Title: Misquotations

Summary: Harry's glasses have gone missing and he borrows Ron's Quick Quotes Quill to answer Malfoy about the pitch schedule. He should have known magical items were not to be trusted.
A short, somewhat silly, post-war Hogwarts story, featuring HP/DM and a portrait puzzling over feet on teacups.

Author's rambles: So I got the idea last week and wanted to write it so much, I took some time off my other, longer, in-progress, story. (Sorry to the people waiting for an update, don't jinx me, please.) Er, anyway, I hope you like it as much as I had fun writing. And maybe let me know what you think…?

Disclaimer: No Teacups have come to harm in writing this (or at least have been repaired afterwards) and I still don't own Harry Potter

Enjoy!

„Oh, Galloppin' Gorgons!"

Cursing, Harry threw yet another item of clothing over his shoulder. It felt fluffy and had a greenish tinge, so he suspected this one had been one of Mrs. Weasley's Christmas Sweaters he'd grown out of. He brushed his fumbling fingertips over his Jar of Broom Polish, a few Chocolate Frogs still remaining from his birthday and the soft fabric of various shirts and old robes he'd discarded.

"Ron, have you seen my glasses?", he yelled.

He suspected his friend shook his head, while he was half-submerged in the depths of his trunk. He knew he wasn't able to perform the spell Hermione had used on her pouch when they were still hunting Horcruxes, but right now it did seem entirely possible and even probable that he'd somehow, inexplicably enlarged his trunk in his sleep. What was all that stuff?

"Sorry, mate."

Sighing, Harry finally set back on his heels. The red blob that was Ron's head was still settled comfortably on his bed, his favourite Quidditch Paper propped on his knees.

"Where did you last put them?", he offered.

"Well, I don't know, obviously!" Harry ruffled his hair, like he often did, when irritated. Or embarrassed. Or bored. "I thought I wore them, when I went to take a nap but I must have left them somewhere."

Ron hummed in understanding, but Harry suspected he wasn't really paying attention, since Seeker Weekly featured an article on how the Chudley Cannons amazingly, magically, unexpectedly almost didn't loose their last game.

"McGonagall is going to kill me", he whined. It was Sunday and Transfiguration was their first lesson tomorrow. Harry was positive there was no way she would accept anything less than the loss of at least three of his senses as an excuse not to hand in his homework in their N.E.W.T. year. "Or maybe she will transform me into a pair of glasses and give me to Filch."

"You could borrow my Quick Quotes Quill", Ron said, flipping the page.

Harry frowned. "Er, thanks Ron, but I don't think that will help."

But Ron had already put the Paper aside and was ruffling through his stuff on the bedside cabinet. "No, no, it's fine now. I had Hermione fix it."

"Oh. I guess, that will work, then." Harry made his way over to his friend's bed. "Thanks. I would have looked awful on Filch."

"Anytime", Ron said, reaching for the journal again. It had to be quite the fascinating read, Harry thought, since Ron seemed set on getting back to it. Maybe he could borrow it, once he remembered where he'd hidden his glasses from himself.

He carefully made his way down the stairs to the Common Room and plopped into the armchair next to Hermione, knowing he could count on her help, as long as he made an effort. And sure enough she voluntarily proof-read his Transfiguration Essay and the letter he'd meant to write to Slytherin's Quidditch captain about the pitch schedule.

There. Malfoy couldn't complain now that he wasn't replying on time.

Draco hated Mondays. He wasn't much of a morning person and Monday felt like something of a longer, thus more exhausting morning of the week. He sipped his coffee glumly, staring blankly ahead.

"Stop glaring at Potter," Pansy hissed. "They'll think we're plotting to revive the Dark Lord or something."

Okay, maybe it hadn't been that random.

"Potter just happens to be in my line of sight. He can move if he's bothered by it." But Potter didn't seem bothered, since he was grinning sheepishly at something, undoubtedly stupid, the Weasley girl had said. He gripped the cup a little tighter.

