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“You're saying I'm cursed?”
“Well, what else could it be? I know your hair's usually like a bird's nest, but this is just ridiculous.”
With another wave of his wand, Draco attempted to banish the chirping birds nesting atop Harry's head. It did exactly nothing. He watched in amazement, his face betraying curiosity and bemusement, as a blue and yellow bird flew down to perch on Harry's shoulder, tweeting happily. “It's kinda cute.”
Huffing, Harry flipped him the finger and left their office.
The next few days felt like they were back at Hogwarts, if you ignored the fact that Draco hadn't exactly been in Harry's circle of friends. After a run in with Weasley and Granger (which had left Weasley in stitches), they'd been whisked away to the couple's cosy cottage to hit the books.
“You'd better take a few days off work, Harry,” Granger had cautioned. “No one's going to take you seriously with all those birds flying around.”
Draco'd suggested they'd go to St. Mungos, despite Granger's impressive private library, but Harry refused.
“Not a chance!” he grumbled. “I'm not setting foot inside that place as long as I'm looking like a fucking Disney Princess.”
“A what?” Weasley snorted from across the table.
“A Disney Princess,” Granger said calmly. “It's a muggle thing.”
Weasley grinned. “I never would've pegged you for the Princess, Harry. I always thought you'd be the knight in shining armour.”
Harry shot him a dirty look. “Yea, well, watch it, or I'll burst into song.”
As the evening wore on, Draco couldn't help but steal glances at Harry. There was something mesmerizing about the way the birds clung to him. He couldn't look away. Impossibly green eyes met his own; they seemed to smile. He hastily looked away, heat spreading across his cheeks.
“Remind me what you were doing when this happened?” Granger asked a few days later, her nose buried in a dusty old tome.
“Nothing,” Harry sighed. “Just sitting at my desk when the birds suddenly appeared.”
“Maybe it can only be cured by 'true love's kiss',” Weasley shot in jokingly, a book of fairy tales open in front of him. “Malfoy, give it a go! I've seen the way you look at him sometimes.”
Utterly mortified, Draco was about to tell him where to stick it, when someone mumble, “That's not a bad idea.” Then warm lips covered his own, blood rushed in his ears, the tweeting stopped and the world felt right.