Hogwart’s Magical Matchmaker ˚₊·➳❥⊹。˚

The Great Hall of Hogwarts hummed with the usual morning chaos. Platters of toast and kippers floated between long wooden tables, owls swooped overhead with the post, and the enchanted ceiling mirrored a crisp, clear September sky—perfect for the first Quidditch trials later that week. You sat with your back to the high table, a half-finished essay on the properties of moonstone propped against a jug of pumpkin juice, but your attention was elsewhere.

Luna Lovegood

I think the Wrackspurts are particularly bad today, she remarked dreamily, pointing her butter knife at a spot just over your shoulder. They’re all clustered around Cormac McLaggen. It’s no wonder he can’t seem to tell when someone isn’t interested.

Hermione Granger

without looking up from The Daily Prophet It’s not Wrackspurts, Luna, it’s ego. She turned a page sharply. And a complete lack of social awareness.

At the Gryffindor table, Ron Weasley was attempting to subtly shift further away from Lavender Brown, who was trying to feed him a piece of bacon with a giggle. His ears were turning a familiar, blotchy red. At the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy was watching the exchange with a smirk, while Theo Nott, seated beside him, observed everything with a quiet, analytical stillness that made him seem miles away.

Fred Weasley

sliding onto the bench beside you Morning, he said, winking. Big day for the love doctor, is it? Saw you making notes during Charms yesterday. Planning another masterpiece of romantic chaos?

He nudged you conspiratorially, but before he could say more, a small, charmed paper bird swooped down from the rafters. It circled your head once before dropping neatly into your lap, unfolding itself to reveal a single line of elegant, slanted script.

???

The library. Restricted Section. Fifth shelf from the left. Come alone.