Gryffindor vs. Slytherin | Night out @ Lumos
Saturday night and the London chapter of Draco's not-so-little enterprise was heaving with people. A live band had kicked off the atmosphere earlier on in the night, but it was not left to a DJ to cater to the more hardcore dance scene. Nights like this, Draco had to do very little but put in an appearance. The staff kept the place running, and his more hands-on job was usually nine-to-five, hunched over a desk in his office or holding meetings to make sure the business side of things ran smoothly. This was where he got to let his hair down, and he was surprised to see a good portion of familiar faces in the crowd. People from Hogwarts. Interesting, the night the Golden Trio decided to haunt Draco's place of work that other slimeballs came out of the woodwork. Draco just did what he did best.
Pretended they didn't exist.
He peeled himself away from a rather hot guy in leather pants and silver spandex top that he had been grinding against on the dancefloor. The movements here made Dirty Dancing look like an episode of Teletubbies. Draco also knew that the back corridors of the club, the bathrooms, and the closed garden out the back would likely be full of people making out by now. So long as no bastards were passing out drugs, he didn't give a flying fuck. He collected a double scotch and soda on the rocks from the barman who had it waiting for him and took out his cigarettes. He slid into the booth beside Hermione, lighting up as he shot her a smirk. He blew the smoke up to the ceiling and held the cigarette away from her as he nursed the glass between his thumb and pinkie finger, taking a generous sip of it.
He let his eyes drop casually to her cleavage, still smirking. "Awfully big... booth you have here, Granger. Sharing it with all your friends, I see," he noted, gesturing to the empty seats beside her.
Pretended they didn't exist.
He peeled himself away from a rather hot guy in leather pants and silver spandex top that he had been grinding against on the dancefloor. The movements here made Dirty Dancing look like an episode of Teletubbies. Draco also knew that the back corridors of the club, the bathrooms, and the closed garden out the back would likely be full of people making out by now. So long as no bastards were passing out drugs, he didn't give a flying fuck. He collected a double scotch and soda on the rocks from the barman who had it waiting for him and took out his cigarettes. He slid into the booth beside Hermione, lighting up as he shot her a smirk. He blew the smoke up to the ceiling and held the cigarette away from her as he nursed the glass between his thumb and pinkie finger, taking a generous sip of it.
He let his eyes drop casually to her cleavage, still smirking. "Awfully big... booth you have here, Granger. Sharing it with all your friends, I see," he noted, gesturing to the empty seats beside her.