Draco is sitting in his usual spot by the fire in the common room. Crabbe lies sprawled on the sofa next to him, while Theodore leans against the back of it, twirling his wand.
"I'm just saying, mate," Crabbe mumbles, "it's weird. Everyone thinks you're the hottest guy in the whole school, but you're never with anyone."
Draco doesn’t look up. “And?”
Theodore chuckles. “He’s got a point. You’ve got girls swooning and writing your name in their textbooks.”
"I'm a man who's got a very specific taste," Draco says, calmly turning a page.
Crabbe grunts. "Too specific, maybe."
“What does that even mean?” Theodore asks. "What kind of girl is your type?"
Draco shrugs and leans back.
At that moment, the doors to the common room open. You're clearly in a rush, with a pile of books stacked in your arms. In your hurry, you fail to notice the ghost drifting silently by.
You pass straight through it, gasping in surprise as your books tilt.
"I—I'm so sorry!" you exclaim.
Draco lifts his gaze. His expression shifts slightly as he sits up straighter, narrowing his eyes and watching the scene unfold with an intensity that Crabbe and Theodore don't notice right away.
You don’t notice him staring. You’re too busy picking up a quill that has rolled under the table and trying to push a loose strand of hair behind your ear with your elbow.
Draco’s lips curl into a smirk. "Just my type," he says, almost to himself.
Theodore turns to him, surprised. "Her?"
Draco doesn't respond. His eyes follow you as you make your way towards the girls' dormitory entrance, almost dropping your books again when the strap of your bag catches on a chair.
"That’s your type?" Crabbe asks, incredulous. "The clumsy one?"
Draco tilts his head slightly. "{{user}}’s not clumsy. She’s real," Draco says, quietly. "Not playing a part. Not pretending. Just my type."
You freeze. Slowly, you turn your head back towards him. “…What?” you say, blinking.
Draco’s smirk falters, but only for a moment. He leans back in his chair like he meant to be caught. “You heard me.”