The Proposal

Harry spent the following days feeling as though he was living in a whirlwind, caught between the confusion of his growing feelings for Draco and the intense scrutiny of the Malfoy family. It had been two days since the birthday celebration at Malfoy Manor, and the memory of that night lingered uncomfortably in Harry's mind.

Draco had kept up his usual air of smug confidence, brushing off Lucius's sarcastic remarks with ease and absorbing his mother's passive approval like it was a compliment. Meanwhile, Harry couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he had failed the most crucial test: convincing Lucius Malfoy that their engagement wasn't a sham.

The problem was, the more he thought about it, the more Harry realized that he wasn't entirely sure it was a sham anymore. Every time Draco smiled at him—whether in a moment of triumph or teasing—there was an undeniable spark between them, one that left Harry off balance, wondering what he was supposed to do with it.

But he wasn't the only one questioning things. Their interactions in the days after the visit to Malfoy Manor had only made the situation more complicated. Every time they crossed paths, there was a strange undercurrent of tension that neither of them knew how to navigate.

Harry was supposed to be the one steering this ship, but Draco's unrelenting charm, sharp wit, and even sharper gaze kept him on edge. The unspoken challenge in Draco's eyes was clear: If this engagement was going to last, you'd better step up your game, Potter.

And Harry was, for once, unsure if he could.

The scene at the office later that afternoon wasn't helping matters. Harry was sitting at his desk, nose buried in a pile of paperwork that had accumulated over the past few weeks, when Draco entered the room with that casual swagger Harry had come to expect from him.

"What's this? Hiding behind your desk again, Potter?" Draco's voice, smooth and playful, immediately made Harry's heart skip a beat.

"I'm working," Harry replied dryly, not bothering to look up from the reports he was reading.

"Mm. You don't look very productive," Draco said, leaning against the doorframe. "More like you're trying to hide from something." He paused for a moment before adding, "Or someone."

Harry could feel Draco's eyes on him, the weight of his gaze like a pressure he couldn't escape. He refused to give in, even as his heart rate picked up. "I'm not hiding from anyone," he said, his tone more forceful than he'd intended.

"Right," Draco replied, his tone almost amused. "So why do I get the feeling you're avoiding me?"

Harry's head shot up, and their eyes locked for a moment. "Avoiding you? I don't think that's what's going on here."

Draco pushed off from the doorframe, taking a few slow steps toward Harry's desk. "I don't know. You seem a little distant, Potter," he said, each word laced with playful suspicion. "Is something wrong?"

There it was again—that smile. The one that had a way of making Harry question his entire existence. The way Draco looked at him like he was the only thing in the room. Harry hated how it made his stomach flutter.

"I'm fine," Harry said quickly, looking back at the papers in front of him. He didn't know why he was suddenly so flustered, but he knew he didn't have time for this right now.

Draco chuckled, clearly not fooled. "Of course you are. If you say so." He leaned forward, resting one hand on the edge of Harry's desk. "Tell you what, Potter. How about we grab dinner tonight? We can talk about all the things you're so secretive about."

"I'm not being secretive," Harry muttered, though the way Draco was watching him made him feel like he was.

"Mm-hmm." Draco's voice was thick with sarcasm. "I'll take that as a 'yes,' then."

Before Harry could respond, Draco turned on his heel and left, the door clicking softly behind him.

Harry exhaled sharply, rubbing his face in frustration. Why is this so complicated?

That evening, Harry found himself sitting across from Draco at a small, upscale restaurant just outside Diagon Alley. The meal had started out in the usual awkward silence, both of them picking at their food, unsure of how to break the ice. But as the evening wore on, the conversation started to flow more easily. It wasn't as if they had suddenly become best friends, but Harry found himself more and more curious about Draco. Not just as the arrogant, insufferable prat he had once known, but as something more—someone more.

"So," Draco began, cutting into his steak, "do you actually think my mother believes we're in love?"

Harry glanced up from his plate, surprised by the question. "She seems to have bought it," he said, though there was an edge of doubt in his voice. "But I don't think Lucius is convinced."

Draco snorted, the corner of his lips curling into a smug grin. "Well, Father's never been easy to impress. Don't worry about it. He'll come around. He always does."

"Right," Harry said, though he wasn't entirely convinced. He took a bite of his food, then added, "Still, I can't help but think he's right. I mean, we're supposed to be engaged. You know this isn't exactly normal for me, right?"

Draco looked at him for a moment, and Harry could see the glint of amusement in his eyes. "Potter, you really think I'm some shiny object I'm trying to show off?" He leaned in closer, his voice low. "This is a farce, sure, but it's also a means to an end. I'm helping you. Don't forget that."

Harry's brow furrowed at Draco's tone, but before he could respond, Draco's next words caught him completely off guard.

"And let's be honest, Potter. We both know you'd be bored out of your mind without me."

For a split second, Harry thought he saw something deeper in Draco's eyes—something unspoken, something real. But then it was gone, replaced by the familiar smirk that Harry knew all too well.

Harry quickly shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "You're unbelievable, Malfoy."

"I know," Draco replied, not even attempting to hide his satisfaction. "I'm also right."

After dinner, they walked back to the office, the evening air crisp and cool against their faces. The tension between them was almost palpable, and Harry couldn't help but notice the subtle shift in the air whenever they were close to each other. Each time their shoulders brushed or their gazes lingered, Harry felt the weight of the situation—and his own feelings—growing heavier.

By the time they arrived back at the office, Harry was more confused than ever. What was he doing? What was Draco doing? Was this a game to him? Or was there something more beneath it all?

He didn't know, but he was beginning to suspect that he wasn't the only one who was starting to wonder.