Note: Post War, warnings for adultery

She leaned her head back against the wall, her hand reaching above her for something to grasp onto while her other hand gripped his shoulder. Her lips parted slightly, and her eyes fluttered to a close as pleasure coursed through her body.

Her breaths became shallower as his lips moved across her neck and collarbone. Her leg lifted and ran along his side. They were completely clothed, but she knew that soon enough they wouldn't be.

They never stayed clothed for long.

It was how it always went. Every Wednesday for the past year, she would meet him for sessions like this and leave shortly after they were done, until the upcoming week, when she would return. He filled that void in her heart, even though she knew it was all pretense. There was no love in what they were doing, and they would never work well beyond the physical attraction they currently held for one another.

Merlin, why couldn't all things be as simple as sex?

She couldn't bear the pain after losing her twin, her rock, her solace. Intelligence and creativity meant nothing without her sister to match her. And she would take that belief to her grave.

Marrying another Ravenclaw should have healed some of the wounds the war had left on her, but it didn't. Instead, it only reminded her of what she'd lost. There were nights when she'd dream of reaching for her sister's hand, and as soon as their fingers touched, her sister would be lifeless on the stoned floor. Blood would be pooling under her twin's body, and she would stain her uniform holding her sister in her arms.

Her sister was the brave one, not her, and look what had happened. She was living in a baseless marriage with a gash so deep in her soul that she was afraid her soul was fading as the days went by.

Perhaps it had, since she was straying from her husband damn near shamelessly.

She could lie to herself and say she didn't know how it had happened, but there was no point. She had been in one of the pubs in Muggle London, hoping to drink her problems away, because her husband practically ignored her existence on the one-year anniversary of the war.

A Muggle stepped to her, leaning against the bar, with his hazel eyes examining her from head to toe. He had black hair that waved to the nape of his neck, and his physique was far from disappointing as he was lean.

In her eyes, he was stunning. He was bold. He was different. Everything the witch needed in her life.

One thing led to another, and she found herself in a Muggle hotel, crying out for a man that wasn't her husband. The next morning, she felt her wedding band still on her ring finger; she hadn't bothered to take it off the night before. It felt heavy, but she couldn't bring herself to care. The man sleeping next to her mustn't have cared, either.

She gathered the garments that weren't ripped–she'd fix the torn clothes once she was back at home–and left without a word to the man. She tried forgetting that night–she deserved to be credited for that at least–but no matter what she did, the itch to be touched by that man wouldn't go away. He'd given her something that her husband wouldn't and couldn't.

So she went back to the same pub another night, and she saw him again. And she shagged him again. And again. And again. It felt so right. His fingers would brush up her arm and give her chills. His body would press against hers and heat her up everywhere else.

When she was with him, she never saw her sister bleeding to death; she never heard the cries and screams of her classmates, and she never felt the pain and emptiness left from the loss.

She couldn't give that up. How could she?

It felt so right, but the good side of her conscious knew it was wrong. It wasn't right to seek comfort in someone that wasn't her husband and continue with her lies.

Yet, she couldn't find herself to care every time she laid in her bed next to her husband and felt nothing but everything she wanted to avoid.

She prayed that one day she wouldn't cry in the morning when her husband had his back turned. She prayed that one day she wouldn't leave his side for another man. She prayed that there would be a remedy to fix her broken soul.

Until that day came, there was nothing stopping her from filling the void.

A/N: Written for HSWW (Challenges and Assignments)

Assignment #8 Ghost Hunting Task 1: write about adultery

Word Count: 779