Vasily leant against the headboard of his double bed, thin white sheets pulled up to his waist. He didn't bother to get dressed, and didn't pay Waker much attention as she grabbed her clothes from the floor. Vasily could've cut the atmosphere in his room with a knife. Instead of trying to dilute the situation, he merely hunched over slightly, rolling a cigarette with nimble fingers that displayed years of smoking experience. He possessed a cruel body; defined and muscled, but brutally slim, his chest and stomach sporadically etched with short scars. Each one involved the story of a dual in Kiev, and Vasily couldn't remember losing a single one. Grabbing his wand to light the end of the cigarette, he inhaled deeply, his breath still heavy and warm.

Turning to look at Waker, who'd got out of his bed as soon as it was over, he pouted causing a long and thick sliver of smoke to drain from his mouth. He could tell she regretted it almost instantly after it happened. Waker was a nice girl, apparently, the type of girl who didn't cheat on her boyfriend, who didn't lie and meet-up with a stranger, who would never get drunk and yield to a bout of lust. But Vasily had caused a momentary change, a relapse, and he couldn't help but feel infinitely proud.

After their first meeting, in which he'd managed to restrain himself, Vasily knew she would never contact him first. He was the embodiment of a harsh mistake, not just for his current interest, but for countless girls in the Ukraine. Vasily wasn't pleasant, nor charming, or even likeable, but he had that dark attraction what mesmerised some women; he was everything that was wrong with the underworld of wizardry.

He'd sent her a letter, brief and completely to the point. The words 'Meet me - Vasily' were etched on a piece of eggshell card, and although he had no reply in days, she'd turned up. And he immediately caved in to a passion far greater than their first encounter, for it had time to boil and seem far more dangerous than it actually was.

"Going so soon?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. Vasily couldn't contain his smirk of pride, his eyes meeting hers. He thought that there was still a part of her that wanted to stay, and Vasily could only agree with this sentiment.

outfit

What had happened? She knew well enough. It had been intense, it had been... good. But different than she was used to, not like it was with George. Not what she wanted, not exactly.

But she had wanted it, hadn't she? She'd wanted to know. She knew as soon as she got the owl what he was really asking, and she knew as she headed toward his flat, swathed in knits and breathing into the pale of her scarf that she would be removing it all too soon, giving herself away to a stranger, succumbing to an attraction she shouldn't have felt for the last boy on earth for whom she should feel anything at all.

But there, lounged with his cigarette and his scars, it was easy to see why she was drawn to him. Easy to see why even a girl like Waker would fall hard and fast into his trap, and have no one to blame or comfort her but herself. He was beautiful.

She gathered her clothes in a frenzy that was not she. She'd always prided herself in Dressing for Success, and here she had undressed for... well, successful ruin. The sort that only two people could create together, and they had. She blushed, her back to him, knowing that she had not hated what they'd just done. Her heart broke for George, and it didn't even deserve to. Only George deserved to feel that pain, and even then, he hardly deserved pain. He had treated her like she was the only girl on the planet, and she had thrown it away for a boy who treated her like one in a dozen.

It hadn't felt that way when she'd been with him, though. Vasily had a way with his hands, with his rough mouth and throaty, smoky voice, and bartender's language. He was a rebel, sort of like George, but different.

Devlin, Edmund, George, Vasily... what was it about them?

She ignored his question. She was afraid her knees would give way and she might not go.

"Can you...?" Waker's fingers were shaking, fumbling and losing the game with the ties of her necklace. She moved to the bed and sank down beside the lean, naked warmth of Vasily, her back to him. She moved her hair over one shoulder, combing it down into obedience with guilty fingers. She held each end of the necklace in the opposite hand, sitting only in her knickers, bra, and socks, not daring to catch his eye.

Vasily leaned forward slowly, his half-smoked cigarette hanging loosely between two lips filled with a sense of accomplishment. A thin trail of smoke gently rose up over Waker's shoulder as he clasped the necklace together with ease, his rough hands brushing the skin on the back of her neck. His bottom half still covered by the sheet, Vasily took his cigarette and exhaled, placing it into an already full ashtray. He couldn't help but grin at the entire situation. It seemed like she hated him but desired him simultaneously - why did such a well-mannered and successful girl settle for a rude, arrogant, violent young man? Vasily had no direct answer, nor did he need it - girls like Waker fell for Vasily, and they fell hard.

He brushed a few concrete fingers over her shoulder before moving his head down to kiss it softly, as if reassuring her. However, no amount of kisses from the wayward Ukrainian could hide what she'd done. Vasily could almost smell her guilt.
"Don't tell him about us." Vasily practically snarled during his own mention of Waker's boyfriend. The guy just seemed like some average scholastic little kid - a schoolboy head over heels with a girl far too good for him. In some respects, Vasily kind of wanted the idiot to find out, to come to the Three Broomsticks and try and play the tough guy. Vasily himself had been perfecting that role for years - and nobody would challenge it.

