The Proposal

The days following the masquerade ball were an endless whirlwind of press interviews, public appearances, and the ever-present scrutiny of their fabricated engagement. Each new event seemed to add a layer of pressure, and the tension between Harry and Draco only continued to build. Harry could feel it in the small moments—when their hands brushed, when their eyes met across a crowded room, when Draco's voice softened in ways that Harry couldn't quite place.

But there was still the matter of their rivalry, still the harsh reminder of how they'd spent years at each other's throats, how they had once hated each other with a passion so fierce it had seemed impossible to overcome. That history wasn't so easily erased, no matter how much Harry wanted to pretend that things had changed.

Tonight, though, was different.

They were back at Malfoy Manor, where Draco had invited Harry for a private dinner. It was an unspoken gesture—a chance to step away from the world of cameras and reporters and, for one night, be themselves. Or at least, as close to themselves as they could be under the circumstances.

The grand entryway of the manor was eerily quiet as Harry followed Draco through the lavish corridors. The place felt so different at night—empty, as if it were holding its breath, waiting for something.

"Do you ever get tired of this?" Harry asked, his voice low as he walked beside Draco. They'd just passed a large, ornate painting of a Malfoy ancestor, and Harry couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to grow up in such a place. So much wealth, so many expectations.

Draco glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. "Tired of what? My family's legacy? The estate? Or this charade we're putting on for the world?"

Harry shrugged. "All of it. Sometimes I feel like I'm drowning in it. Like I can't breathe."

Draco didn't say anything for a moment, and Harry couldn't tell if he was even listening. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows on Draco's face, making it impossible to read his expression.

Finally, Draco broke the silence. "You know, I've spent my whole life being told exactly what to do. What to wear. Who to marry. Where to go. It's exhausting in its own way." He paused, a bitter chuckle escaping his lips. "I get it. You think I'm just another spoiled rich kid, right? The typical Malfoy stereotype?"

"No," Harry said quickly, a little more forcefully than he'd intended. "That's not what I—"

"I'm not saying it's your fault," Draco continued, his voice laced with a strange, almost resigned bitterness. "But it's the truth, Potter. My father's expectations have never left me. I don't even remember what it's like to have a choice in anything."

Harry was taken aback. He'd always thought of Draco as someone who reveled in his family's wealth and status, someone who took advantage of every opportunity handed to him. But now, seeing the flicker of vulnerability in Draco's eyes, Harry was starting to understand how wrong he'd been.

"Do you ever want to leave all of this?" Harry asked, his voice quieter now. "This place. This life. The name. All of it."

Draco stopped in his tracks, turning to face him fully. His gaze was intense, searching, as though weighing Harry's words before responding. "Of course I do," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "Every day."

The raw honesty in Draco's words left Harry momentarily speechless. He'd expected sarcasm, a witty remark, but not this. Not this level of vulnerability.

Before Harry could respond, a familiar voice broke through the silence. "Draco, darling, you're back. How lovely to see you."

Harry turned to see Narcissa Malfoy standing at the top of the staircase, a soft, welcoming smile on her face. She was elegant as always, her silver hair cascading gracefully over her shoulders. Despite the sternness of the Malfoy name, Narcissa was one of the few people in the world who seemed to exude genuine warmth.

"Mother," Draco said, his voice shifting back into its usual calm and composed tone. "I didn't expect you to be up this late."

"I couldn't sleep," Narcissa replied, her eyes softening as they settled on Harry. "And I thought I'd pay you both a visit. You've hardly had a moment to yourself, have you?"

"No, we haven't," Harry answered with a faint smile. "It's been one thing after another."

Narcissa stepped down the stairs, her gaze flicking between the two of them. There was something knowing in her expression, a silent understanding that seemed to pass between her and Draco. But she said nothing of it, instead leading them to the dining room, where a meal had already been prepared.

Dinner passed in relative silence. Narcissa spoke kindly to both of them, offering the occasional anecdote or commentary on the food, but Harry noticed that Draco remained mostly quiet, his gaze distant. The earlier conversation still hung in the air, unspoken but lingering.

As the meal drew to a close, Narcissa excused herself, leaving Harry and Draco alone.

Draco leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the edge of his glass. He seemed to be lost in thought, his eyes focused on something far away. Harry wasn't sure what to say, but he felt that now was the time to address what had been weighing on his mind.

"I meant what I said earlier," Harry said, his voice steady. "I don't want this life either. I don't want to be a part of all of this." He gestured vaguely to the grandeur of the room around them.

Draco looked up, his gaze sharp. "So, what? You think you can just walk away from it all?"

"I don't know," Harry replied honestly. "But I don't think I can keep pretending forever."

For a long moment, Draco didn't respond. He just stared at Harry, as if evaluating him, weighing his words. Then, finally, he spoke.

"You don't have to pretend," Draco said, his voice quiet but firm. "Not with me."

Harry's heart skipped a beat, and for a brief, fleeting second, he saw something in Draco's eyes that made him question everything. Something that went beyond the pretense of their engagement, beyond the roles they were playing.

But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. Draco stood up from the table, his mask back in place.

"Let's get this over with, Potter," Draco said, his voice back to its usual aloof tone. "We have a lot to do tomorrow."

Harry couldn't help but watch him as he left the room. He knew the tension wasn't gone—it wasn't even close. But something had changed. Something real had slipped through the cracks.

And Harry wasn't sure what that meant for him.