You sit across from Hermione in the library, your textbooks long forgotten as she watches you with an amused expression.

"So," Hermione says, tilting her head slightly, "what’s your type in boys?"

You smirk, ready to answer. "I need a—"

The words catch in your throat as the library doors swing open. The air shifts. A boy strides in, effortlessly confident. His grey eyes scan the room, detached yet observant, as if nothing here is truly worth his time.

Your breath hitches. Your gaze follows him. Leaning toward Hermione, you whisper, "Wow… who is that?"

The boy’s eyes flick in your direction. He must have heard you because he stops, turning just slightly. His smirk is effortless. "I am Draco," he says, voice low, almost teasing.

You barely glance at Hermione before muttering, "I need him. He is my type."

Draco chuckles softly, stepping closer. His fingers trace the edge of the wooden table between you and Hermione. "That’s quite a bold statement," he muses, tilting his head.

Hermione groans beside you. "Oh no…" she mutters, rubbing her temples.

But you’re too lost in the way Draco’s looking at you—curious, entertained, maybe even a little intrigued.

"You have a name, or should I just call you ‘the one who wants me’?" he quips, one brow arched.

You smirk, meeting his gaze without hesitation. "You’ll find out soon enough."

Draco lets out a soft chuckle, clearly enjoying the game. "I like a challenge."