The Proposal

The days at Malfoy Manor were always a blur of formalities. Even now, as Harry sat across from Draco at a long, polished table, he could feel the pressure of their charade weighing on him. They were supposed to be in love—supposed to be the perfect couple—but Harry had never felt more like an actor on a stage.

"Could you pass the salt?" Draco's voice broke through Harry's internal rambling. His tone was casual, but there was an edge to it that hinted at the tension still lingering between them.

Harry blinked, glancing up to find Draco's eyes on him, expectant. He grabbed the salt shaker and slid it over, careful to avoid touching Draco's hand.

The silence between them stretched for a moment, but Harry wasn't sure if it was just him feeling uncomfortable, or if Draco was equally on edge. They'd had so many of these moments—where they were supposed to be a couple, pretending for their families and the world. But each time, it felt less and less real.

"Something wrong?" Draco asked, his tone more probing than he probably intended. He leaned back slightly in his chair, arms folded, studying Harry.

"No," Harry replied, perhaps too quickly. He set the salt shaker down, suddenly acutely aware of the gap between them.

Draco didn't seem convinced. "You're acting distant," he remarked.

"I'm just—" Harry's words faltered. "I don't know. I feel like I'm suffocating sometimes. This whole thing... it's not what I expected."

Draco's expression softened for a split second, before his usual mask of indifference slipped back into place. "Yeah, well, it's not exactly what I expected either. But we don't have much of a choice, do we?"

Harry's stomach twisted at the reminder. They didn't have a choice. This engagement was the product of politics, family expectations, and the pressure of the Wizarding World. It had nothing to do with the feelings he had—or didn't have—toward Draco.

"Maybe it's just harder when it's all a lie," Harry muttered under his breath, though he wasn't entirely sure if he wanted Draco to hear.

But Draco did. His gaze darkened. "You think I don't know that?"

Harry blinked, surprised by the edge in Draco's voice. "I didn't mean—"

"No," Draco cut him off. "You don't get it. I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask for this whole... fake engagement. But I'm trying. And the least you could do is try too."

Harry's jaw tightened. "I am trying," he shot back. "But it's hard when I don't even know what I'm supposed to be feeling."

There was a long pause, and for the first time in a while, Draco seemed to hesitate. He looked away, his fingers drumming lightly on the table as he collected his thoughts.

"You don't have to feel anything right now, Potter," Draco said quietly. "This... thing we're doing? It's temporary. Just long enough for our families to believe it. Long enough for the Ministry to stop hounding us."

Harry wanted to argue, wanted to say that he wasn't just playing some part in a game. But the truth was, he wasn't entirely sure what he was doing. He wasn't sure if there even was an answer to this.

"So, what happens when it's over?" Harry asked, more to himself than to Draco.

Draco's gaze shifted, his eyes narrowing. "We move on. You go back to your life, and I go back to mine. The engagement ends, and we're free."

"Free," Harry repeated, the word tasting bitter on his tongue.

"I'm not saying it's perfect," Draco muttered. "But that's the reality."

Before Harry could respond, the door to the dining room opened, and Narcissa Malfoy entered, her presence as graceful and poised as ever. "Ah, there you both are," she said with a smile. "I was wondering where you'd gone off to."

Harry looked up and forced a smile. "We were just... discussing things," he said, though he wasn't sure how convincing it sounded.

Narcissa's eyes lingered on both of them for a moment, as if she could read the tension in the room. But instead of commenting, she just nodded and walked toward the opposite end of the table, where Lucius Malfoy was seated, glaring at his son as usual.

Draco sighed, pushing his plate away and standing. "I'll go talk to my father," he muttered. "You should be here for a while, Harry. Don't... don't go running off."

Harry frowned, but before he could reply, Draco had already left the room, his footsteps echoing through the grand halls of Malfoy Manor.

Alone in the room, Harry stared at the half-eaten meal in front of him, the weight of their conversation pressing down on him. What was he really doing here? The engagement was fake, the tension between him and Draco was real, and yet... somewhere in the mess of it all, Harry could feel something changing. Something that he wasn't sure he wanted to acknowledge.

Later that evening, Harry found himself alone in the library at Malfoy Manor, curled up in a chair with a book he didn't care to read.

His thoughts were still tangled with the conversation he'd had with Draco, and he couldn't help but replay their words over and over in his head. He had been right to ask those questions, hadn't he? But the uncertainty—the confusion—was only growing.

The door to the library creaked open, and Harry looked up to see Draco standing in the doorway. His face was unreadable, but the tension in his shoulders was clear.

"Potter," Draco said in a low voice, his eyes catching Harry's. "We need to talk."

Harry set the book down, the air between them charged with unspoken words. "About what?"

"About us," Draco replied, stepping further into the room. He closed the door behind him with a soft click, and Harry felt the room shrink with the weight of it.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, though he was already beginning to guess where this was heading.

"I mean..." Draco's voice faltered for a moment, and for a brief second, Harry could have sworn he saw hesitation in his eyes. "I'm not sure how much longer I can keep pretending, Harry."

Harry's heart raced in his chest. "Pretending?" he echoed.

Draco nodded, his expression a mix of frustration and something else—something deeper. "Pretending like we're not both playing a role in this... charade. I know we're supposed to be a couple, but—"

Before Draco could finish, the door creaked open again, and Narcissa Malfoy's voice called from the hallway. "Draco, Harry, it's time to join us in the drawing room. We're having dessert."

With a frustrated sigh, Draco ran a hand through his hair. "Later, then."

Harry watched as Draco turned and left, the unresolved tension hanging heavily in the air. There were no answers, not yet—just more questions.