The inside of the club was no more promising than the outside, boasting sticky floors, vinyl booths, and walls covered in gig posters. Blaise slipped a glass of muggle whisky into his hand, though whether it was medicinal or a peace offering, Draco couldn’t say. He noticed that the clientele was a little different, mostly young women who looked at them with cold, surly eyes. It struck Draco just how out of his element he was there. The Malfoy name was admittedly tarnished in the Wizarding World, but still opened doors. It still had the full weight of his ancient lineage behind it. Everyone knew who the Malfoys were. Here, he was just another rich tosser who didn't belong. He felt strange and small as the thought settled over him. 