The Proposal

The days following Draco's unexpected visit to Harry's flat felt like a fever dream. Harry couldn't shake the lingering feeling of Draco's touch against his face, the way the air between them had thickened in those brief moments. He had tried to tell himself that it was nothing, just another misstep in the ongoing charade they were living. But every time he closed his eyes, the image of Draco's eyes—soft, searching, vulnerable—came rushing back to him.

It was Saturday morning when Harry found himself standing in front of the mirror, adjusting his robes for the latest Malfoy family event. Draco's grandmother was turning ninety, and the Malfoy family was throwing a lavish party at Malfoy Manor. Harry had been invited, as part of the ongoing engagement charade, of course. He had tried to refuse, but Draco had been insistent. It was important, Draco had said. And perhaps it was. After all, if they were to convince everyone of their love, they would have to perform it well in front of Draco's family.

Harry had already gone through the motions of pretending for the press, for the Ministry, and for the public. But the thought of playing this part in front of Draco's family—his real family—was different. It made Harry's stomach churn in a way he couldn't explain.

He had promised himself he wouldn't let this get to him. He wouldn't let whatever feelings he had for Draco start to cloud his judgment. But how could he ignore the fact that he was still living in this strange space between what was real and what wasn't?

With a deep breath, Harry straightened his robes and walked out of his flat, determined to get through this evening without letting his emotions show. He could do this. He could pretend. After all, that was all he'd been doing for years—pretending.

Malfoy Manor was, as expected, a grand, imposing structure. The long, winding driveway was flanked by ancient trees, their bare branches stretching out like skeletal hands reaching for the sky. As Harry approached the front doors, he felt a pang of unease, his footsteps echoing in the empty space around him. The large, marble steps leading up to the manor felt cold beneath his boots, and for a moment, he wondered if he was making a mistake.

But there was no turning back now.

Draco was waiting for him inside, standing next to a roaring fireplace in the grand hall, his eyes scanning the crowd of guests. His expression softened when he saw Harry, a flash of something—something that Harry didn't have the courage to identify—passing over his face.

"Harry," Draco said, his voice warm but guarded. "You look... decent."

"Thanks," Harry replied, forcing a smile. "You look, uh... about as put-together as usual."

Draco smirked, but there was something in his eyes—something searching—that made Harry's chest tighten.

Before Harry could say anything more, a voice called out from across the room. "Ah, there they are! The happy couple!"

Harry turned to see Narcissa Malfoy gliding toward them, a perfect picture of grace. She was wearing an elegant, silver gown that shimmered in the light, her platinum blonde hair pulled back in a sleek bun. Despite the formality of the situation, there was a warmth to her smile that put Harry at ease. She had always been kind to him, even when Draco hadn't been.

"Harry, darling, it's so lovely to see you," she said, embracing him in a gentle hug. "How are you?"

"Fine," Harry replied, feeling his muscles relax at the familiar gesture. "Thank you for inviting me. It's... it's good to be here."

Narcissa pulled back and studied him for a moment. "You're still too thin, you know," she remarked. "You need to eat more."

Harry gave her a small laugh. "I'll keep that in mind."

Narcissa turned her gaze to Draco, her expression softening. "You're both doing well, I trust?"

Draco gave her a curt nod. "Of course, Mother."

There was an underlying tension in Draco's voice, but Narcissa either didn't notice or chose not to address it. Instead, she led them further into the party, introducing Harry to various family members and dignitaries, all of whom Harry didn't recognize but who seemed to be very impressed by his presence.

As the evening wore on, the atmosphere grew more relaxed, with guests sipping drinks and mingling. Draco and Harry found themselves standing at the far end of the room, away from the rest of the guests. It was strange—both of them pretending to be a couple, pretending to be in love, while they stood silently next to each other. There was no genuine connection between them. There couldn't be. Not when Harry was still sorting through his own feelings, and Draco was still hiding behind his walls.

"Do you ever get the feeling that this is all a joke?" Harry muttered, glancing sideways at Draco.

"A joke?" Draco raised an eyebrow. "You think this is a joke?"

"Not the engagement," Harry said, shaking his head. "Just... everything. The way we're pretending to be something we're not. It feels... I don't know, fake."

Draco's eyes flicked to Harry's face, studying him for a moment before he sighed. "You're not the only one who thinks that, Potter."

Harry was surprised by the admission. He glanced at Draco, but before he could ask what he meant, Narcissa appeared at his side again, her smile bright and welcoming.

"Harry, Draco," she said, "I'd like to introduce you to an old friend of the family. You remember Lucius, of course?"

Harry's heart skipped a beat. He had barely exchanged more than a few words with Lucius Malfoy in the past, but he was well aware of the man's reputation. The stiff, cold demeanor, the piercing gaze that could cut through anything. Harry had never felt entirely comfortable around Lucius, and tonight would be no different.

Lucius Malfoy strode into the room, his cane clicking against the marble floor. His icy blue eyes locked onto Harry's with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. "Potter," Lucius said curtly, his lips curling into a thin smile that didn't reach his eyes. "How delightful to see you here. Though, I must admit, I never thought I'd see the day when my son would bring someone like you into our home."

Harry's back stiffened, but he forced a smile. "It's, uh, good to be here, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco shot Harry a warning glance, but it was too late. The tension between father and son was palpable, and the discomfort that Harry had felt since his arrival only seemed to increase in that moment.

"Isn't it?" Lucius replied, his gaze never leaving Harry's face. "Tell me, Potter, how long do you think this little charade of yours will last?"

Harry felt his throat dry up, his mouth going a little too dry to respond. Before he could say anything, Draco cut in.

"Father, please," Draco said sharply. "Let's not do this tonight."

Lucius didn't seem fazed by Draco's words. Instead, he took a step closer to Harry, his voice low and pointed. "You think you can fool everyone with this engagement? You think you're somehow part of this family now?"

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but Draco was already stepping between them, his hand resting firmly on his father's chest.

"We're not having this conversation, Father. Not now, not here," Draco said, his voice firm and full of warning.

The moment stretched on, thick with the weight of unspoken words. Harry felt like an outsider, caught in the middle of the tension between father and son. And yet, as he looked at Draco—really looked at him—he saw something there. Something that made him question everything he thought he knew about Draco Malfoy.

For the first time since he'd arrived, Harry felt a flicker of hope.