A/N: So this is the second chap. Written mostly by me, Liefe. AWSM looked over it and decided it wasn't too weird, but that's about it xD

Maryse Fallow had met Dorian Graymire when she was eleven, on her first day at Hogwarts. He had been the tall, darkly good-looking Slytherin fifth year prefect. She had been a timid first year who had just been sorted into Ravenclaw, and as she walked down the aisle between their house's tables, she had tripped and literally fallen into his arms. His reassurances and kind smile, accompanying his reputation as a ladies man, had turned her into a ball of wild infatuation. During her entire first year she had stalked him, learning who his friends were, where and what his classes were, and so on.

For the next two years, she'd continued in a similar vein: not constantly thinking about him, but blushing whenever she saw him in the halls between classes. In her third year, however, Maryse had started dating Gerald Davies, a fifth year Ravenclaw. Maryse wasn't stupid. She'd known she was beautiful, with waist length dark brown hair, blue eyes and a shapely body, and she had also known that Davies only wanted to have a good-looking bird on his arm for the Winter Solstice Ball. But she'd agreed anyway, flattered by Davies' attentions. They'd flirted, they'd kissed, they'd danced. And after the ball, he'd broken up with her. Unperturbed, Maryse had returned to her day-to-day life, attending classes, doing homework, and daydreaming about the Head Boy, Dorian Graymire.

When Dorian graduated, Maryse had mourned the loss of her long-time crush, but with a rapid succession of boyfriends, she'd gotten over him. Maryse had developed a reputation for being a good lay and an excellent student, which she hadn't contested. Four years later, when Maryse had graduated, she'd gone to work as a barmaid at the Friendly Ghost, a small pub in Ottery St. Catchpole, in Devon. Unbeknownst to Maryse, the Friendly Ghost had been the favorite haunt of one ex-Slytherin, namely Dorian Graymire.

Every Friday night after work he'd popped in for a pint, and Maryse had always made sure she was the one to serve him. She'd unbuttoned her shirt a little and had sent him flirtatious winks from across the bar. One Friday night in July, however, their routine had changed.

After she'd brought him his beer, she had turned to return to the bar. Then his fingers had closed around her wrist.

"Yes Mr. Graymire?" she'd asked, smiling.

He had smiled back, and something in his face told her that this was different.

"Miss Fallow. Are you busy tonight?" he'd asked, hand sliding up past her wrist to her elbow and pulling her down towards him slightly.

"Y-yes. I'm off my shift at ten." she had responded breathily, following his pull. "Meet me outside the pub at quarter past?"

Dorian smile had turned lecherous as he nodded, and Maryse had felt a shiver pass through her.

He had waited in his booth patiently, and he'd been there, perched on the windowsill to the right of the pub entrance at quarter past.

And that had been the beginning.

-Bloodlust-

It had been fourteen years since their perfect wedding, and Maryse could not fairly say that their marriage was as perfect.

Dorian, being from an old pureblooded family, expected Maryse to stay home and - Maryse shuddered at how old fashioned it sounded - care for the children and the home.

But now, even though Maryse missed her former independence, she had never wished for this. Her husband, Dorian Graymire, former Slytherin prefect and Head Boy, father to three children, and relatively successful Ministry worker, was dead. Dead and gone.

Now, Maryse thought bitterly, she had more 'independence' than she had ever wanted. With Hunter, her eldest at eleven years old, was away at Hogwarts, she was left alone with David, the stoic middle child, and Peter her ball of three-year-old exuberance.

And for a wizard to die in a Muggle train crash!

Maryse knew that her husband was like the nails in a birdhouse; without him, her family would begin to fall apart. Hunter, with his lackadaisical use of magic in front of his squib little brother, always trying to impress his father, who'd impassively and without realizing pushed him away and ignored him. David, who loved Dorian almost as much as he loved Peter, and had worshiped his father's magic. And little Peter, who would never really remember his father…

Already she missed him, his presence, his large hands, his scent, the way he held her a night alone in their bed.

Alone…

Maryse spent the first night alone crying.