"How can he even eat with Weasley stuck to him like a leech? It's disgusting."

Pansy shrugged. "Hmm? Oh, you know, I guess he doesn't mind since he's fucking her and all that."

Grimacing, Draco pushed his plate away. Which was fortunate, because the next moment an owl chose to land in that exact spot. He recognised it easily as one of the school owls, since it gave him a condescending look and snapped at his hand, when he reached for the letter. Distracting it with a piece of bacon, he quickly grabbed the letter and it took off, flapping its wings more than necessary.

Cursing under his breath, he plucked the feathers off his robe. Sodding bird.

Draco tore the letter open without much enthusiasm. He expected this to be the answer regarding the practice schedule, since he didn't get much post nowadays. And it was from Potter sure enough.

His eyes dragged over it, lazily at first but getting bigger the further he got until he was positively gaping. When he finished his head snapped up to find the raven mop of hair.

Potter was watching him. But he didn't look embarrassed, nor was he pointing at Draco and whispering to his giggling friends about his brilliant prank. Instead he looked a bit puzzled. Which was odd, because how had he thought Draco would react to this? But then Potter smiled at him, somehow uncertainly, which made what he'd written quite believable all of a sudden and Draco could feel his cheeks heating up.

He swallowed, hoping it'd get his heart back to were the stupid thing should be doing its job.

"What does it say?", Pansy was leaning over, quite obviously intrigued at his reaction and he quickly stuffed the letter into his pocket.

"Training's on Wednesday", he said, clearing his throat, and quickly fled the Great Hall.

"What did you write to make Malfoy run like that?"

Ginny was frowning at the entrance to the Great Hall. And Harry was grateful that at least one of his friends showed the proper response. Unlike Hermione, who had all but disappeared behind her textbook, only absently mumbling "Uh Huh. That's great, Harry" or Ron who was busy stuffing sausages into his mouth as if he hadn't eaten for a week.

He also was grateful that she wasn't whispering nonsense about Malfoy crushing on him in his ear any more. Ginny definitely had way too much fun teasing him with that one.

"Er, I asked him to switch Tuesdays for Saturdays, I think." He scratched his head.

Hermione made a strangled noise and he looked at the brown locks peaking over the cover in suspicion. "I can't believe that's how Tilden Toots thought to use Flitterbloom ...", she muttered then, never putting down the book. And Harry felt stupid for doubting her.

"Maybe it was a different letter?"

"Maybe", Ginny mused. "I wonder what got him blushing, though. Don't you, Harry?" She grinned.

Just then Ron started coughing violently, choking on a piece of sausage and Harry hit his back sympathetically until he'd calmed down.

Draco retreated to an alcove in a rarely frequented part of the castle where his only company was the portrait of a wizard charming feet on tableware.

He took out Potter's letter which was wrinkled now, since he'd been clenching his fist around it, as if it were the Golden Snitch and ready to fly off any minute. He unfolded it slowly, half expecting the words to have changed. They didn't and Draco couldn't decide if he should or shouldn't feel relieved about that.

"Does a teacup need three or four legs?"

Reluctantly Draco turned to the portrait. "Shut up, will you? I need to think."

The Wizard snorted. "How rude. Young wizards these days." He let the cups clatter loudly and Draco glared at him before getting back to Potter's shameless attempt at flirting.

Because, undoubtedly, that's what it was. There was no way to misunderstand, since, being written by a Gryffindor, it lacked every sense of subtlety.

Feeling a little dizzy, he leaned against the wall.

He probably should tell Potter to shove Tuesday up his own arse, he thought. It was the Slytherin way. The coward's way. The right way. Because if he agreed…

He swallowed.

Well, he could always claim, he just wanted to mess with Potter, if this turned out to be a sick joke after all. He was quite sure no one would have any problems believing Draco was just being his usual, evil self. It surely made more sense than the thought of Draco actually fancying the bloody Hero of the Wizarding World. And he had been careful not to stare at Potter too much. Very careful.

