The Proposal

It was the morning after their dinner, and Harry had barely gotten any sleep. He tossed and turned, his mind racing with thoughts of Draco—thoughts that he wasn't sure he was ready to confront. Why did it feel like something had shifted between them? Why did he feel both more irritated and oddly drawn to him?

As he sat at his desk later that morning, nursing a cup of tea he barely noticed, Harry's mind replayed the moments from the night before. Draco's casual teasing, the way he'd leaned in just a little too close, the half-smile that had lingered for far too long. Harry had tried to ignore it all, focusing on his reports, but the words kept circling back.

You'd be bored out of your mind without me.

He couldn't stop thinking about it. And he hated how right Draco had sounded. It wasn't just the job or the engagement—there was something more. Harry had always prided himself on being in control, on being the one who knew what was going on. But now? It was as if everything was slipping through his fingers.

The day passed in a blur. Harry met with a few of the ministry officials he had been liaising with regarding a new magical creature initiative, but his mind kept drifting back to Draco. At some point, he realized that, even when he was focused on his work, he was still aware of every little thing about Draco—the way he walked, how his hair fell just right, the soft way he spoke when they were alone together.

It wasn't long before Draco showed up at Harry's office again, his voice cutting through the haze of Harry's thoughts.

"Potter, you're looking particularly grim today. Something on your mind?" Draco's voice was smooth, teasing, but there was a glint in his eyes that made Harry wary.

"I'm fine," Harry said, brushing off Draco's probing gaze. But his insides were anything but fine. What is going on with me?

"Mm-hmm," Draco hummed, sounding unconvinced. He perched himself on the edge of Harry's desk, leaning forward slightly as though he were trying to read Harry's thoughts. "You're not fooling anyone, Potter."

Harry glanced up from his work, his eyes narrowing. "What do you want, Draco?"

Draco's lips quirked into that familiar smirk. "What, no pleasantries today?" he teased. "I think I'll have to do something about that. How about you—oh, I don't know—stop pretending you don't want me here?"

Harry's heart jumped at the unexpected comment. "What are you talking about?"

Draco's grin widened, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "I'm talking about the fact that whenever I'm around, you can't seem to stop thinking about me. I've noticed."

Harry's breath hitched, and he quickly turned his attention back to his papers, hoping his racing thoughts wouldn't show on his face. "You're delusional."

"Oh, am I?" Draco's voice dropped to a low, teasing murmur. "Then explain why you're so nervous around me. Explain why you can't seem to stop getting that flush in your cheeks whenever I walk in the room."

Harry's pulse quickened. "That's not true," he spat, but it was half-hearted. It's true. Isn't it?

Draco raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying Harry's discomfort. "Keep telling yourself that, Potter. But I think you know the truth."

Before Harry could respond, Draco stood, pushing himself off the desk and stretching in a way that made Harry's throat go dry. "Anyway, I'm off to Malfoy Manor for a bit. You should come with me."

Harry's head snapped up. "What? Now?"

Draco shrugged nonchalantly. "Yeah. They want to discuss the wedding plans—or, rather, how we're going to sell this thing to the media. Should be a laugh."

Harry's stomach dropped. The thought of going to Malfoy Manor again, with the engagement still so new and fragile, didn't seem like the best idea. But something in Draco's expression—something soft yet expectant—made Harry pause.

"Come on," Draco said, his tone more serious now. "You've got to learn to take things seriously if we're going to make this work. Plus, the sooner we get all this nonsense over with, the sooner you can go back to avoiding me like you've been doing lately."

Harry could feel Draco's gaze on him, and for a moment, he considered just telling him to shove it. But something stopped him. A part of Harry—one that wasn't as concerned about his own discomfort as he liked to think—wanted to go. Wanted to prove that they could do this, that they could play the game, if only to get this entire charade over with.

"Fine," Harry muttered, standing up from his desk. "I'll go."

The ride to Malfoy Manor was quiet, with Harry unable to shake the tension in the air between them. The uncomfortable silence hung between them like a spell, but this time, it wasn't the playful banter they usually shared. There was something different in the way Draco looked at him, something Harry couldn't quite place.

When they arrived at the grand entrance of Malfoy Manor, Harry felt that familiar unease creep up again. The towering walls of the manor looked imposing and cold, much like the Malfoy family itself. But as they walked through the front doors, Harry had to admit that there was a strange warmth to the place, despite its grandeur.

"Don't look so terrified," Draco teased, his tone light but with an edge of something more. "My parents are just eccentric. You'll be fine."

Harry didn't reply, too busy trying to convince himself that everything would be fine. As they walked into the sitting room, Lucius and Narcissa were waiting for them, as usual with their impeccable manners and discerning eyes.

Lucius, as expected, was the first to speak. "Potter," he said, his tone clipped and skeptical. "I trust you've come to your senses and decided to stop avoiding us."

Harry forced a smile, his nerves spiking under Lucius's stare. "I'm here, aren't I?"

Draco stepped forward, looking at his father with an almost bored expression. "Don't mind him, Father. He's just—busy. You know how it is."

Lucius looked at Harry for a moment longer, as if measuring him. Then, in a move that Harry had come to expect, Lucius dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Very well. I'm sure we'll sort this out soon enough."

As they moved into the next room, Narcissa's quiet voice spoke up, a touch of warmth in her tone. "I must say, Harry, I'm so glad you've agreed to come. It's not every day that we get to enjoy company that isn't... quite so ordinary."

Harry smiled weakly, grateful for the softer approach of Draco's mother. "Thank you, Narcissa."

The evening wore on with more talk of wedding arrangements, media coverage, and how best to handle the ever-growing pressure of their engagement. The conversations were strategic, professional even, and Harry found himself oddly at ease for a while—until Draco's parents asked him about the specifics of his relationship with their son.

Lucius's sharp eyes never left Harry as he spoke. "So, Harry, when exactly did you two come to an understanding? What makes you so certain about this... engagement?"

Harry hesitated, feeling the weight of their expectations on him. He glanced over at Draco, who was watching him with an unreadable expression. It felt like a test. One that he wasn't sure he was ready for.

Before he could formulate a response, Draco's voice broke through the silence. "Father, you know how it is," Draco said coolly. "We've just—clicked. It happens. You wouldn't understand."

Lucius's gaze flickered to Draco for a moment, but he didn't respond. The tension in the room grew thick again, and Harry found himself caught between the subtle, uncomfortable energy of the Malfoys and the overwhelming pull of Draco's presence.