solid, inevitable truth of the words as she watched the sun slip behind one of the faraway mountains. This time tomorrow Blaise would be here, and she would be leaving - off to chase a dream and a stolen memory. She wondered what her twelve-year-old self, convinced the answer to everything could be found in a book, would have thought.

"Books!" she'd cried, "And cleverness! There are more important things."

"Friendship," Hermione whispered to herself, "And bravery." Her fingers tightened on her wand.

At the sound of soft footsteps behind her Hermione turned to see Parvati's sleek hair emerging through the trapdoor entrance to the Astronomy Tower. Her smile of welcome froze on her face when she took in the other girl's stricken expression, and Hermione scrambled to her feet, only realising her hand was shaking when she lifted her wand.

"What is it?" she asked, "What's happened?"

"I need to show you something," Parvati's voice was steady, but her eyes were wide with worry, her face pale in the dying light.

"What?" Hermione asked, before her eyes caught on the deck of cards clutched in Parvati's bronze hand and she fought a sigh of impatience. "Parvati you know I don't -"

"Please," Parvati said, kneeling down and setting the deck on the flagstones. "You're the one who's about to go haring off after something you saw in a dream." Her voice was hard, but when she looked up at Hermione her eyes were pleading. "Just - just look."

She fanned the cards, face up, across the floor. The major and minor arcana smirked up at the ceiling, swords flashing and wands dancing; cups tipping and pentacles slowly turning.

"What am I looking at?" Hermione asked, kneeling in spite of herself, and Parvati grimaced.

"Turn them face down," she said, "Then pick one."

Still chastened enough to comply, Hermione did as she was asked. When she flipped the card from the centre of the pack the skeleton grinned up at the pair of them, and Hermione frowned.

Death.

"Well, they're interpretative, right?" she asked, "It doesn't literally mean -" but Parvati interrupted her.

"Pick another."

With barely-concealed impatience, Hermione reached for another card, turning it to reveal -

"There are two?" she asked, confused, staring into the empty eyes of the second skull.

"No," Parvati whispered, shaking her head slowly, her eyes never leaving the cards. "Pick another."

And she did; again and again, and every time it was to see the bleached bones, the waving scythe, until only three cards remained.

Hermione swallowed her rising dread, and turned them.

The Hanged Man.

The High Priestess.

The Lovers.

"What does it mean?" she asked quietly.

Parvati stared at the cards for a moment, before raising her almond-shaped eyes to Hermione's. "I don't know," she whispered. "I've never seen anything like it before, and I don't -"

They were interrupted by a crash as two bodies appeared from nowhere at the edge of the balcony, skidding across the floor to come to a stop between the two girls. Hermione had barely registered the bloodied features of a wizard she thought might have been a couple of years above them on the Slytherin Quidditch team before Blaise was jerking himself upright, aiming a kick at the other boy, and looking around, his eyes wild.

"Hermione!" he said when he saw her. "Thank Merlin - take this -" pressing what looked like a snuffbox into her hand - "You have to go, right now, I'll warn the others but if you're going to get out it has to be now otherwise -"

"What's going on?" Parvati asked, and if Hermione thought she'd been pale before now the other girl looked almost ill.

"They know you're here," Blaise said simply. "Fuck knows how, but they know, and they're -" his eyes landed back on Hermione and he shoved her roughly towards the edge. "You have to go," he insisted, and at his next words she felt an icy wave of horror.

"They're coming."

A/N: my thanks to everyone for reading, and love to Olivie as ever for patience, guidance, and bouncy-walling.