A/N I know, I know. Not very long again. But I really like this chapter. You get a clearer view on Draco, with lots of sexiness and depression. You even get some hotness from another certain Weasley...

Lucius sighed, strands of light hair falling out of the braid it was held in. His hand rested on the book in front of him, tired eyes seeking, always seeking. He owned an entire library on the Dark Arts, why wasn't there one book about time travel?

His mind suddenly poked at something, hidden in the back...ah yes! The ministry...they held the books that he needed. Lucius no longer got out very often but...for this occasion, he was going to look his finest.

Draco lounged back in the plush green chair, bringing a cigarette to his mouth and inhaling deeply. As his hand moved, the many silver bracelets and emerald rings clinked and rattled. He leaned back further, the two other occupants giggling girlishly. His other hand distractedly stroked one whore's hair, but his mind was far away.

He was at a party – his party, actually. Blaise, his old school friend, had decided to disturb the young Malfoy's life of melancholy and forcibly push him into the arms of over two hundred guests. Literally.

He sighed, and slightly pushed away the manicured hand that had started to creep its way up his open black silk shirt. He got up from his nest of pillows and walked over to his friend, his slightly drunk mind trying to focus on the task at hand.

You want to thank him for the party, he kept on telling himself. Thank him...

He stopped in mid-thought, his eyes glazed over as he looked at one particular couple by one of the chocolate fountains. An elegant, dark woman in a dark blue dress hung onto the arm of a tall, red-haired man with a fang earring. Draco took out his wand and muttered soberious. His mind immediately cleared – he no longer wanted a foggy brain.

"Bill Weasley," he said, lounging against a tall marble pillar. "What a pleasant surprise." He meant it, too. The eldest Weasley had proved himself hard-working, courageous, brilliant in Ancient magic and had a sense of style to boot. Though he didn't luxuriate in fine silks and cashmere on a daily basis, he was definitely working himself up there.

"Why, Draco! The same, I'm sure," said the tall man, gesturing with his right arm, the baggy folds of his blue shirt swaying. "May I present Christine LaFontaine. She's an auror who works for the Ministry of Magic in France." Christine smiled and nodded her head, dark curls twirling delicately.

"Enchanté, Mademoiselle," said Draco, bowing in turn. He poured himself a glass of champagne and gestured to the round, comfy chairs. "Bill, if I could have a word with you in private?"

"Of course," said the redhead. He spoke of few quiet words to Christine, who nodded and left.

The two men cut quite the picture, both sitting cross-legged across from each other on green chairs, both elegant and handsome. Bill wore a deep blue silky shirt with the top two buttons open to reveal a bare chest and large gold cross. His black pants and black dragon hide boots completed the outfit, both fairly expensive and new. His long hair was pulled back in a neat bun, his earring dangling.

Draco also wore silk, though his shirt was green and most of the top buttons were undone. The short strands of silver hair fell across his face. Silver chains glittered at his neck and leather boots glinted as he stared the other man in the eyes.

"How's Ginevra?" he asked bluntly.

Bill looked slightly surprised. "You sure don't beat around the bush, do you?" He leaned over to the glass table beside him and picked up a black cigarette. After lighting it, he switched his legs so that they were under him in a more comfortable position. He leaned back into the pillows, letting the smoke swirl around him. "She's doing fine. As fine as anyone can be, under the circumstances."

"My God, Bill, I feel so bad-"

"Don't," said Bill, gritting his teeth. "You're a good man, Draco, I saw that when you were with Ginny. But you're also stupid. It wasn't your fault, damnit!" He leaned forward. "Don't spend the rest of your days like this, Darco. Living off you father's money, save for whatever royalties that book of yours is bringing in, getting drunk, sleeping around with the cheapest prostitute you can find, while all the time being depressed and miserable...it's such a waste! You can do so much better.

Draco raised a pale eyebrow, but didn't comment. He, too, lit another cigarette and leaned back. A barely dressed girl wearing an Arabian dancer's costume flitted over to offer chocolate-dipped strawberries, but only Bill accepted, leaving the younger man to his thoughts.

"What can I do?" asked Draco quietly, eyes sad.

Bill looked at him calculatingly. "Go back to your fa-"

"No," hissed Draco. "He sits up there in his manor, the cruel Lord Malfoy, probably concocting his latest plan to overthrow the world! Hell, he wants me dead! I was never the son he wanted me to be."

The redhead sighed. "Draco, we all know Lucius wasn't all good and pure inside but – wait, let me finish. Too much wasn't finished up there. Too many ties left undone. Wait if you have to, but eventually you will have to face him." He leaned forward more so that they're faces were an inch apart. "Draco, you're still the only Malfoy heir."

Draco leaned back into the cushions. He trusted Bill and believed the eldest Weasley wise in the ways of the world. But he was just so afraid. "I can't," he said hoarsely.

"Can't," said Bill quietly, "or perhaps won't?" He also leaned back, stubbing his cigarette in a crystal ashtray beside him. "You need to get a grip on yourself, man."

Draco turned his face away.

"Face your fears for now, Draco. But for now...visit my sister."

The blonde's head snapped back up. "Gin-Ginevra?"

"Yes," said Bill solemnly. He peered into the young Malfoy's eyes. "You still love her."

It wasn't a question, merely a simple fact. And he was right. Draco was still in love with his beloved Ginevra. "What if...what if she hates me?"

"She doesn't"

"But...what if she doesn't love me?" asked Draco fearfully, tears weeling up in the normally stone cold eyes.

"There's only one way to find that out, isn't there?"

Bill stood up, taking another strawberry with him, and wandered over to where Christine was sitting watching a performance by some middle-east belly dancers. The tall man sat down beside her, slipping his calloused hand into hers. Draco watched them, his heart crying out in pain and wretchedness. He gently closed his eyes and remembered...

Three Years Earlier

Ginevra looked so beautiful in that dress. A deep blood red that made her hair looked a darker shade than it was, a simple silver cross on her neck and a swipe of lipstick colouring her full lips. Everyone in the room looked down their nose at her, the ladies thinking, "Why not put some mascara on those pale lashes? Why not dye that awful orange hair? Why not where a more becoming dress? Why not..." while the men thought, "Why not wear a lower cut? Why not act like an actual woman?"

Draco loved her though, and his heart would burst every time she turned her head to smile at him. He thought himself the luckiest man in the world. She turned back to the punch bowl, scooping up to spoonfuls into a crystal glass. He smiled. Ginevra didn't like wine, or champagne. She was innocent in that way, and he loved her for it.

She was his. His beautiful girl.

Yay! So there's chapter 4! I would appreciate any feedback, constructive criticism or suggestions for upcoming chapters. A big thanks to DarkerBella and Adrenalina, my wonderful reviewers.