Okay, maybe not that careful.

Still, people were more likely to think of him as a viscous bastard. The actual problem was that Draco was too much of a coward to risk rejection. Because he knew it would hurt. A lot.

He closed his eyes and slowly opened them again, tipping his head back to look at the ceiling.

Then again, this was a chance. Merlin must have been clumsy, spilling a little bit of Felix Felicis on his head, given that he usually was quite unlucky. It'd be stupid to let this opportunity slide. And he may be a lot of bad things, but stupid wasn't one of them.

Taking a deep breath, Draco reached into his bag and took out ink and quill. The dips and curls didn't come out as sharp as his writing normally was, but since he was holding the parchment against the wall there just wasn't much he could do about it.

"You be careful with that quill, young man", the wizard barged in again. "I've seen Boggart-infested cupboards skake less than your hands. If I may suggest you cut back on coffee…?"

"You may not."

The wizard clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "No manners", he muttered and flicked his wand to make the teacup in front of him waltz happily on its plate.

There was something wrong with Malfoy, Harry thought, putting his cup back on the breakfast table. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he seemed to be jittery. Which was weird. Because Malfoy was always collected and certainly didn't spill his Pumpkin Juice at the hoot of an owl.

"Malfoy's acting weird", he said, more to himself than anyone in specific.

Hermione had hidden her whole face behind a book cover again and Harry knew better than to expect anything from her in that state, Ginny wasn't yet here and whatever Ron might have answered was impossible to understand with the amount of food he'd managed to fit in his mouth today as well.

Sighing he took the letter off the bird delivering the morning post. It was a small piece of parchment, with only a few words scribbled on it.

Agreed,

Sincerly,
Draco Malfoy

Looking up, he noticed the blond was watching him intently. As if anxiously awaiting Harry's reaction. Which, again, was odd. He knew Malfoy was dedicated to his Team, but it seemed strange for him to get worked up about a change in the Quidditch schedule. It wasn't even that important, Harry could have lived with practising on Tuesdays, too.

Not knowing, what he expected him to do, he curled his lips into a small smile. Malfoy then nodded to him, his face impossible to read. But, curiously, his cheeks seemed to have a pink tinge again.

Puzzled, Harry took off his glasses, rubbing at them with his sleeve. They had been conjured after all, since his old pair still hadn't turned up. And it wouldn't be the first magical item to develop a mischievous mind of its own.

Sure enough, when his eyes found the Slytherin table once more, Malfoy looked like he always did and wasn't glancing in his direction any more.

"We get the field on Saturday. Malfoy has agreed", he said then, putting the letter down.

"Hmph heed?" Ron almost choked again and forcefully punched his chest, working hard to swallow. "He did?", he croaked, his eyes round.

"Er, yes." Harry frowned.

"Of course he did!" Hermione had put her book down. She was beaming at him and Harry reached for his glasses again. Not even Hermione could be that happy about Tilden Toots' research on Magical Indoor Plants.

Draco was nervous. It was a feeling his body wasn't used to and it reacted all weird. But then again, it wasn't as if he'd ever confessed a romantic interest in Harry Potter.

When the owls arrived he flinched, knocking over his cup. Cursing he reached for his wand, hurriedly vanishing the spilled juice. He noticed Pansy was talking to him about something, but didn't listen, since Potter had just unfolded his letter.

The seconds dragged by like hours until, finally, he smiled at him and Draco felt as if the Erumpent, that had been sitting on his shoulders was lifted by a Levitation Charm. Feeling his traitorous cheeks grow warm, he quickly looked away and tried to focus on Pansy's rambling.

"I swear, she was brewing something in there", she whispered and Blaise just looked at her, eyebrows raised mockingly.

"Practise, probably. Studying is all she does, anyway."

