In the dead of night, there is a parlor that calls to men, men who are selected to hear the siren song, a subtle magic that calls and sings, luring the men from the beds of their wives and to a seedy part of London, a back alleyway between a burned out bookshop and a boarded up cafe. Underneath were the denizens of sin, a cornucopia of earthly and unearthly delights. Or, at least this was what the song promised.
These lines just drew me in, because they are like poetry with a whiff of Pratchett. Possibly the best lines in the fic. I also love your Draco, and the way you made him both confident and shy. Very nice fic!