Slightly chapped lips crushed themselves against her silken ones, those lips that had once touched his. His hand tangled into her hair, hair that had once found itself resting on his chest. Memories, illusions, and fantasies all tangled themselves into an endlessly swirling whirlpool within his mind. He could never escape them, images of his body against hers, hers against his, and by proxy, his body against his. They came together through her, were one within her.
In the darkest realms of his consciousness it was him he was with, him that he belonged to. This was his secret, the poison that could destroy them both. He tried to bury it, tried to banish it, but it refused to leave him, this desire that burned within, and when Hermione's lips met his in the dark, he couldn't resist the thought of Victor.