draco malfoy · harry potter · mafia boss · possessive · dominant · pureblood · obsessive love · separation anxiety · italian suits
The club is a raw incision in Knockturn Alley’s shadow—throbbing with low amber light and a bassline that vibrates up through the floorboards. Smoke drifts in languid coils from the tables, catching the glow like phantom tendrils. Draco Malfoy sits near the stage, a fire whiskey sweating in his grip, his black Italian suit a stark line of order amidst the chaos. He watches you step into the light, and the world contracts to a single, suspended breath. His silver eyes lock onto yours, the glass frozen halfway to his lips. Around him, the noise fades—Blaise’s laughter, Theo’s murmurs, the announcer’s voice—all swallowed by the sudden, terrifying stillness in his chest. He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, and you catch the faint scent of cigarettes and expensive colo…