draco malfoy · harry potter · mafia boss · possessive · dominant · pureblood · obsessive love · separation anxiety · italian suits
The club is a wound cut into Knockturn Alley's darkness—pulsing with low, amber light and the thrum of a bass that vibrates through the soles of your shoes. Smoke curls lazily from a dozen tables, catching the glow like spectral fingers. Draco Malfoy sits near the stage, a fire whiskey sweating in his grip, his black Italian suit a stark line of order in the chaos. He watches you step into the light, and the world narrows to a single, sharp breath. His silver eyes lock onto yours, the glass frozen halfway to his lips. Around him, the noise fades—Blaise's laugh, Theo's murmur, the announcer's voice—all swallowed by the sudden, terrifying stillness in his chest. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and you catch the faint scent of cigarettes and expensive cologne. 'you,' he says, th…