She loves her husband. She really does. She loves her marriage and her children and her family, and she wouldn't swap them for the world. But when he comes around, she can't help but love the way his gaze lingers on her body, and his touch (so innocent, but so not) lasts a little too long.

And she sees him so often now. At Grimmauld Place, while Arthur's at work…

She always tries to push Arthur from her mind.

At first it's just conversations in the kitchen. Innocent questions, like "I'd have thought you'd be at the Ministry, Kingsley?" And innocent answers, like "I've been given an assignment with irregular hours."

And then not so innocent, like "Merlin, this place is quiet." And "Sirius must have gone out, again. Dumbledore won't be happy."

And somehow "How long are you here for?" turns into "Oh, Merlin, yes! Harder! Fuck, Kingsley!"

The first time is a mistake. It's two people who are caught up in the heat of the moment who need release. Who need touch.

They don't even have sex; it's just frenzied kissing against the kitchen wall as he grinds himself against her. And then he's slipping a finger inside her, and she can't remember the last time she's been so turned on.

And then it's over, and he's making excuses and running away, and she's sliding down the wall and burying her face in her hands, thoughts of Arthur and guilt flooding her mind.

But her hands… they smell of sex and of him.

The first time is a mistake, but the second time is much more deliberate. It's burning gazes meeting across a bowl of trifle. It's a touch that sends electricity up both their arms. It's Molly saying to Arthur, "No, no, dear, you go on home. You've got work in the morning; I don't want to keep you up. And I can't leave all these dishes here for Sirius to do. It wouldn't be fair."

She thinks of him, as Kingsley is pressing himself inside of her. She remembers what it was like when she was younger, and when Arthur still touched her like this. Like she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

But time has built a wall between them, and it's not Arthur caressing her body and thrusting against her.

It's not his name she moans when she comes.

She should stop it, she knows. It's wrong, and Arthur would never do it to her. But Kingsley's always there, with his dark eyes and gentle hands.

And she'll always run to him when everyone else has turned their backs.