The Proposal

The days after their visit to Malfoy Manor were a blur for Harry. Between the Ministry's relentless schedule, the ongoing media circus surrounding his fake engagement, and his increasing uncertainty about his feelings for Draco, he could barely catch his breath. The charade was supposed to be simple. Pretend to be in love with Draco, stay out of trouble, and eventually, things would fall into place. But the lines were blurring. Harry was starting to wonder if he could continue to fake this charade for much longer.

He and Draco hadn't spoken much since their tense conversation in the garden. Their interactions had shifted from playful bickering to something more charged, more intimate, in ways that neither of them had intended. Every touch, every glance felt heavier now, like they were on the verge of something neither of them was prepared for. And while Harry would never admit it out loud, he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep pretending that everything between them was fake.

Harry's office at the Ministry was cluttered with papers. He had become accustomed to this mess, but it didn't make it any easier to manage. His schedule for the week was already full—meetings, reports, press conferences, all of it lined up like a never-ending parade of obligations. And right in the middle of it all was the looming presence of his "engagement" to Draco.

"Potter, are you ever going to look up from that pile of parchment?" a voice called from the door.

Harry looked up to see Draco leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking entirely too smug for someone who had just strolled into his office uninvited.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry asked, his tone more irritated than he intended. His mind was already spinning with thoughts of the never-ending tasks ahead of him.

Draco's eyes glinted with mischief. "Is that any way to greet your fiancé?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "We've been over this. We're not actually getting married."

"No, we're pretending to get married," Draco corrected him, stepping further into the room. "But for the record, I'm getting rather tired of all the pretending."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Draco gave a nonchalant shrug. "Nothing. Just that... well, we've been at this for weeks now, and I think it's starting to show. Don't you?"

Harry clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to snap at him. "I don't know what you're talking about, Malfoy."

Draco raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "Sure you don't. You've been looking at me like I'm the last person on Earth you want to spend any time with, but I'm starting to wonder if that's all just for show."

Harry's chest tightened, and for a moment, he couldn't bring himself to speak. Was it that obvious? That everything he did, every interaction he had with Draco, was starting to feel less like a performance and more like something he didn't quite understand? He took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. "What do you want, Draco? If you're here just to make my life more difficult, then you're succeeding."

Draco's smirk faltered, and for a brief moment, Harry saw something more vulnerable flash in his eyes. But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by that familiar cool exterior.

"I'm not trying to make your life difficult, Potter," Draco said, his voice softening. "I'm just... I'm just trying to figure out how we're supposed to keep pretending that we don't feel something."

Harry's heart stuttered. He didn't know what to say. He had spent the past few weeks doing everything he could to distance himself emotionally from Draco, to keep the walls up between them. But Draco was breaking through those walls with every word, every look. Harry felt trapped.

"Draco, we can't—" Harry began, but Draco cut him off with a raised hand.

"No, you're right. We can't. Because this whole thing is a lie. We both know it, but we're just too afraid to admit it." Draco's voice had taken on a darker edge now, like a storm was brewing beneath his words.

Harry stood up from his desk, walking toward the window to steady himself. He couldn't think straight when Draco was this close, when the tension between them was so thick he could almost taste it. "We agreed to this," Harry said quietly, staring out at the busy street below. "We made a deal."

"A deal?" Draco scoffed. "Is that what you think this is? A deal?"

Harry turned to face him, a sense of frustration bubbling inside him. "What else would you call it, Draco? We agreed to pretend. That's all. And now you're acting like—"

"Like what?" Draco challenged, stepping closer. "Like I'm just some plaything for you to use when it's convenient?"

"No! I didn't—" Harry stumbled over his words, feeling the ground slip from beneath him. He hadn't meant it like that. But now that Draco was standing there, staring at him with that intensity, the words didn't seem to make sense anymore.

"Then what do you mean, Harry?" Draco's voice had gone low, almost too soft, as if he was letting Harry in on a secret he wasn't sure he should share. "What do you want from me?"

The question hung in the air, unanswered. Harry didn't know how to respond. How could he? He couldn't even answer the question for himself. Everything about this engagement, about Draco, had been a calculated decision—a way to fix something broken, to keep the pressure of the world at bay. But now, standing there with Draco in front of him, Harry realized that nothing about this situation was simple. Nothing about Draco was simple.

"I don't know," Harry whispered, his voice barely audible.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them felt suffocating, but it also felt... necessary. Like the calm before a storm.

Finally, Draco broke the silence, his voice soft but cutting. "Neither do I, Potter. But we'll figure it out, won't we?"

Harry's breath caught in his throat, and for the first time in weeks, he didn't have an answer. He didn't know what he was supposed to say, or what he was supposed to feel. All he knew was that the tension between them had grown so powerful, so palpable, that he could no longer deny it.

"I suppose we will," Harry replied, his voice steady despite the chaos inside him.

The rest of the day was a blur. Harry felt as though the world had shifted, leaving him with a sense of unease that he couldn't shake. He kept replaying the conversation with Draco in his mind, the weight of their words hanging over him like a shadow. What was he supposed to do now? How could he keep pretending when it felt so real?

As he left the Ministry that evening, Harry found himself standing in front of the large, iron gates of Malfoy Manor once more. He wasn't sure what had brought him here, what had drawn him back to this place, but something about it felt inevitable.

Maybe he was starting to believe in the lie. Or maybe he was starting to feel something that he couldn't quite put into words.

Either way, he knew one thing for sure: things were about to get a lot more complicated.