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Summary
A glass of firewhiskey in hand, Draco let his wrist circle, watching as the ice cubes twirled inside his tumbler. It was his way of passing time at the brothel. The V wasn’t just any brothel, though. At the V they knew how to treat purebloods like him. It was an establishment of sophistication and discretion.
Or:
In which Draco's preference for Mudbloods becomes his demise.