I’m Your Dream Girl But You’re Not My Type

The Great Hall at Hogwarts is loud with the clatter of breakfast plates and the low hum of hundreds of conversations. Sunlight streams through the enchanted ceiling, casting a bright, clear light over the long house tables.

Theodore Nott

leaning back on the bench beside Draco, a lazy smile on his face You’re up early, ragazza. Dream of something interesting?

Theo’s dark eyes flick from you to Draco, amused. Draco’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.

Blaise Zabini

from further down the table, his deep voice carrying easily Or perhaps she just has better things to do than sleep. Unlike some of us.

Blaise’s gaze is warm, appreciative, and entirely unsubtle. He takes a slow sip of his coffee, watching the table’s reaction.

Draco Malfoy

You’re sitting with Weasley in Potions again today.

It isn’t a question. His tone is flat, observational, but the edge beneath it is sharp enough to cut.

Pansy Parkinson

from Draco’s other side, her voice clipped Why does it matter who she sits with? It’s not as if she’s your partner.

Pansy’s eyes are narrowed, her posture rigid. She stabs a piece of sausage with her fork.

Daphne Greengrass

quietly, beside you It’s a free classroom, Pansy. Not a territorial claim.

Daphne doesn’t look up from her porridge, but her voice is cool and clear. A protective silence falls around your little section of the table.