DISCLAIMER: HP belongs to JKR. The storyline, all new characters, new character development, new developments are my intellectual property. Glorioux

The epilogue pages were ripped out my book, maybe by my own hand.

Warnings/Content: Infidelity, miscarriage; verbal abuse and reference of spousal abuse; some Ron bashing, intentional misspelled words to approximate speech accents, a dashing wizard, and grown men in nappies who find them overrated after a millennium. This chapter and others will contain scenes better suited for older readers. The rating M is adequate and reflects the content.

Chapter 1- A wizard's heartbreak -

-Breaking a heart- Bill and Fleur's wedding – 1997.

"Here, Hermione love, come," Viktor pulled her inside a small darkened room.

The moment the door closed, he picked up where they had left off just a few weeks before, during her visit to Sofia. She had stayed at his apartment, where they spent several days just the two of them doing what they liked most, reading, laughing, talking, and loving. He could still recall the days of hot, slow kisses which held a promise of a future together; warm summer days, when mutual hand pleasuring and private viewings of their bodies made him believe in their love.

"You come to my hotel room, yes?" His eyelids were heavy with lust, as he urgently pressed his hips against hers even harder than a moment before; his hands held her head and bum in order to bring her closer to him. He had waited forever for her, or at least it felt that way; now that she was nearly eighteen his patience was running out. He knew the time of waiting was over, or someone would take her away from him.

"I doubt that I can; Harry, Ron, and I, must get ready—," his lips silenced her mouth; he wanted to show her his desire, albeit his intentions to be seductive and controlled, frustration was the driving force; it made his kisses fast, furious, and even rough.

"Love, can you feel vat you do to me, just help me. I dream of you for days, and vant to see your pretty snitch, maybe a taste, yes?" His tone was seductive and hopeful.

Once again, he forcefully grounded his hips against hers and both moaned. Hermione was in his thoughts all the time. He had tried to be free of her memories with other witches' company; however, it had been an exercise in futility, there was only one bookworm, his Hermione, it had to be her. Only around her he could be himself, and Hermione was all that he ever wanted. He knew she was the one for him since the very first time he saw her. She had been but a child but maybe not in his country, his mother had been a bride at fifteen.

His hand went up her leg, and his fingers stopped to caress the soft inner thigh, right below where he could feel her beckoning heat.

He bit her lip, "Come with me; ve touch and nothing else, just as ve did at my home. I vant to see you, you are beautiful everywhere especially here," He touched her mound and caressed it with his knuckles. Her warmth made his cock jump, damn, he wanted inside.

"It is a beautiful thing, a rose smelling of Her-my-nee's sex, I want to sink my face in your flower and drink its nectar." He nearly had when she was in his home. He had managed to dip his tongue before she pulled away, scared of going further. Now, he desperately wanted to taste her, to memorize her, to make her his. If he could get her alone he wouldn't stop at touching, he wanted to make her pregnant, irresponsible but effective.

Yes, discipline and waiting had been his doom; he shouldn't have listened. Damn, he was now nearly sure that the two immature and thoughtless boys had taken her away from him. And he knew they were bound to make her unhappy, just because they took her for granted.

"Viktor we need to get out of here; Ron and Harry will soon be looking for me." Hermione was afraid of her own feelings, if she spent one more hour with Viktor, she would be his. And then she wouldn't keep her promises to help Harry. The battle against the Dark took precedence over her needs and desires, even if it required immense personal sacrifice; hence, she must do what was expected of her.

"Let them, I need you even more." Viktor insisted, and his fingers gently moved her knickers aside for easier access. He rested his chin on her head wanting to get lost in the sensation.

His fingers gently opened the wet folds, and they both cried softly at the contact. Her wet heat was eroding his last vestiges of restrain. He was feeling the flutter of her muscles as he moved his fingers near her tight entrance, when a wave of need shook his body.

A deep moan and a cry were heard when his long digit slid in. By Eros, he wanted this witch.

The intense desire urged him to do something reckless, "I open my trousers, yes? And you touch me, do it my luf, just as you did last summer, please help me." He guided her hand inside his unfastened trousers; however, at the feel of the wet head, she pulled her hand back, and an anguished sound escaped his lips.

"Viktor, I must go," she wanted out; If Ron or Harry should find her, it would be the end with them. And as the boys had said, she was but a fling for Viktor. He wasn't ready for her or for anyone, he was too famous and had the pick of the prettiest witches. Those were her assessments, but she was wrong.

