Chapter 27

When Viktor got home he discovered Hermione sitting in the swing on the front porch, watching the light rain fall. She smiled at him as he climbed the steps to join her.

"I hope it's ok that I came back here tonight."

"You are alvays velcome, any time you vish to be here." He pushed her curls off of her face and kissed her cheek, tasting salt. "Haff you been crying?"

She nodded. "I've just been doing some thinking; it's nothing to be concerned over."

"Ok, if you say so. Come inside; I vill fix you dinner."

"I thought you couldn't cook," she said.

"I can make cookies!"

She laughed. "Grown-ups don't eat cookies for dinner!"

He stood up, looking down at her. She was smiling at him, sparkles in her eyes. This sweetness, this happiness, was what he yearned to have for eternity. He reached down and scooped her up, pushing open the door with his hip, and carried her to the kitchen to set her on the counter. "Ve can haff vhatever ve vant for dinner. Only vonce ve haff kids do ve haff to eat healthy."

"If we're making cookies I need to get out of my work clothes. I bet you're messy."

He looked at her, a dark, teasing promise in those chocolate eyes. "I expect to get very messy."

With those words, Hermione's mouth went dry. He stepped up to the counter and kissed her, a deep kiss full of love and desire. Against her mouth he whispered, "Thank you for coming home, even if it vas because you haff novhere else to go."

Softly she answered, "It's not because of that."

He let her go, and his smile was radiant as he started piling ingredients on the countertop. "Go, change your clothes, and then come make cookies vith me."

She hopped off the counter, obeying him, looking forwards to the sweets, both edible and emotional, that the evening held.

Viktor watched Hermione measure out sugar, leaning against the counter in another of his old t-shirts. Her hair was long enough now that she had twisted it into a bun, and sloppy curls kissed her cheeks. She looked so at home in his big open kitchen; he wanted to spend days in here with her, when previously it had been the least-used room in the house. It felt right with her in it, as if, after living in this house for several years, it had finally become home.

She handed him the measuring cup to dump into his bowl, chatting about some Chinese law she'd read, and he noticed something that made his heart lurch.

She'd taken off her wedding ring. He realized right away that must have been what her tears were about when he got home; she'd been wearing it last night. He remembered looking at it and thinking about what kind of ring he'd like buy her, when he'd been watching her sleep.

She caught him looking at her hand and stopped talking about China. When he met her gaze, she quirked her mouth into a sad half-smile. "It was time."

"Ok," he answered. He wondered if that meant she was leaving Weasley, but he didn't want to press her about it. If she wanted to talk, she could. If not, he didn't need her to, not right now, anyway. He needed her to smile, though. He dipped flour out of the bag and flicked it at her, showering her hair and dusting her nose and cheeks. Her eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped open. She was begging to be kissed, Viktor thought, staring at her mouth.

The flour she tossed caught him right in the face. He dusted it off and did his best to glare at her through his smile. "You are in trouble now."

"You started it," she answered, dipping her hand in the sugar. He grabbed her just as she flicked it at him, dusting them both. She squirmed ferociously. "Let me go!" she giggled. "What are you going to do with me?"

"Carry you off to my lair and haff my vicked vay vith you."

She kissed him, kissed him thoroughly. "Please do," she murmured. His heart pounded, and he could feel blood throbbing elsewhere, too. She tasted like flour and sugar and happiness and home. He could picture so easily a life where they would share this carefree camaraderie and this love every day, a life where he could lay her down on the kitchen table when she whispered words like that in his ear. In reality, though, he didn't even know if she'd be here tomorrow. With a sigh, he kissed her again and let her go.

"If I do, ve vill not eat anything tonight."

"You might," she answered, then looked surprised and covered her mouth, face turning red.

The words sent shivers down his back, but the look on her face made him laugh harder than he had in years, until his stomach ached.

Later, as he pulled the cookies out of the oven, she said, "I think I'd like to go to the beach again sometime."

"Ve can go right now if you'd like. The rain has stopped. Ve can go right out the back door, and there it is."

She smiled at him, making his heart swell. "I hadn't thought about that. I've never been in your backyard."

"Vill be cool by the vater. Vhy don't you get us a blanket from the closet?" He put the cookies in a picnic basket (a gift from his mother, naturally) along with some ham sandwiches. Regardless of what he'd said, he didn't think either one of them just wanted cookies for dinner.

If life went the way Viktor wanted it to, he'd have had wine and roses for their first moonlit picnic on the beach. He supposed ham would taste like filet mignon as long as Hermione was there. On second thought, he had a bottle of wine, a gift from someone on his Quidditch team years ago. He rummaged in the cabinet until he found it and put it in the basket.

He really needed to buy something to drink out of that wasn't plastic. For now, though, Hermione was waiting for him. He met her on the porch, and they went down to the beach.

The world really didn't get more perfect, in Hermione's opinion, than being cuddled in a blanket with Viktor, sipping wine out of plastic cups with little Snitches on them. The clouds had cleared enough to allow the moon to reflect on the quiet waters of the Black Sea, drawing a shimmering path from here to eternity.

Viktor was the epitome of eternity. He tasted, felt, smelled like forever. His presence gave her heart a warm glow that made her feel as if he would make the world alright, and keep her safe beside him, until time itself ended.

What had she meant to tell him? The wine had her thoughts slightly fogged, despite the fact that she was still on her first cup.

Oh, yes. "Vitya, I wanted to tell you I won't be here tomorrow night." She felt his body tighten, and continued, "I need to go to my in-laws' house and talk to them."

His voice came softly through the dark and her wine-induced haze. She suspected he was in one, too; she didn't think he would have asked normally, not in this situation, not tonight. Tonight had been too...too perfect to taint with that question. "Are you leaving him? That is vhat you vant to tell them?" His voice sounded so hopeful. She hated to crush him.

With a sigh, she answered, "I'm leaving him, but I…I'm so sorry, Vitya, but I can't bring myself to file for divorce just yet."

For a while, he didn't say anything; he just suddenly felt far away from her. When he answered, he said, "I am very, very glad you are leaving him, at least. I do not understand vhy leaving and divorce do not go hand-in-hand, but if you say you cannot, I vill trust you."

"I'm working towards it. I'm really trying to, I am. It's just…it's really difficult to let go of someone completely who has been a part of your life for so long. In a way, it's like I'm giving up a piece of my identity. I don't mean that I still love him, or that any part of me still wants to be with him. I think it's just…filing for divorce would be the final step in admitting I've really and truly failed at being married."

"Only vhen you admit the first time did not vork can you try again. If you should ever vant to, I mean."

She looked at him, so beautiful, hazy in the moonlight. His eyes were black in the dark, gazing at her, sad. "Vitya…I really hope that somewhere down the road, there's an 'us'."

"Svetlina, even though it cannot be right now, I feel there already is an 'us'."

So did she.