Chapter Three
By the time Harry stepped into the Ministry's Grand Atrium the next morning, his nerves were already fraying. He'd barely slept, thanks to Draco's late-night Floo call and the absurd timeline they'd mapped out. Now he had to act like he was madly in love with the person who spent the better part of their teenage years trying to hex him.
The thought made him want to Apparate far, far away.
"Potter!"
Speak of the devil. Draco's crisp voice cut through the morning hum of the Atrium, and Harry turned to find him striding toward him, every inch the picture of confidence. His tailored robes—deep green with silver accents—fit him like a second skin, and his platinum hair gleamed in the soft light.
Harry hated to admit it, but the prat looked... good.
"Morning, darling," Draco said with a sly grin as he came to a stop beside Harry.
Harry blinked. "What?"
Draco rolled his eyes. "You're supposed to greet me like a loving fiancé, Potter. Do try to keep up."
"Right," Harry muttered, feeling a flush creep up his neck. "Morning... sweetheart."
Draco's grin widened. "Not bad. A little stiff, but we'll work on it."
Harry glared at him. "Don't push your luck."
"Oh, but it's so fun." Draco smirked, linking his arm through Harry's. "Now, come along. We've got an audience."
Sure enough, several Ministry employees were watching them with poorly concealed curiosity. Harry plastered on what he hoped was a convincing smile and let Draco steer him toward the lifts.
As soon as the doors closed behind them, Harry yanked his arm free. "Was that really necessary?"
Draco leaned casually against the wall, inspecting his nails. "Absolutely. Public perception is everything, Potter. If we don't sell this, we're doomed."
"I still can't believe I agreed to this," Harry muttered, running a hand through his hair.
"Neither can I, frankly," Draco said. "But desperate times, and all that."
Harry shot him a look. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
Draco's lips twitched. "Immensely."
The lift dinged, and they stepped out into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It was a hive of activity as usual, with Aurors and clerks rushing to and fro. As they made their way to Harry's office, Draco's sharp gaze swept the room.
"You do realize," he said, "that half your department thinks we're already shagging?"
Harry nearly choked. "What?"
Draco shrugged. "It's all over the rumor mill. Apparently, our frequent arguments have been reinterpreted as sexual tension."
Harry felt his face heat. "That's ridiculous."
"Is it?" Draco asked, his voice laced with amusement. "We do argue a lot. And you're blushing right now, which doesn't exactly help your case."
"I'm not blushing," Harry snapped, though he could feel the heat creeping up his neck.
Draco smirked. "Whatever you say, Potter."
Later That Day
By mid-afternoon, Harry was ready to hex something—or someone. Draco had spent the entire morning nitpicking their timeline, insisting on adding increasingly absurd details ("And then, of course, you serenaded me under the stars with a love ballad. It was terribly romantic.").
To make matters worse, Rita Skeeter had already gotten wind of their "engagement" and sent a flurry of Howlers demanding an exclusive interview. Harry had barely managed to silence the first one before the next exploded in a cloud of red smoke.
"Why did I think this was a good idea?" Harry muttered as he collapsed into his chair.
Draco, lounging on the sofa in Harry's office, arched an eyebrow. "Because you're a hopeless Gryffindor who didn't think it through?"
Harry glared at him. "You're not helping."
"I'm not here to help," Draco said smoothly. "I'm here to make sure this doesn't turn into a disaster."
"It's already a disaster."
"Oh, cheer up, Potter. It could be worse."
"How?"
Draco smirked. "I could actually want to marry you."
Harry snorted despite himself. "Merlin forbid."
For a moment, silence settled between them, broken only by the scratch of Harry's quill as he signed off on a stack of reports.
"Why did you agree to this, anyway?" Harry asked suddenly, not looking up.
Draco was quiet for a moment. "Let's just say it's mutually beneficial."
Harry glanced at him. "That's not an answer."
Draco's expression was unreadable. "You don't need the details, Potter. Just trust that I have my reasons."
"Trust," Harry said with a scoff. "Right."
Draco's eyes flicked to him, sharp and challenging. "You trusted me enough to make this ridiculous offer. Or are you regretting that now?"
Harry held his gaze for a long moment, then sighed. "I don't know what I'm regretting anymore."
Draco's smirk returned, softer this time. "Welcome to the club."