Chapter Eleven
The following days dragged on with an unsettling tension that neither Harry nor Draco could escape. Their interactions had become increasingly complex—each word, each glance, felt charged, as if the invisible line between hatred and something far more dangerous was slowly being erased. Harry wasn't sure how much more of this he could take.
It was the weekend, and Harry had been avoiding Draco for the last couple of days. He told himself it was because he had work to do, but the truth was more complicated than that. Every time Draco walked into a room, Harry's heart rate picked up. Every time they spoke, Harry's mind went blank, and the carefully constructed walls he'd spent years building between himself and his emotions began to crumble. It was easier to just avoid him than to confront whatever this was between them.
But as Harry sat in his flat, staring at the pile of reports he hadn't touched, he knew he couldn't keep running away from it.
Draco, for his part, was no better off. He'd spent the last few days pretending everything was fine—smiling at the press, chatting with Harry when the cameras were rolling, keeping up the act for the sake of the engagement. But on the inside, things were beginning to break apart. He had hoped this would be easier. He had told himself this would just be a business arrangement, a simple way to avoid the Ministry's scrutiny. But every time Harry looked at him with that intense gaze, every time Harry's fingers brushed his in the smallest of gestures, Draco felt something shift inside him. And it terrified him.
He hadn't wanted to admit it to himself. Hell, he hadn't even wanted to acknowledge it when it started, but now there was no denying it. He was starting to feel something for Harry. Something dangerous. Something he wasn't sure he could control.
Draco found himself standing outside Harry's flat late that evening, debating whether or not to knock. It wasn't exactly a social call. The engagement had become more of a business arrangement than anything else, and any excuse to speak to Harry outside of official events felt... wrong. But the tension between them was too much to ignore.
Taking a deep breath, Draco knocked on the door.
It wasn't long before Harry answered, and the moment their eyes met, both of them froze. For a split second, Draco considered turning around and walking away. He'd made a mistake. But the way Harry stood there, eyes wide and wary, as if he, too, was caught in the same web of confusion, made him hesitate.
"Draco?" Harry asked, voice thick with uncertainty. "What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same thing," Draco replied, voice cool despite the whirlwind in his chest. "You've been avoiding me for days."
Harry's face flushed slightly, but he quickly masked it with a forced, indifferent expression. "I've been busy. And I'm sure you've got better things to do than check in on me."
Draco let out a small, bitter laugh. "Better things? Like what? Polishing your medals?"
Harry shot him a glare but didn't respond. Instead, he stepped aside and gestured for Draco to come in. "Fine. Come in. I'm assuming this isn't a social visit."
Draco entered, glancing around the flat as he did so. It wasn't much, just a small, somewhat bare space that suited Harry's no-nonsense lifestyle. Draco's gaze landed on the cluttered desk, the reports scattered around in disarray. He couldn't help but chuckle. "You always were a disaster with paperwork."
Harry snorted. "Yeah, well, I'm sure you've got it all figured out, don't you?"
Draco smirked, but it was more forced than usual. "Not exactly. I'm just better at pretending than you are."
Harry's eyes narrowed. "Pretending?"
Draco's smirk faltered, and for a moment, he stood there, feeling exposed. But he quickly recovered. "You know exactly what I mean, Potter."
They both stood there, in the middle of the room, the tension between them palpable, but neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke.
Finally, Harry broke the silence. "I'm not going to pretend with you anymore, Draco," he said, his voice low. "Not in front of the press. Not in front of anyone."
Draco's expression shifted, his eyes hardening. "What are you trying to say?"
"I'm not going to pretend that we're something we're not," Harry continued, his voice growing stronger. "I'm not going to stand here and pretend I'm in love with you just because it's easier than dealing with the consequences of the truth."
Draco's jaw clenched. "And what exactly is the truth, Potter?"
"The truth is that this—this engagement—it's a lie. It's been a lie from the start." Harry's voice shook with the weight of the words, but he stood firm. "But there's more to it than that. I don't know what this is between us, Draco. And I don't know what I'm supposed to feel."
The room fell silent again, and Draco stared at Harry, searching for some kind of answer. He had expected a fight, but not this. Not this vulnerable admission that was as much an apology as it was an invitation. Draco had expected Harry to continue running from whatever this was, but Harry wasn't running anymore.
Draco took a step forward, his voice quieter now. "And what if I told you I don't know what I feel either?"
Harry's heart skipped a beat. For a moment, he thought he had imagined it, but when he looked up, he saw the uncertainty in Draco's eyes. He wasn't pretending either.
"I—" Harry began, but his words caught in his throat.
Draco closed the distance between them in one swift movement, his breath warm against Harry's cheek. "We can't keep pretending, Harry," he whispered.
Before Harry could respond, Draco's hand found its way to Harry's face, cupping it gently. Harry froze, his breath hitching in his chest as he felt the heat of Draco's touch. This wasn't part of the plan. This wasn't supposed to happen.
But as their eyes locked, Harry knew it was too late to back out. The line between hatred and something else had already been crossed. And now, there was no going back.