"Stay with me," he whispered, his harsh voice barely audible. His cruel lips twisted into a devilish smirk, curling a long arm around her waist. Vasily's own unabashed, unadulterated requests were almost challenge-like, as if tempting Waker to give in and collapse into the arms of a dragon. If only Uncle Ignan could see him now - the bloke would pop a lung. Vasily, shipped hundreds of miles to avoid trouble, and here he was, infecting the innocent with his own brand of misbehaviour. It was down right shocking, and he loved every second of it.

The kisses made her skin burn where her necklace should have sat. His fingers, rough but skilled, left echoes, ghosts of the crime they'd committed together. Waker was glad, for once, that George didn't seem to fancy following his father and brother to the Ministry, where a nine-to-five job might give him access to fingerprint potions and all sorts of pesky detective magic.

The chill raced up and down her body, which was otherwise still warm from his bed, damp and glowing with pleasure and exertion. She shook her head, wisps of hair, messy with sin, reminding her that she wasn't perfect. She was the least perfect person on the planet. She frowned, eyelashes falling atop the wide apples of her cheeks as she peeked down at Vasily's arms holding her prisoner.

But they weren't, not really, and that was the problem.

She couldn't blame him. She'd wanted it, too, just as badly, and she'd more than consented. And here she was, letting him tempt her, and it's no one's fault but her own. She turned a bit in his grip, wiggling so as to face him, her shoulder brushing against his, her legs a tangle on the mattress edge, facing the nightstand where his cigarette burned into its grave. "Don't talk about him," she murmured loudly. As if he'd had no right. It was her turn to pretend George wasn't in the picture, her turn to be gruff and demanding.

Still, the word us made her heart jump.

She watched the orange glow crescendo once more, like a lighthouse beam catching a shoreline, and then die gray. She squinted at it. "Give me on of those," she said, sounding more flustered than dangerous. The idea of Waker smoking was hilarious. But she didn't know what else to do. Her hands were shaking.

She webbed her fingers into Vasily's and caught his eye, pleading with him even as she silently apologized. Her lips parted, yielding, and her voice softened. She squeezed his hand under hers. "I'm sorry, Vasily. I shouldn't have done this to you." She reached up slowly with her other hand, caught the plummet of her necklace atop her chest, and stroked it to remind herself this wasn't a dream. Then she touched his cheek, his ear, his dark hair. "I'm a terrible person. You need someone who--" Won't run away. Didn't have a boyfriend. Would bark back, kick, and curse, and keep him in line. She smiled guiltily. "Won't cave in."

What had happened? She'd been so good at keeping George on track, and here she was letting her own steady pace crumble and rust.

She leaned toward him and kissed his cheek modestly, sorry for playing games with his head, even if he was doing the same with her own.

"Why?" he whispered in her ear, Vasily's voice challenging her to stand up to him. "If you felt guilty, you wouldn't still be here." In his head, he spoke the utmost sense. If Waker really felt so bad about doing the dirty on her pathetic boyfriend, then she'd have cut off contact after their first kiss outside Hogwarts all those weeks ago. Guilt, no matter what, took priority over the notion of intrigue, therefore, her attraction to Vasily greatly outweighed her commitment to this kid she was with. His mouth nuzzled her neck, planting further kisses of lust: the contact of lip to skin made the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention.

As she asked for a cigarette, Vasily snorted quietly with laughter, but shrugged, falling onto his back with a body tangled up in white sheets of infidelity.
"Go ahead," he murmured, grabbing his own almost extinguished cigarette. Taking the last possible drag, he exhaled the smoke slowly, his lips curled into an almost snarl-like position as grey mist gradually erupted from Vasily's lungs. Everything about the Ukrainian seemed uncaring; his cruel body, his permanent frown, his pure nonchalance and disrespect for authority. He was a dangerous character, and Vasily was the first person to admit it. For someone like Waker, he was nothing but bad news. He wasn't the type that got introduced to parents; many a parent had cried when their fair and beautiful daughter had got involved with the leader of Kiev criminals and scumbags. Although Vasily would never be clean-cut 'boyfriend material', he still managed to enchant and attract. Case in point, Waker Nolan.

He raised an eyebrow as she pleaded, apologising. He wasn't hurt by her words, merely shrugged with a grin on his face.
"I need someone?" he laughed, shaking his head. "You think all of this is a last-ditch attempt to gain some company? Poor little Ukrainian boy wants a girlfriend? You're my only hope?" Vasily leaned forward, giving her a kiss on the cheek, squinting his large brown eyes. With his mouth pressed close to her ear, his voice and breath was spine-chilling. "Think again, Waker. You don't have a clue who I am, what I've done, or what I'm all about." Planting a lingering kiss of enigma upon her mouth once more, he grinned afterwards, his nose touching hers. "All I know is that you'll be back here. I know that for certain."