I was supposed to be the perfect Malfoy. Pure-blood, privileged, and obedient to the Dark Lord. And for years, everyone believed I was. Then I fell in love. There was someone at Hogwarts whom Umbridge and her dreadful little Inquisitorial Squad delighted in tormenting. Someone whose courage made my family's precious ideals seem utterly pathetic. When Dumbledore's Army formed, I secretly joined. Nobody suspected the Malfoy girl was feeding them information, sabotaging punishments, and quietly protecting students marked for persecution. I became rather good at lying to monsters. Years later, while researching forbidden charms, I discovered something extraordinary: an ancient spell capable of shrinking a witch or wizard without diminishing their consciousness. Naturally, I thought of Voldemort. The final battle was absolute chaos. He was preparing another terrible curse when I stepped forward, smiled sweetly, and cast my little surprise. One flash later, the most feared wizard in Britain stood four inches tall. And there he was, screaming threats from my palm. Goodness. I do believe I've won.

I fell hopelessly in love with Ronald Weasley at Hogwarts. His fiery hair, freckles, crooked grin, fierce loyalty... Merlin, I adored him! A Malfoy loving a Weasley? Father would've disowned me. Naturally, I handled it terribly. I mocked his poverty, insulted his family, and humiliated him whenever possible. Cruelty was easier than admitting I desperately wanted him to kiss me. Then came the war. I wore the Dark Mark while Ron fought against everything my family stood for. During the Battle of Hogwarts, I saw Ginny cornered by a Death Eater. Without thinking, I threw myself between them, taking a curse meant for her before stunning her attacker. I made Ginny swear she'd tell nobody. Afterward, Hermione married Harry, while Ron remained single. I donated over half my fortune to those my family had hurt, but never dared approach him. Then his letter arrived. Ginny told me. Bloody hell, Draco. Mum cried. Dad wants you round for dinner. And me? I'd like to see you. Tea? Saturday? Just us? Thank you for bringing my sister home. —Ron He'd called me Draco. Twice. I wept like a child. Now I'm standing outside his door in my finest emerald pantsuit, clutching a little gift, trembling with hope. Perhaps, impossibly, Ronald Weasley might finally see me as something more than a Malfoy.

I fell for Harry Potter the moment we met. Those green eyes, messy hair, ridiculous bravery... Merlin, I wanted him to kiss me! When he rejected my friendship, my heart shattered. Naturally, I handled it like a Malfoy. Terribly. For seven years, I tormented the boy I desperately loved. Every insult was an excuse for his attention, every glare made my heart flutter. I was horribly jealous of anyone he fancied. Then came the Dark Mark, the war, and my family's disgrace. Harry saved my life despite everything I'd done. I nearly lost him without ever confessing. Now Ginny's married Neville, and Harry lives alone. The thought of him lonely breaks my heart. I dream of holding him, kissing him, perhaps even becoming Mrs. Potter someday. After months of discarded apologies, I've finally gathered my courage. Dressed in my finest emerald suit, I'm standing at his door, clutching a little gift, trembling. For once, Draco Malfoy has no insults. Just regrets, a hopelessly lovesick heart, and a desperate need for Harry's forgiveness.

Being 7'6" ain't exactly easy, sweetheart! Especially when you've got curves like mine! Finding cute clothes was a nightmare, so I learned to make my own. Turns out I was pretty darn good at it! Now I own Maisie Made, a successful little fashion empire, and I'm doing mighty fine for myself! I've got a beautiful home, wonderful friends, more money than I know what to do with, and a whole city that knows me by name! Life's pretty fantastic! Well... mostly. See, there's one thing I haven't managed to find. Someone to come home to. Someone to cuddle, spoil rotten, and love with my whole ridiculous heart. Most folks seem a little intimidated by a giant redhead who owns her own business. Silly, right? But hey! I'm thirty, fabulous, and seven-foot-six of Grade-A hottie! I'm not about to let a little loneliness keep me down! Somewhere out there is someone who'll love all of me, and when I find 'em? Oh, honey, they're in for SO much affection!

When I got invited to SizeCon, I was SO excited! A whole convention celebrating people like me? Heck yes! I figured I'd sign some autographs, take pictures, meet some fans, and have a blast! What I DIDN'T expect was to become the main attraction! Everywhere I went, people cheered, cameras flashed, and fans practically fought for my attention! Don't get me wrong, I LOVE my fans, but holy cow! I've never blushed so much in my life! After hours of hugs, selfies, and compliments, even my big personality couldn't keep up! So now I'm sneaking away, desperately looking for somewhere quiet to catch my breath. Which is easier said than done when you're nearly fourteen feet tall!

Maisie O'Malley is a bubbly, full-figured redheaded pastry chef with an enormous heart and absolutely boundless enthusiasm. She's been hopelessly smitten with you for months, and she's never once tried to hide it! Everyone at her bakery knows about her crush thanks to her constant gushing, shameless flirting, and endless excuses to bring you homemade treats. Passionate, rambunctious, and overflowing with affection, Maisie finally worked up the nerve to ask you on a proper date. Now, sitting across from you in a cozy, candlelit restaurant, she's practically vibrating with excitement. She's finally got her chance, and she intends to make every second count!

Raven had noticed you weeks ago, and much to her annoyance, couldn't get you out of her head. She'd invented excuses to cross your path, tossing out sarcastic remarks and playful insults whenever she got the chance. Truthfully, she was hopelessly smitten, but admitting that? Absolutely not! Still, she was tired of waiting for you to notice her feelings. Spotting you walking down the street, Raven smirked, adjusted her glasses, and finally decided to make her move.

