A.N. Thank you so much for the reviews, muchly appreciated .

We Run Like Thieves.

And I wonder not for the first time how people have affairs for years, how do they stand it, being in the same room as someone they have be so basely intimate with but acting as if they are mere acquaintances?

How do they not grab them in front of everyone, pull them close, kiss them till they are gasping for air, show everyone how stupid they have been, how oblivious to what has been staring, screaming at them in the face, this secret, our secret? How don't they fling them onto the sofa and pin them there, and make them see, make them see that they fit, that they are perfect, that-

Because they have lives, because they have children, because they have friends children that need them to be stronger than their obsessions, their all consuming fire ball passions, and I have to remind myself of Harry so often these days that it is a mantra, and besides, what do I think would happen should I declare my unworthy attentions? Everyone would clap and fuss upon us bestowing kisses, blessings and congratulations?

When clearly they would hex my cock off and send me straight to Azkaban.

But I still have to remind myself, every moment that we are together in public, not to touch you, not to brush up behind you and wrap an arm around your waist, not to lean in and kiss the nape of your neck, not to whisper in your ear, not to make you blush, and it shouldn't be so hard with what's at stake, but it is, it fucking is.

I want to press you up into that alcove and show you how much I want you, I want to lift you up press you so hard into the wall it hurts, I want to kiss you into oblivion, I want to feel you hot and tight and wrapped around me, but I can't, because I have to sit here and pretend like I give a damn about cleaning. Cleaning! I'm a grown man, I should be fighting, I should be out, protecting my friends, doing a better job than I did of it last time, I should be keeping my Godson safe at all costs, I should be taking you out, I should be lavishing expensive dinners and shows on you, I should be feeling you pressed up against my back as we fly through the cold night air on my motorcycle, I should feel your soft breasts against me, your breath on my neck, my cheek, your hands pinching into me as you cling on, your thighs tensing as I speed up, but instead I'm sat on a mouldy carpet, eating sandwiches, whilst Mrs Weasley talks about Doxies. Like I give a fuck.

And then I see you staring at Ron and I wonder why in Merlin's name I put myself through these agonies over you, a chit of a girl, in love with someone else, merely in need of an escape from the awful thoughts that must consume you day and night, that torture in the night, that haunt your every waking moment. Because they haunt mine. They tear at me like rabid wolves.

But then I see you biting into a ham sandwich, looking up at me through your eyelashes and a curtain of hair, and I see you blush, I see you hastily swallowing and brushing the corners of your mouth, I see you anxious at my reaction, I see you go scarlet at my wink, and then I see our memories in your eyes, and then I remember why I put myself through it. Because I love you. Because I am in love with you, and I begin to realise how people find the strength to carry on these affairs. Because they have to. Because it is worth it. Because you are worth it.