Pansy crossed her arms in front of her body, snorting. "In Myrtle's Toilet?"

Blaise shrugged. "Good company", he grinned and Pansy shot him an annoyed look, similar to the one she usually gave Draco when he brought up Potter. Which he did rarely. Very rarely.

Okay, maybe he should cut back on mentioning him.

"I bet it was illegal", she said. "Like Polyjuice Potion or something. Wish I could have caught her."

"Who?", Draco asked then. They just looked at him, like he'd asked about the amount of legs a teacup should have.

Later that day Harry sat in his favourite spot in the library. It was a window in a far corner, down an aisle where rarely anyone ever borrowed books from. Also, it had the most perfect view of the Quidditch pitch.

When, finally, players dressed in green entered the field, he leaned forward in anticipation.

"You've got to see someone about you're stalking tendencies, Potter."

And Harry jumped.

"Malfoy", he said a little high-pitched. "What are you doing here?" He was dressed in Quidditch gear, only missing the gloves, as if he'd changed his mind about participating at the last minute.

"Is this about the schedule? Did you not like my suggestion, after all?", Harry asked and frowned at the crooked smile that spread on Malfoy's lips.

"Don't worry about the schedule, Potter", he said. "Although, I admit, I was surprised. I never knew you played for the other team."

Harry blinked. "Er...", he said, not knowing what Malfoy was going on about. Of course he played for the rival team. He was a Gryffindor after all.

Malfoy came closer, the look on his face making the hair rise on his neck and Harry quickly got to his feet to feel less like the mice being hunted by Crookshanks probably did.

"Having Weasley cling to you while secretly ogling my arse is quite the scheme. I didn't think you had it in you."

Realisation hit him then, and Harry felt his face grow warm. "I … what?", he croaked.

But Malfoy didn't seem to get the weight of the bomb he'd just dropped on him. Instead, he just rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, Potter. I'm really not into all the innocent shite, so you better get on with what you promised in that letter of yours."

"What?"

Malfoy huffed, clearly annoyed and pulled out a piece of wrinkled parchment. He slapped it against his chest and Harry took it, clumsily unfolding it with fingers that felt weirdly numb. He heard Malfoy snort impatiently at his effort, so he hurriedly trailed the lines.

And his heart dropped into his stomach like it had just been transformed into lead.

Watching Potter gape at his, supposedly, own words Draco got the feeling that something was wrong.

"I didn't ...", Potter whispered then, still staring at that cursed parchment and the growing sense of dread he'd ignored unfurled to finally shatter the last shreds of hope Draco had been foolishly clinging to.

"I see", he said, not recognising his own voice, slowly taking a step back. And another one. And a third. Until he was spinning on his heels and running at full speed.

He didn't stop until he was back at the alcove with the portrait of the teacup-charming wizard. Breathing heavily, he leaned back against the wall, slipping down until he was sitting on the floor with his knees pulled up.

"This is not a proper place to sit, young wizard", the portrait complained promptly, but, as Draco didn't respond, he got back to trying different types of dances on his cups.

What a fool, Draco thought. He should stick to the common ones. Taking chances only ever came back to hurt you. A humourless laugh escaped his lips.

What had he done, confessing to fucking Harry Potter? Who, obviously, didn't think of Draco like that, after all.

He rubbed his hands over his face, not caring about whether or not he was ruining his carefully styled hair. And watched the Teacup's tiny legs slip and hurl itself off the plate, before shattering on the ground.

Draco didn't know how long he'd been sitting there, when he heard footsteps coming his way. He didn't bother to look up, since he was sure they would pass. There were only a handful of people who'd care about him. But they stopped right beside him and Draco whipped around furiously to snap at whoever this was to leave him the fuck alone.

The words died on his tongue as he lifted his head to Gryffindor robes and black hair.

