AN: I don't know where this came from. It's my first Harry/Draco, and I have no idea which corner of my brain produced it. Oh well, read and review - and they're not my characters, but you know that already.

"This would all be so much easier if you'd just tell him." Honestly, you wouldn't think it could be so difficult for a grown man to admit he's got the hots for my best friend and housemate. But Draco Malfoy has never been logical in any way, shape or description, so really, this all makes perfect sense. And if you're not following my reasoning here, then I've obviously spent far too long around Harry, Ron and now Draco.

"I can't do that, Granger, you daft bint. You tell him." It's like we're back at Hogwarts, to tell you the truth, just with a different set of hormonally-induced problems. Back then, it was between Ron and me - that mistake was long ago, and we're both well and truly over it. Draco wants me to tell Harry that he fancies him, or wants to shag him silly, or something like that. By the way, 'daft bint' is his latest term of affection for me. The slanging matches from our Hogwarts days have turned into friendly banter, but we're forever coming up with new ways to insult each other.

"What, precisely, would you like me to say? 'Harry, my friend Draco Malfoy - you remember him - has asked me to let you know that he thinks you're really sexy and wants to know if you might, possibly, be interested in him?' Come on, Malfoy, grow a pair of balls and do it yourself."

"I have balls, thank you very much." The indignant glare on his face just makes me laugh.

"I'm sure, anatomically speaking, you do. I was speaking metaphorically. Anyway, what makes you think Harry would be interested in an albino ferret such as yourself?" I try to keep a perfectly straight face, but end up smirking. I blame Draco for that - I must have picked the expression up from him.

"If I were straight, Hermione, I'd show you, but as I'm not, I don't think I can quite rise to the challenge. It's a shame, really..." Who would ever have thought that Draco Malfoy and I would ever manage to be civil to one another, let alone be sprawled on my couch together, sharing a bottle of (very nice) white wine and making sexual innuendo while discussing relationship problems? If you'd told me that this would happen, I'd have sent you directly to St Mungo's to get your head examined. Yet here we are, doing exactly that.

There's the sound of a key in the front door, and Harry stumbles in, dropping Quidditch gear all over the floor. "Evening, Mione, Draco."

"Hi, Harry. Food's in the kitchen, help yourself. And pick all that rubbish up."

"It's not rubbish!" The two boys speak almost in unison, identical tones of protest in their voices. I'll never understand men and Quidditch, as long as I live.

"Did you make this, Hermione?" Muffled tones accompanying a clattering of plates and cutlery emerge from the kitchen. He sounds wary, and much as it pains me to admit it, his caution is probably wise. It's a well-known fact, I can't cook to save my life.

"No, Draco did."

"Oh, that's ok then." Moments later, Harry reappears with a plate piled high, and a clean wine glass. "Pour me some of that, would you, Draco?"

Normally, such a request would provoke a snarky comment from Draco, before pouring the wine, but not tonight. Instead, he simply picked up the bottle and refilled all three glasses. I know for a fact that he's already drunk most of a bottle, and is tipsy at the very least. Perhaps I'll be able to prod him into admitting his feelings, and then we can stop skirting round the subject.

I don't get an opportunity for ages, but when we've settled down to watch a film, I realise that we're all on the sofa together, and Harry is leaning against Draco. They look just like a couple of teenagers who are too scared to make the first move - this is going to end up with one of them sliding their arm surreptitiously around the other (while trying to make it look like an accident), and then the hormones will kick in and they'll start snogging. But it won't happen at all while I'm here, I'm certain of that. Still, it won't be too hard to find an excuse to leave the room for a little while, then just let them get on with it.

I wait for about half an hour, then get up. "Excuse me, guys." They mumble something incoherent, eyes never leaving the TV screen. They're not really watching the film that closely, or at least, Draco isn't - he's been watching Harry as much as he's been watching the TV.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Twenty minutes later, I sneak past the doorway, and peer in. I was right, they just needed to be left alone. Harry is sitting almost on Draco's lap, their mouths practically fused together. Draco's blond hair is more mussed than it's ever been before, even when he's just woken up, and Harry's glasses are askew. Smiling, I head for my room. I'm convinced that they'll both end up in Harry's bed, given enough time, so I'll see them both in the morning. It's going to be fun...