The Proposal

The days following the visit to Malfoy Manor felt like they had settled into a rhythm of carefully orchestrated chaos. Harry's routine hadn't changed—meetings, paperwork, endless discussions about the engagement, and constant vigilance over the media circus. But every time Draco was near, something shifted. The unspoken tension between them thickened, and Harry found himself questioning whether he was just playing along or if something deeper was at stake.

The weekend arrived quicker than Harry had anticipated, and with it came another appearance at the Manor. This time, it was more casual—just a quiet dinner with the Malfoys, no grand event or public spectacle, just the four of them. Still, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that he was constantly being watched. The kind of watchful gaze that felt less like scrutiny and more like a challenge.

As Harry arrived at the Manor, the large gates creaked open in a way that felt far too foreboding. He almost expected them to slam shut behind him, trapping him inside some old-fashioned trap. But Draco was already there, waiting for him with a casual stance that suggested he wasn't at all affected by the weight of his family's expectations.

"You look miserable," Draco teased, his voice light but with an edge of something darker.

"I'm fine," Harry muttered, adjusting his tie and trying to ignore the unease that churned in his stomach.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Really? Because you look like you'd rather be anywhere else."

"I don't like formal events, Draco," Harry snapped, unable to contain the irritation. "You should know that by now."

Draco just smirked and nudged him playfully. "Come on, you're not here to complain about everything. You're here because you're contractually obligated to pretend we're madly in love, remember?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I remember."

Draco led him inside, and the familiar opulence of the Manor hit Harry immediately. The high ceilings, the marble floors, the intimidating portraits staring down at him—everything about this place screamed wealth and power, even more so than when he had been here last. It felt suffocating in a way that wasn't entirely physical.

"Stop glaring at everything," Draco teased as they walked toward the dining room. "It's just a house."

"Yeah, sure," Harry muttered, trying to seem more at ease. "A massive house."

They entered the dining room to find Lucius and Narcissa already seated, both looking like they had just stepped out of a high-end fashion magazine. As they took their seats, the conversation quickly turned to the latest updates on the engagement.

"So, Harry," Lucius said with a calculating glance, "have you decided yet whether you'll be keeping your position at the Ministry, or will you be accompanying Draco to the countryside for the wedding planning?"

Harry didn't miss the subtle implication. Lucius's tone was clipped, and his words were more pointed than they appeared. The question wasn't just about logistics—it was about whether Harry was fully committed to the charade.

"I think I'll keep my job," Harry said evenly, not willing to give Lucius any further ammunition. "The Ministry's been—" He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "—incredibly supportive."

"Of course," Lucius said, his gaze unblinking. "A loyal Ministry employee. How convenient."

Harry stiffened at the insinuation, but before he could respond, Narcissa's soft voice broke through the tension.

"Please, let's not argue," she said kindly, but there was a quiet edge in her tone. "We're here to enjoy a pleasant dinner, not to discuss business."

The Malfoys didn't argue much about the engagement anymore—it was already decided, after all—but Harry could tell that both Lucius and Narcissa had their own reservations. They weren't just concerned about the logistics of the wedding or the future of the family name—they were trying to understand the genuine nature of Harry and Draco's relationship.

And honestly, Harry wasn't sure how to answer their unspoken question. He wasn't sure what kind of answer they expected.

Later that evening, after dinner, Harry and Draco found themselves standing by a large window in one of the quieter rooms of the Manor. The garden stretched out before them, lit only by the glow of the moon. The house felt distant in the silence—isolated, like they were the only two people left in the world.

"You know," Draco said, breaking the quiet, "my father is just waiting for you to crack."

Harry shot him a sharp look. "What?"

"He's testing you," Draco explained, a faint smirk playing at his lips. "He thinks you'll fold eventually. That you'll back out of this whole thing."

"I'm not backing out," Harry snapped, his irritation flaring. "I have a responsibility."

Draco arched an eyebrow. "A responsibility? To the Ministry? Or to yourself?"

Harry stopped himself, feeling a sudden discomfort at the question. He wasn't sure what it meant anymore, to be here, to pretend like he was someone he wasn't. But at that moment, he couldn't say that to Draco—not when the stakes were so high, not when the consequences seemed so real.

"I'm not folding," Harry said again, more firmly this time. "I've been through worse."

Draco didn't reply at first, just watched him with that steady gaze of his. Then, slowly, he spoke again. "You're right. You've been through worse. But that doesn't make it any easier, does it?"

Harry hesitated. There was something in Draco's voice that made him question everything he thought he knew. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Draco took a step closer, his eyes never leaving Harry's. "It means that we're both in this together, whether we like it or not. And no amount of pretending is going to change that."

Harry's heart skipped a beat. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words never came. Instead, there was just a silence between them, thick with tension, full of something unspoken.

Draco broke the silence with a small chuckle, shaking his head. "You're hopeless, Potter. But at least you're entertaining."

"Thanks," Harry muttered sarcastically, though the brief flicker of something in his chest wouldn't go away. He felt unsettled, off balance, like he was suddenly seeing things he hadn't noticed before.

As the night wore on, Harry's resolve grew stronger. He didn't know what was happening, didn't know why he was still here, but he was certain of one thing: he was not going to let Draco Malfoy—of all people—get under his skin.