A/N: Usually I post a bit of a song or quote before a story to set the tone, but I can't on this one.
If you want to listen to what I was when I wrote this, pull up an album called "Mello Cello" and listen to track 9, "Adagio for Strings, Op. 11".
It fits my mood tonight.

The End of the Affair

It could have been any other day, the first time she saw him after everything ended. She was rummaging through Flourish and Blotts, trying to find a good enough book on Alchemy to study for her final MediHELL exams; he was looking for a rare eleventh century tome on the Dark Arts.

They shouldn't have met again.

For her, it was truly an accident of fortune.

For him, it was a revelation from the gods.

It was the first time he followed her home, to the ancient house she shared with Potter – happily shacking up in the peace of the post-war world. He saw them make love through the slightly open curtain. She sighed out her pleasure gently while he fumbled with her body like an incompetent boy.

He shook with the need to make her scream, even then.

The second time she saw him, it was in the little clinic room where she met patients. She smiled this time, her welcoming face open and carefree.

He showed her his scars. She didn't moan or flinch like the whore in Knockturn Alley did the last time he needed to feel alive. She merely looked worried as pressed her cool fingers to the raised marks, their presence a blessing over his cursed skin. He might have moaned, passing it off as pain when she looked up at him with a troubled expression.

She gave him a card with a return visit, and sweetly bid him good day.

He followed her home again that night, watching through the parted curtain as she mounted the boy with a practiced move that made his own knees weak and his cock rise, despite the Occlusion that should have stopped it. Her control was fascinating, especially when she touched herself. Then, the sighs of before were outshone by a sly smile as she shook, just before Potter lost himself in her.

Never once did she cry out, or even look like she really enjoyed it.

Their third encounter was planned, after the appointment came and went – she was lonely as Potter was out on an extended trip for the Ministry. She changed clothes and loosened her hair so that the copper strands danced down her back and glinted in the setting sun as they walked to the pub where they wouldn't be recognized.

It was too easy. Just a touch of his hand against hers, a suggestive glance her way. She asked if she could join him at his place for a drink, and he pretended he didn't care when he said yes.

She screamed that night as he fucked her over the back of his old leather couch, her back pressed against his chest, his hands digging into her hips and skimming her nub while she shattered apart. He licked her afterwards, thinking heaven must taste his seed mixed with her honey.

She didn't leave until Potter returned, and he had to cover the marks with Bruise Paste to hide the evidence of him on her. She wouldn't let him ease the soreness within – she said she wanted to feel him with every step she took during the day. With the invitation, he raised her skirt and screwed her against the wall that held his books, just to make sure she could feel him all the more while she walked back home.

He took to watching them, even on nights when he didn't accidentally see her in the clinic, or at a shop. Her eyes were always closed now, her pleasure not even the gentle waves of before.

Not until the moment when she looked out of the window, catching his black eyes with her magnificently bright brown ones -

Then she came.

For him.

Another trip for Potter, another weekend for them.

And this time he took the one thing the idiot boy hadn't when he kissed her tight rosette, spitting and working his fingers inside of her, stretching her until he thought she was ready. There was pain, for her at least, but she rode the wave until she shuddered against him once more, screaming only his name as she grabbed his hands, making him feel her release in places other than where they were joined.

He could feel her everywhere now. And when the last day came, he didn't want her to go.

She hesitated at the door before kissing him deeply, her tongue seeking out his warmth and power.

But still she went home.

Back to him.

The day did finally come when she wouldn't leave him again.

And it was the end of the affair, though whose it was the gossip mongers never figured out.

She was his, after all.

After their first time together there had never been a question of that power, though it had been denied due to obligation and habit.

Now, he watched her only when he caught a glance of her in the mirror next to their bed, while she made love to him with the curtains drawn tightly shut.

She screamed only his name.