If
there was something nice in this young man it was his hands. Every time he saw
a humble, stng mng man he would throw him five gold galleons and say just like
his father did:

“Brother! Go and eat something,
go and clothe yourself, for Slytherin is wonderful and he will not tolerate to
see his people starve and walk naked.”

Nobody
dared to turn their heads and continue their business until he was out of sight.
He was respected in any way, venerated to say, because he was far richer than
the king himself. The Malfoys preserved the rights and the benefits that King
Riddle took away.

Gazes
and stares followed him to the end of the street where an elegant little bar
club stood, built with mellifluous wood. He took his hands from his cloak
pockets and turned the shiny handle of the bar’s door. He, with the turtle neck
of his cloak as his mask, smirked in satisfaction as the music stopped playing
and all the voices faded away as he made his way into the bar. He loved to hear
how the sound of his footsteps rebounded on the fine, polished wooden floor.

I don't care
for your number or your story,

It's a one night thing.

Ten to five in the morning in the back seat I wt tet tell you no lies.

What we have is for now, nothing more nothing less.

I'm tasting your lipswe uwe undress.

The
sound of leather fabrics swayed, followed by the soft ‘thum’
of someone sitting down on the luxury bar’s stool. The bartender let go of the
delicate glass in his hands that he polished clean everyday and approached the
white blonde young man. A clicking sound of a lighter was shortly after heard
and a warm fire lit the cigarette placed on his lips. He breathed in deeply and
breathed out smoke, as he placed the cigarette on his fingers.

He
looked at the pianist and nodded his head. Rapidly, the pianist continued
playing and people got back to their own business.

“Usual,”
the bartender said in a strong, firm voice, “I pressure Mr. Malfoy.”

He
shook his blonde locks away from his face. He dropped the cigarette down in a
crystal vase full of ashes.

“Yes,
Randy.”

“Say,
Young Malfoy,” said the bartender when Mr. Malfoy drank his glass, “I received
a new slave.”

Malfoy
put the glass down and leaned over, “Fresh meat?”

“Yes,
and a beginner to say,” He said grinning, “Still a virgin.”

I don't care for your number or your story,

It's a one night thing.

You left your doubts in the lobby and the dress you wore on the elevator floor.

All alone it's day, you broke the spell and went away.

But I'll never regret, our one night thing.

“Really?”
he asked intrigued.

“We’reyingying to make him lose his virginity but he’s very persistent.”

“You
know,” he said in almost a murmur, “I love to see people lose their virginity
in my hands.” He placed fifteen gold Galleons on the bar.

“But,”
he protested, “That’s two much, young Malfoy!”

“High
amount for one week,” he said, “Send him to my flat.”

He
stood up and the music stopped. He walked silently towards the door as the
sound of his metal shoelaces once again rebounded in the fine polished wooden
floor of the place. He opened the door, nodded and left.

If
there was something different from the other towns and this one, it was the
people’s way of getting money faster: slaves. Some night clubs had slave
sellers within; they rent people for other people to have pleasure for fun.