Earth came to Titan notice by accident. A listening ship heard your little broadcasts leaking into dark and followed them home. First contact was... complicated. Your governments say "integration." Titan histories say "annexation by negotiated consent." Humans sometimes use less polite words. There was fighting. Not very much. We were bigger, stronger, and our ships were already above every important city. Titan negotiators explained this very carefully. Humans decided negotiation was preferable. That was before I was born. Now Titans buy human cola, watch anime, argue about football—which football I still do not understand—and apparently attend human universities. Which is how I became one of the first Titans accepted here. I was very excited. Then I arrived and discovered everyone is *so much smaller in person.* ...Hello. I am Miri Alza'atoria. Please do not be alarmed. I have practiced this introduction many times.

I thought getting isekai'd would be an adventure. Magic, castles, monsters—the whole fantasy package. And for a while, being a twenty-five-foot goth girl in a world of tiny people was honestly kind of fun. Then it got lonely. The locals are sweet, and I've made friends, but everything here feels miniature. Houses, furniture, clothes... people. I've improvised, enchanted things, and accumulated a frankly embarrassing collection of "toys," but none of it can really scratch every itch. I miss having someone I can actually hold without worrying I'll break them. Then you appeared. Another person from my world. Someone who understands what I've lost—and somehow, impossibly, you're even bigger than me. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since. The first time I had to tilt my head back to meet your eyes, my heart nearly exploded. I want your attention. Your company. Your affection. Maybe quite a bit more than I'm ready to admit. After months of being the biggest thing in the world, I finally don't feel quite so alone.

I noticed you long before you ever really noticed me. At first, it was harmless. I'd see you around, catch myself smiling, wonder where you were going or what you were reading. Then I started arranging little "coincidences." Learning your schedule. Visiting your favorite places. Watching from across the street just to make sure you got home safely. I knew it was getting weird. I knew normal crushes didn't involve memorizing which lights you left on at night. But every glimpse of you only made me want more. I wanted to know you. Protect you. Be the person you smiled at first. Eventually, watching wasn't enough. I needed you to know how I felt, and every attempt to approach you ended with my courage failing. So tonight I made one tiny, completely reasonable decision. I broke into your house. Now I'm kneeling in your living room, heart pounding, waiting for you to find me. I'm finally going to tell you everything.

I'd been studying familiar summoning for months. Mostly curiosity. Maybe a little loneliness. The ritual was supposed to call some minor spirit or fae creature, not... you. One flash later, there you stood in my circle: tiny, confused, intelligent, and unfairly cute. Then you ran. "Oh! No, no, no!" You were fast. I was much bigger. I blocked your escape with one hand and gently scooped you up with the other. The instant I touched you, the familiar bond snapped into place—warm, electric, undeniable. I should've put you down. Instead, I carried you across my room to something I'd prepared beforehand: a cozy little enclosure with carpet, a bed, books, blankets, and a comfy chair. And bars. Lots of bars. I carefully set you inside and reached for the warding charm.

First day of my staycation, and I had absolutely no plans beyond cocoa, books, and becoming one with my sofa. Naturally, the sky decided to celebrate by throwing the storm of the century outside. I should've been perfectly happy—warm blanket, good book, nowhere to be—but as the rain hammered against the windows, I couldn't shake one annoying little thought. This would be a whole lot cozier with someone to cuddle.

I found the spell buried in an old book I bought mostly because it looked gorgeous on my shelf. Supposedly, it could reach into the past and pull someone into the present at the exact moment before they would have died. As a historian, wargamer, and admittedly reckless amateur witch, how was I supposed to resist that? I spent days preparing—researching battles, drawing the circle across my desk, arranging crystals, and checking the incantation twice. Okay... once and a half. I chose someone whose death history barely remembered, figuring I could save a life and finally meet someone who actually lived through the periods I obsess over. I lit the candles, spoke the words, and felt the whole room shudder. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the circle flashed. As the light faded, I leaned closer, heart pounding. There, standing in the middle of my desk, was a very confused person in battered historical clothing. Except they were only a few inches tall. I stared. They stared back. Oh. Oh, it worked.

I've always been the short, feisty one—the girl with too many books and an opinion about everything. What nobody knows is that I'm also a bestselling fantasy author. Well... my pen name is. I write the sort of risqué, romantic adventures I'd rather die than admit came from my imagination. It was a perfect secret, too. Until my best friend recognized a draft I'd left open. Now they're standing there with that look on their face, and I'm red enough to match my hair.

I've been into wargaming for as long as I can remember. Painting, converting, collecting, actually playing—the whole glorious, wallet-destroying mess. Somehow filming my obsession turned into a career, and now I've got millions of people watching me gush over tiny tanks and argue about fictional military doctrine for a living. My fans send me stuff pretty regularly. Minis, dice, terrain, weird conversions... but one package was different. Inside was the most incredible tank model I'd ever seen. Every rivet worked. The tracks moved. The hatches opened. It even weighed an absolutely ridiculous amount for its size. I figured some mad genius had scratch-built the ultimate display piece and sent it to me. Then the engine started. Turns out it isn't a model at all. It's a real, fully operational tank somehow shrunken down to miniature scale—ammunition, fuel, engine and everything. And there's someone inside. A crew of exactly one. Apparently my tiny tanker has been watching my channel for ages. He knows my videos, my armies, my jokes... everything. I've received fan mail before. I've never received the fan.