In a setting so close, yet so far from the chamber of our dear Slytherins was a nearly identical area robed in an alternative red and gold pattern. Naturally, it was the Gryffindor commons.

And oh, what a place it was. Indeed.

A girl sat in front of the fire staring into it intensely as if waiting for some semi-emberous head to come out.

In fact, had we entered this scene a few moments sooner, we would have seen that there was.

If we were to zoom in—which we will—we would now see—which we do—that the tears that rolled down her cheeks sizzled as the heat from the fire raised them to their boiling point where they then turned to gas and floated away into the brightly lit night sky to join the stars.

"Not… coming… back?" She whispered to herself in disbelief as her pupils dilated to unchartedly large status. She contemplated throwing herself into the fire. And not to try and communicate back to him.

Who was not coming back? You might be wondering. We would be as well. But all that matters is that someone wasn't coming back and our young Demetria Fields was devastated.

"Not coming BACK?" she said, her voice rising to a wail as tears started pouring down her cheeks. She started sobbing coarse, raucous sobs until her very soul burned like an immolate monk's.

Yes, an immolate monk.

"Oy!" She heard a hoarse and grunty voice from behind her.

She often heard hoarse and grunty voices from behind her. But she wouldn't anymore.

"Oy! Would you quit with your bloody hollerin'?" She turned around to see the Sir Cadogan in the previously unoccupied frame of the empty painting that hung on the wall (some ninny had thought a blank canvas entitled "Life is a Blank Canvas—Paint Your Dreams" would be a hit. Unfortunately for humanity, it was). "We were trying to sleep and you woke us up, you--, you--, you gonad!"

The last bit startled her out of her slumfest.

"Wait, what?" She asked, taken aback.

Why taken aback? In those days, the knight frequently liked to use words he heard around the school. He thought he was "hip" and "happenin.'" He also had no idea what most of the words meant.

"Go to bed you blithering idiot! No one cares that your stupid twenty-five year old lover dumped you!" He screamed, arms flailing and armor clanking.

"You listened to my conversations?" she gasped, indignant.

"Feckin' right I do, young lassie. Now shut the bloddy hell up," he intoned coarsely, insensitively, BRUSQUELY…if I may…which I do may….

"No," she cried, in a voice rife with passion of the deepest depths of deepness. "And he is NOT twenty-five," she said, almost regally. It would have been regal if not for her rather skanulous appearance. For in the midst of her absolute depression, her deepest sorrow, she was not as…well-presented as she usually (well, maybe not usually…occasionally…rarely…whatever) was—with two or so stone of eyeliner running down her face…her sorrow stricken face.

"And put on some bloddy fekin' clothes, missie. I can see what you ate fer breakfast two months ago, you lel' tart!" he shouted, with no regard to her current, pathetic, hapless state.

It is true, it must be said, that her outfit was rather interesting…but you must understand that darling Tria was meeting her lover…here...tonight !

Well, she was.

But not anymore.

And so was the tragick tale…of their tragick love…

-cut to five'n'ten minutes ago-

"Shut up you bloody whore. I told you. I need to get married. To someone legal"

"BUT I AM YOUR ONE AND ONLY LOVE"

"If you thought so, you tainted tart, you would be deeply mistaken" he intoned coolly.

"But," she whimpered, her lower lip quivering like the three-headed dog's we shall see in a much future time, "I thought we had something, darling"

"For the love of Phineas, would you kindly paste your insanely large gob shut so I can perhaps think?"

Demetria felt a sudden deluge of intense rage, hot in itself as the fire as the fire within the heart but apparently more so than the fire within his pants.

"HA! It's taken you this long to THINK! You've never THINKED –she paused briefly to reconsider but couldn't remember the correct word—before, except with your fucking penis, you little twat! In fact, I USED to THINK that you didn't HAVE one it was so damn SMA--"

"Shut it," he interred sleekly, in a tone that very well matched his sleek blonde locks. They were so sleek, in fact, that many were apt to think that they were naturally so. Tria knew they were not. Many a time, she had seen him (post-coitus, of course) running Sleak-Eazy*'s liberally to his blonde locks—the famous platinum sheaths were, in actuality, clumps of puffy woolishness that stuck out several feet from Lucius's well-formed head. At least his head was well-formed. And luckily for her, that was not all that was, anatomically speaking.

The hair did tend to be an issue, occasionally. Well, she had only seen it twice or thrice in its natural state, but when it was, she had observed that, during the act, things often got…stuck in it. The game of search-and-find amongst the pale clouds of his head was fun enough after a few tumblers of Firewhiskey. Once they even found a shotglass of the stuff in there. Good times. But when sober, it was a not-so-subtle reminder or the fact that…nothing was really fun while sober, especially with him around.

Lucius Malfoy was not a likely choice for an affair. Oh, physically, he had all the right signs, but frankly, he was not a prime catch.

"What about love, Luciulous?" She pleaded hoping beyond hope that it wouldn't be in vain. "What about our love?"

He sighs, a glimpse of irritation showing on his placent visage not for the first time, "we have discussed this matter far too long already. I have things to attend to" he spat, a dark look crosses his face.

It might be prudent to let you know that the dark look was as dark as the Dark Lord himself.

"But is it—" Had Tria been able to finish her sentence, it would have been for naught, for her ex-lover had already gone. And if she had been able to finish her sentence, well, he would likely not have heard it because it was the smoke and ash from the exiting bust of her ex-lover that made her choke and not finish her sentence in the first place.

And now we return to the scene in which we first found our dear Tria in her state of devastation. But rather than review the aforementioned scene, we will simply move on to another character whom you will surely come to love most deeply.

Or perhaps not.