A/N: Hello, everyone. I have provincials in a month and I'm freaking out. (Etes-vous canadiens? Si oui…then you know what pronvincials are.) so…I decided I need a change of pace. My first chapters, the PWP's, seemed childish and very, well…PWP. Now…It's changing. It's no longer going to be light-hearted. I try to be witty, mind you, but…It's more serious now. This story when I thought about it was supposed to be tragic… I love this chapter. I absolutely enjoyed writing it! Please review! (warning…not so long…decided to edit out half of it…)

And there he stood, amongst his company, laughing politely at his friend's mediocre jokes. He was twiddling his fingers inside his pant-pocket, bored and anxious at the same time. His attire was pressed and spotless, his look flawless and attractive, and his persona emitted nothing but Malfoy-confidence. He was no ordinary student, he was the son, no…the heir of an aristocrat. And that pride exuded off of him.

The party was an ordinary one, not as pompous and ceremonial as his mother organized, not as formal and exclusive as his father preferred, and not nearly as elite and restricted as he himself would care to join; just a bunch of his friends, gathered around the cozy hearth with a champagne glass in hand, and an expensive designer robe on their anorexic figures. If it were up to him, it would just be five people, him, Blaise, Pansy, Marcus and Contessa. But Pansy thought otherwise. The night was sullen and boring, mirthless and a little intolerable. Blaise Zabini was celebrating his sixteenth birthday and had invited his friends for a small get-together in one of the potions rooms.

He was, as expected of an aristocrat's son, exposed to international flavors, in terms of food that is. However, being male, he possessed no special skills in the culinary arts. Which is why he had to resort to asking Pansy to prepare the food, someone equally clueless. Pansy had chosen extraordinarily expensive ingredients on the most terrifyingly common delicacies. Imported French chocolates and American strawberries for a quick appetizer of sticky fondue. Mexican tortillas and Roman pizza pies completed the massive jumble of confused food. And to make things worse, she had chosen the most abhorring beverage…rum and coke.

The "guests" as Pansy kept referring to her own childhood friends, were only politely eating the abominable mass of random food. Draco looked hesitantly at his tortilla, took a bite and decided not to continue ingesting the offensive snack.

"Did you hear about old Mrs. Worshester?" Millicent droned. Millicent…the girl was, surprisingly enough, classy and sophisticated…for an obese, cat-loving, hippo-headed heiress, that is. She forced her friends to call her 'Mi-yi-sont' as she proclaimed her parent's adoration for the French language, a fact that was obviously a lie. Her parents were massive pigs who couldn't tell French Orchestral music from Italian Opera, let alone have adoration for the most romantic language that ever existed. Draco stared and nodded politely at her animated speech about one of her neighbors. Clearly nobody cared, nobody was even listening, it seemed, just being grossly polite.

"That's unfair." Pansy commented, Millicent nodded her head rapidly, and continued her story with renewed vigor.

"You're finally sixteen." Draco whispered to Blaise as they went to get more drinks. Draco took out a vodka bottle from his private stash and poured some for Blaise.

"Well…you know." Blaise said non-chalantly.

"Well, you know?" Draco looked curious. "You seem awfully mirthless. You're a year closer to being of age."

"I don't know what the big fuss is." Blaise responded, downing liberal amounts of the clear liquid, sighing contentedly. "…sixteen. I simply don't care."

"Hey…at least you're having fun." Draco said. "No Gryffindor will ever have a party like this for their sixteenth birthday." He gestured towards the wide selection of alcohol, as well as the immense stack of presents. They both smirked and walked back towards the rest of the group.

"She just stared at me…" Terry said. "… Not even acknowledging my presence."

"Who?" Blaise asked.

"Cho Chang." Terry replied. "I suppose it's because she can't speak the language…idiot."

"She can…" Draco drawled. "Very fluently, in fact."

"Then why wouldn't she let me borrow her homework? She could see my desperation." Terry looked slightly irritated.

"Perhaps it's because of your attitude." Draco replied. "Or the fact that she didn't want you to copy her work…" He took a sip of vodka, then smirked at Terry.

"She's a savage feminist is what she is…" Marcus Flint said. "…barbaric, that woman." He added, rubbing his cheek subconsciously.

"Marcus, darling…" Contessa smirked. "You absolutely deserve what you got. No woman should be treated that way."

"She should be flattered!" Marcus fumed. "I was totally upfront about my desires."

"Yes, that's one way to put it." Contessa added, the group laughed. "If I remember correctly, you slapped her ass, told her she was a hot broad and that you would fuck her senseless." Pansy nearly choked on her drink at the memory. Cho had punched Marcus in the face.

"And?" Marcus said. "I don't see anything wrong with that." Draco rolled his eyes.

"Well…I'm off." Draco said, grabbing the bottle of vodka. "Happy Birthday, Blaise." Blaise raised his glass to Draco.

He shut the door to the dorm rooms, filtering out the voices of his pals. His mother would be so proud of him. She had always wanted him to socialize. And not with oafs like Crabbe and Goyle, she suggested…ordered, more like. He took off his robes, and grabbed his basket of toiletries, headed for the bathroom. He took a quick shower, lathered himself with cream and brushed his hair. The night was no longer young, he intended to sleep, but he just couldn't. Crabbe and Goyle were in their respective beds, sleeping soundly. Blaise came into the room a full hour later. He sauntered suavely towards Draco, who was sitting on top of his desk reading a novel, placed a warm hand on Draco's shoulder and shook him lightly.

"We need to talk." Blaise said simply. Draco smiled at him stood from his position and led them to his bed. He sat rigidly, comfortably he claimed, and patted the spot beside him for Blaise to sit on.

"What is it?" He said after muttering a quick silencing charm around the curtains. "What's wrong?"

"Draco…It's my birthday." Blaise said, Draco nodded and smiled. "And my parents have recently owled me to tell me I'm going to be shipped back to Durmstrang." The sudden silence, Draco found, was disconcerting. Not as disconcerting, however, as the fact that Blaise was leaving Hogwarts.

"What?" He asked.

"They believe Hogwarts is not the healthiest way for me to reach 'my ambitions'." Blaise stated mockingly. Draco rubbed his temples, frustrated.

"What?" Blaise looked at him tiredly.

"I'm sorry, Draco." He said. "I guess it's over." Draco shook his head.

"It can't be, Blaise." He had a pleading look. "It just fucking can't be…"

"I'm sorry." Blaise held back the tears that streamed down his face. "I'm so sorry…"

"We have to fucking do something." Draco said, a sense of desperation obvious in his voice. "Let's leave! Let's run away! Somewhere they can't find us!" Draco's eyes were wide with anger and frustration, tears streaking across his cheeks. He was grabbing Blaise by the shoulders, shaking him. "Let's leave! Now!"

Blaise shook his head, crying freely now. "I'm sorry…" was all he could say. "I'm so sorry."

"No! Blaise! You can't just leave me like this!" Draco shrieked. Blaise looked him straight in the eye, grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him into a tight embrace. Draco was clawing at Blaise's back, sobbing into his shoulder. Blaise just held tightly. He didn't want to let go, neither did. Blaise kissed Draco on the neck. He kissed Draco gently. Muttering apologies and sweet words of comfort. Draco, however, was beyond comforting. He was losing his first love…

A/N: Well? Did you like it? Should I continue? Or should I stop? Did I introduce him well? TELL ME!!!