"Come to have laugh, Potter?", he spat, his voice thick with bitterness. "Go on, it was a brilliant plan, after all. Delightfully wicked, even. I couldn't have done better." Fate obviously wasn't done hating him, making Potter stumble across his hideout.

He narrowed his eyes, when Potter sunk to the floor next to him, crossing his legs.

"I won't laugh", he said, tousling his hair. The green eyes were trained on the floor, when he spoke again. "It wasn't a prank, either. I mean, I didn't actually write all the – ", he cleared his throat, "well, all that. But that doesn't mean it's a lie."

Draco quickly kicked the saplings of hope to the ground again that had the audacity to raise their heads. He wasn't buying it. "What are you getting at, Potter?"

Curiously, he rustled through his bag, pulling out a piece of parchment and a magnificent white quill. "You know, why don't you see for yourself?", he said, stuffing the items into Draco's lap, before he could protest. "It's the Quick Quotes Quill I used for the letter. I couldn't write myself because Ron stole my glasses and I can't really see without them and it's all Hermione's fault anyway..."

Potter must have seen the look on his face, because he stopped rambling nonsense and jumped to his feet.

"Just … just try writing something", he said and walked off.

"Potter. Can I have a word?"

Harry turned around to find Malfoy standing next to the Gryffindor table.

"It's about the Quidditch schedule", he added and Harry would have blamed the little smirk that tugged on the blondes mouth on his conjured glasses again, if they were, in fact, conjured and not the exact same pair he'd always worn. Sometimes, he thought, he wasn't the only one of his friends who could have been in Slytherin.

"Alright", Harry said, ignoring Hermione's curious glance over the cover of her book and the gargling sound Ron made into his Pumpkin Juice. At least he'd given up stuffing his mouth as an excuse for not answering about all matters Malfoy-related. Some friends he had.

Harry followed him out of the Great Hall to an empty corridor, where the busy chatter of breakfast had dulled to a faint buzz. There, Malfoy whirled around, facing him.

"What is this, Potter?", he demanded, waving the darned quill at him.

Harry swallowed. "It's a Quick Quotes Quill ...", he said, nervously gripping the seam of his robe's sleave, "…you know, er, how they kind of have a mind of their own and never actually write what you tell them to? This one still does all that, but its only able to write some form of truth, since its laced with, well, with Veritaserum."

When Malfoy remained silent, Harry found the courage to raise his head. The floor had never been much of a sight to behold anyway.

"So", the blond drawled, "everything in that letter is true after all?"

Harry felt the blush creeping up his cheeks. It was secondary to the crazy thumping of his heart, though. He nodded.

"The part about you only wanting to see my arse on a broomstick?" Malfoy had started smirking again.

Harry flushed. And nodded.

"And the part about –"

"Yes, yes", Harry interrupted hastily. At this stage even his toes had probably blushed bright red. "All of it. Hermione made it, after all."

Malfoy hummed and Harry watched him come closer, that infuriating crooked smile on his lips, that usually meant he was up to something. He swallowed again.

"She must have made some mistake, though", Malfoy exclaimed, pulling out a piece of parchment. He handed it to Harry.

He furrowed his brow in confusion. "Is this some sort of metaphor? What does 3 legs on a Teacup mean?"

Malfoy sighed, shaking his head. "Turn it around, Potter."

Harry did and, slowly, his mouth curled into a smile. "She definitely messed up. You hate my hair."

"Quite right."

"And it's ridiculous you'd ever want to kiss me."

"Utterly absurd", Malfoy agreed, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"And", Harry continued hoarsely, "you certainly don't have a crush on me."

"I don't", he confirmed and next thing he knew, Malfoy was reaching for him, pulling back his head and pressed his lips to his.

He didn't have a thing for Potter, Draco thought, while still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that this was happening and he was actually kissing bloody Harry Potter. The wicked quill Granger had produced had actually gotten that last one wrong. Draco was positive this wasn't a crush.

Because he was fucking in love with the idiot.

~~~ END ~~~