Ron knocked on the door to Harry's new flat. He was holding a cheap bottle of wine – being a war hero didn't exactly pay well. Hermione stood next to him, a number of thick home decorating books in her arms.
"Maybe you should knock again," said Hermione when it became clear that Harry either hadn't heard them or wasn't planning on answering the door any time soon.
Ron knocked. There was a muffled thump and a yelled "what now!" before the door was violently yanked open and they were staring an angry and disheveled Draco Malfoy right in the face. He narrowed his eyes.
"Oh. It's only weasel and his weaselette."
Ron and Hermione stared. This was obviously Not Happening.
The door opened further and tanned arms slid around the Hallucination's waist. Hermione's eyebrows began to slide to the bridge of her nose.
"Who is it, Draco?" Harry asked in the dreamy voice of a person who had just gotten out of a warm snuggly bed and was planning on getting back in it sometime in the immediate future.
"Your friends," said the obviously nonexistent Draco Malfoy.
"Oh," said Harry rested his head on Draco's shoulder. "Hi guys."
"Well," said Draco after listening to Ron and Hermione's stunned silence for a couple of moments. "I'm going to bed, love. Join me when they've left." He smirked suggestively at Harry, before slipping out of Harry's arms and heading inside the flat.
Once Draco was gone Harry finally turned his smiling face back to his friends. He sighted happily. "I think I love him," he said.
Ron jumped and almost dropped the wine bottle. This was definitely Not Happening.
Hermione smiled weakly and began to mentally rearrange her schedule so that she could fit in an appointment with a qualified psychiatrist.