The Proposal

Harry lay in bed, his mind racing. He couldn't stop thinking about what had just happened between him and Draco. The words Draco had said echoed in his head over and over again: "More than I thought I would. More than I should."

What did that mean? Did Draco... care about him? Or was it just the pressure of the lie they'd built around themselves? Harry didn't know what was real anymore.

He closed his eyes, but sleep didn't come easily. The thoughts swirling in his head were too loud, too intense. It had been hard enough dealing with the constant act they were putting on for the world, but now it felt like the lines were blurring—like everything was starting to fall apart. Harry wanted to be angry, wanted to push Draco away for making things so complicated, but there was this gnawing feeling in his chest that he couldn't shake. Something was changing between them. And he didn't know how to handle it.

The next day was even more unsettling than the last. Harry and Draco were forced into another round of public appearances, making sure their engagement looked as perfect as the press demanded. They spent the entire afternoon at a gala hosted by the Ministry, surrounded by politicians, socialites, and photographers. Every time Harry caught Draco's eye across the room, he felt the weight of their unspoken words hanging between them like a heavy cloak.

It wasn't just the reporters now—it was the way Draco had looked at him last night, like there was something underneath his anger, something more fragile. Harry couldn't ignore the knot in his stomach every time their gazes met.

When they finally found themselves alone for a brief moment at the gala, Harry couldn't stop himself from confronting Draco.

"What's going on?" Harry asked, his voice low but urgent. "You've been avoiding me all morning. You said something last night—something I don't understand."

Draco stiffened, his eyes darting around to make sure no one was within earshot. "I didn't think we were going to talk about this here."

"Why not?" Harry shot back, his frustration mounting. "I need to know what you meant. You've been acting... strange. And I can't keep pretending like everything's fine when it's not."

Draco's jaw clenched. He wasn't looking at Harry anymore, his focus shifting to the crowd outside. "It's complicated, alright? I don't have all the answers. I never asked for this... engagement. You're not the only one in a position where things are... forced upon you."

Harry wasn't sure what to make of that. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could say anything else, someone approached them.

"Draco, Harry, it's so good to see you both!" The voice was sickeningly sweet, and Harry immediately recognized it as none other than Rita Skeeter.

"Ah, Skeeter," Draco said, his voice dripping with thinly veiled sarcasm. "I'm thrilled."

Rita's eyes twinkled behind her thick glasses as she leaned in closer. "What a lovely couple you two make. I'm sure the Ministry will be very pleased with how perfect your engagement looks. Perhaps I'll write an article on it. Wouldn't that be something? A story of love, transformation... and a bit of scandal."

Harry saw Draco's expression harden. "No," he snapped. "Don't even think about it."

Rita ignored him, her smile widening. "Of course, the press is always fascinated by young love. And a Malfoy—such a rich and famous family—well, that's a story people want to read, don't you think, Mr. Potter?"

Harry's temper flared, but he managed to keep his voice even. "We're not here for your gossip, Skeeter. Go write whatever nonsense you want. But leave us alone."

Rita raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by their exchange. "Of course. But don't expect the press to stay away. You've already given them something to chew on, and it's only a matter of time before they bite."

She finally turned on her heel and stalked off, leaving the two of them standing there, even more exposed than before.

Draco ran a hand through his hair, looking agitated. "Brilliant. Just what I need. More eyes on us."

"You know she's not going to drop this, right?" Harry said, his voice tinged with bitterness. "She's going to dig into every little detail of our lives until we're suffocated."

Draco sighed, running his fingers along the collar of his dress robes. "It's already happening. And I'm... not sure how much longer I can pretend this is real, Harry."

The words stung, but Harry knew there was no use in pretending. The more time they spent together, the harder it was to keep their distance—both physically and emotionally.

He took a step closer, his voice barely a whisper. "You don't have to pretend anymore, Draco. We're both stuck in this mess, but maybe... maybe it's time to figure out what's real."

Draco's gaze flickered to Harry's face, his expression unreadable. For a moment, neither of them moved. The space between them was charged with something unspoken, something dangerous.

"I don't know what you're saying, Potter," Draco replied, his voice low. "But whatever this is, whatever it means, we need to keep up the façade. For both of us."

Harry's chest tightened at Draco's words, but he nodded. "Yeah. For now."

The next few days were a blur of obligations and appearances. Harry kept himself busy, trying to keep his mind off the growing tension between him and Draco. But it wasn't easy. The press was relentless, and every time he turned around, there seemed to be another headline about their engagement. The more they acted like a couple in public, the more real it all seemed.

And that's what scared Harry.

Because the more he played his part, the more he found himself wishing it were real.