Viktor wanted the witch for the long-haul, his parents, however, had said no to a Muggleborn at least not until the war was over. This wasn't fair; he wished he could marry her now, and they had said not now. He didn't want to wait until after the conflict. He suspected his parents to be blood supremacists, believers of the false ideology, albeit their claims of neutrality. And he hoped that he was wrong; he wasn't, they were now urging him to take the Dark Mark.

A voice was calling her, and she pushed him away with some regret.

Viktor, a graceful loser, moved his hand from her sex, but first he put the hand to his face. "You smell of voman, of the voman who will make a baby with me; your scent reminds me of desire and sex, I von't vash it. I shake Weasley's and Potter's hands with Her-my-nee perfume over my hand."

She paled, "Viktor, don't do it, that isn't nice," and once again pulled back; strangely, his actions made her channel throb, and telling him no was barely an option. It was his unabashed and unrepentant, raw sexuality which made him nearly irresistible and beckoned her to stay.

Against her better judgment and instead of leaving, she pressed against him and her leg went around him. Her moves were urgent knowing that Viktor was upset with her behavior, and soon found out that apparently his fingers weren't angry. He found her hardened clit and one long finger found her tight entrance, he manipulated her expertly.

He didn't kiss her, instead pressed his body closer to hers. It took a considerable effort not to have her right there. In turn, her small hand wrapped around his hot, silky erection, and his body shuddered in need as he thrust his hips, but she let go as she pressed herself against his hand.

He proved to be the strongest and moved away. If she denied him then nothing for her; it was better that way, if he had continued, he would had made her his; what did she expect? Lord, he wasn't made out stone. She sighed a little angry but understood.

"Luf, I von't vash my hand, I cannot be nice with silly boys who don't deserve a real voman like you; come here, just one more kiss."

After Viktor had left, Ron rubbed his itchy chin with his right hand, and a peculiar scent wafted straight into his nose. He sniffed, it was a familiar scent, he smelled again and saw Hermione staring at him strangely. She was flushed, and her blush struck him as incongruous, and he did a double take. Weird, he thought.

Knitting his eyebrows and twisting his mouth, as if in an angry contemplation, he went to wash his hands; but, first, he sniffed the guilty hand several times, hoping to identify the source of the disconcerting smell.

Recognition finally downed on him, and Sherlock Weasley muttered with his voice, sprinkled with a hint of righteous indignation, "Perfume, Hermione's perfume, probably when they were dancing, he ran his fucking hands upon her bare back long enough."

Anger rose with the imparted knowledge, luckily, he was unable to identify its more precise origins; and then again, maybe unfortunate, and the truth might have been preferable for the couple involved.

Harry had shrewdly observed Ron's reaction, much to Hermione's distress; thus, never taking his eyes away from hers brought his hand to his nose, and his eyes opened widely showing surprised recognition. After all, he had "played" with Hermione more than once during the last months, and rather effortlessly he dentified her scent, his favorite, hence his instant arousal thinking of Hermione with Viktor.

He was a natural voyeur and loved, when allowed, to play their naughty brand of hide and seek while wearing his vanishing cloak. He was allowed to spy on her at her dorm, or when she was with Ron. He had always been quiet as a mouse, and a couple of times he went into the Prefect's bath when she was there; it was all so delightful.

He winked at her and wiggled his finger. "Someone has been a naughty witch and forgot to invite her loyal audience," once again he inhaled his palm deeply, "This is a positively wicked fragrance," and pouted. She averted her eyes away from him rather annoyed. Harry chuckled and sounded more than a bit naughty.

Months later Viktor saw herbwhen she kissed Ron before the battle, and he had interrupted when she kissed Harry with the same fervor. No wonder, he made the wrong assumption that she was dispensing favors. And he approached her and picked her up in his strong arms, a gentle peck was all he got. He had known it, and who was he fooling?

"So, who is the lucky one, Potter or is it Weasley?"

"Or something," she answered mysteriously with a tinge of regret.

"Tell me ven the vedding is my little bookworm, so I vill say no. If I see you marry you kill my heart ven you chop, chop my love into small pieces." He made a comical gesture of a knife going into his heart. She barely smiled, it wasn't a joke, besides the poor sentence composition just to make her smile, but she soon forgot. He didn't.

A year later when the invitation came, he arranged to send a gift and threw the invitation in the rubbish can.

That night he went to see his fiancée, she was his parent's choice; try as he may, he was unable to shag, so he just sat at her flat and drank for three days non-stop. A few months later the Bulgarian witch was history, but he wasn't alone for long.

A/N If you like this work I would appreciate your reviews. thanks