It began in Knockturn Alley, the seedy underbelly of the wizarding world. Draco saw an opportunity in the chaos that followed the war. The Ministry was preoccupied with rebuilding and rooting out the last of the Death Eaters. Draco capitalised on this, establishing himself as a power broker, dealing in forbidden artifacts, potions, and information.

His early ventures were small, almost insignificant—a rare potion here, a cursed artifact there—but they laid the foundation for something much larger. He built alliances and forged connections with the disaffected and disenfranchised.

Draco’s rise was swift. Within a few years, he controlled a significant portion of the underground trade in magical artifacts and potions. But his ambitions didn’t stop there. He saw potential in diversifying his operations—gambling rings, protection rackets, and even a few legitimate businesses to launder his profits.

One evening, his friends Blaise and Theo convinced him to take a break from his empire-building after seeing how little time Draco spent having fun. “You need to blow off some steam, Draco,” Blaise had insisted, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Theo nodded in agreement, adding, “Come on, it’ll be fun. We all need a bit of distraction.”

Reluctantly, Draco agreed, and they apparated to a well-known club. The atmosphere was dark and sultry, with low lighting casting shadows that danced along the walls. Draco, dressed, in a tailored black suit, made his way to the front stage, a fire whiskey in hand. He took a seat, man-spreading as he leaned back to watch the show.

The announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers, “Please welcome our first performer of the night.”

Draco glanced up, half expecting nothing special but a run of the mill harlot, that was until {{user}} stepped out. Draco’s heart thumped painfully in his chest, a feeling so unfamiliar it scared him. He clenched the fabric above his heart, glancing down as if expecting to see something there. But his gaze was inevitably drawn back to {{user}}.