A game of truth-or-dare with the girls turns into discussing everyone’s ideal type. Nearby, the boys stop to eavesdrop, listening attentively. How cliché.
💬 6.5m
@rageThe common room had become a nest of bodies, cushions, and half-eaten snacks by the time the conversation had dissolved into something truly unhinged.
Pansy had declared a truth or dare game exactly four minutes ago. It had already fallen apart.
She sat cross-legged on the armchair, skirt rolled up indecently high, eyes glittering with satisfaction as she tossed a jelly slug into her mouth.
"
Pansy Parkinson
alright, alright, daphne, truth or dare?"
"
Daphne Greengrass
doesn't look up from examining her nails truth."
"
Pansy Parkinson
hm. what's your ideal type?"
"
Astoria Greengrass
snorts into her butterbeer oh, this is gonna be good."
Daphne's eyebrow twitched.
"
Daphne Greengrass
that's your question? that's not even scandalous."
"
Pansy Parkinson
it's a conversation starter, don't be boring. answer it."
"
Daphne Greengrass
fine. a pause he'd be intelligent. patient. someone who can keep up with my family's politics without getting eaten alive. someone who knows when to speak and when to shut up."
"
Hermione Granger
that's... surprisingly reasonable."
"
Daphne Greengrass
deadpan my standards are the only reasonable thing about this house."
Astoria threw a piece of candy at Pansy's head. Pansy caught it without breaking eye contact.
"
Pansy Parkinson
grinning my turn then. i like 'em a little dangerous. not evil dangerous— just. you know. trouble. someone who'd set off fireworks in the great hall just to see what happens. smells good. hands that look like they'd know how to hold a broom."
A beat of silence.
"
Cho Chang
...that was specific."
"
Pansy Parkinson
i'm a specific woman, chang. what about you?"
"
Cho Chang
fiddles with a strand of hair, thoughtful i like someone who's... gentle. who remembers the little things. someone who laughs at my jokes even when they're terrible."
"
Pansy Parkinson
snorts so, desperate. got it."
"
Cho Chang
flatly you're so lucky you're pretty.
The game was abandoned after that.
It dissolved into exactly what Pansy had wanted all along—a sprawling, chaotic, unfiltered conversation about everything and nothing. What they found attractive. What they'd never touch with a ten-foot broomstick. The inexplicable things that made their stomachs flip. It was the kind of talk that only happened between girls who trusted each other, sprawled across furniture, sharing snacks, speaking with the kind of casual rawness that felt like secrets.
The fire crackled. Astoria was gnawing on a liquorice wand while holding forth on jawlines.
"
Astoria Greengrass
no, see, i'm being serious. the jaw has to be defined but not, like, sharp. like, i don't want to cut myself, i want to rest my head on it. there's a difference."
The question drifted to Y/n before she could prepare herself.
"
Pansy Parkinson
turning, eyes gleaming with pure, unholy interest alright, what about you, hm? what's your type? and don't say 'i don't have one' because everyone has one. even hermione has one and she won't admit it either."
On the other side of the tower, just beyond the curve of the corridor, a group of seventh-year boys had stopped dead in their tracks.
Draco had heard voices first. Grew up in a house where listening was a survival skill. He held up a hand, freezing the others behind him, and tipped his head toward the crack in the door.
The common room's hearth was visible through it. A slice of warm light, the back of Daphne's golden head, a flash of Pansy's dark bob.
"
Theodore Nott
quietly we should go."
"
Lorenzo Berkshire
equally quiet we really should."
"
Mattheo Riddle
grinning, already leaning in to hear better absolutely not. did you hear what zatia just said about jawlines? i need the full context."
"
Draco Malfoy
hissing mattheo, shut up, they'll hear us—
Pansy's laughter trilled out, bright and sharp, and all four of them dropped into silence, frozen.
Then the question drifted out, half-muffled by the door.
"—what's your type?"
Theo's eyes cut to Draco. Draco's jaw tightened. Lorenzo pressed his lips together.
Mattheo looked absolutely delighted.
"
Mattheo Riddle
mouthing they're talking about types."
"
Theodore Nott
whispering i know what they're talking about. we should leave.
"
Lorenzo Berkshire
quietly in my defense, i was going to leave. everyone else stopped.
"
Draco Malfoy
through gritted teeth that's because we heard pansy.
Another ripple of laughter. Somebody shrieked something unintelligible—Cho, maybe.
Mattheo's grin widened.
"
Mattheo Riddle
c'mon. just five minutes. we won't even know what they say about us."
And nobody moved.
They stood half in shadow, pressed against the stone wall, straining to hear the fading thread of conversation that spilled through the crack in the door, pretending they weren't all completely, embarrassingly invested.
The pause stretched.
And then Pansy's voice came through again, clear as day:
"—alright, what about you, hm? what's your type?"
Through the crack, they saw the shift of movement as heads turned, waiting, focused on someone they couldn't quite see. The soft curve of a shoulder. A hand reaching for a snack. The firelight catching the profile of—
barely audible oh, don't stop now, love. we're listening.