The Proposal

It was getting harder for Harry to keep the act up. At first, everything had been so simple—just two people pretending to be in love for the sake of a lie. But now, after weeks of playing the part of the happily engaged couple, the lines between the truth and the act were beginning to blur. There were moments when Harry found himself staring at Draco, really seeing him—not just the Malfoy heir, not just the arrogant prat he'd known for years, but someone who made him feel... something. Something far more complicated than he was prepared to face.

The most recent gala had been a nightmare. The pressure to appear perfect, to keep up appearances, had been suffocating. Draco had been distant, his usual sharp wit turned cold and reserved, and Harry had been left alone to navigate the endless questions from reporters, pretending that everything was fine.

The following morning, Draco was once again acting like a stranger. He wasn't his usual self—no biting remarks, no playful jabs. Harry couldn't help but feel a little disappointed, though he would never admit it.

They were in the middle of a very public breakfast at the Malfoy estate, surrounded by a dozen or so important business associates of the Malfoys. Harry had learned long ago that these gatherings were a part of the life Draco had been born into, and it was another reminder of the world Harry was pretending to fit into. Draco's family may have welcomed him in, but there was still a sense of distance—a divide that kept him from truly belonging.

"Everything alright, Draco?" Harry asked as he reached for his coffee, trying to sound casual.

Draco looked up from his plate, his usual mask of indifference in place. "Fine," he said flatly, his voice lacking its usual bite.

Harry frowned, studying Draco for a moment. "You don't look fine."

Draco's expression hardened, and he set down his fork, his eyes narrowing. "I told you, Potter, I'm fine. There's nothing to discuss."

Harry couldn't let it go. The air between them felt thick with unspoken words, and it had been bothering him for days. He pushed his chair back and stood up, his frustration spilling over. "Stop shutting me out. This isn't just your engagement, Draco. We're both in this. And if we're going to pretend to be something we're not, the least we can do is be honest with each other."

The room went silent. A few of the guests glanced between them, exchanging nervous looks, but no one dared to interrupt. Draco stared at Harry, his eyes flickering with something that Harry couldn't quite place—anger, confusion, something more.

"You think I'm just some puzzle for you to figure out?" Draco snapped, his voice low but dangerous. "That's rich, coming from you."

Harry took a step closer, his patience wearing thin. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"You've always been the perfect little hero, haven't you? Always the one with the answers. Always the one who does the right thing," Draco's voice was thick with sarcasm, the bitterness in his words making Harry's skin crawl. "But this isn't some damn fairytale, Potter. Not for me. Not for either of us."

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but Draco wasn't finished.

"You think this is easy for me?" Draco continued, standing up from the table with sudden aggression. "You think I just wanted this? You think I wanted to drag you into my world, into all this pretend shit? I didn't ask for any of it! And I'm not even sure why you agreed to this in the first place!"

Harry's heart was racing. He could feel the frustration boiling in his chest, but he didn't back down. "I didn't ask for it either, Draco. But I'm in this now, just like you. So don't act like I'm the one making everything harder."

Draco clenched his fists, visibly struggling to hold back. But Harry wasn't backing down either. The tension between them was palpable, their rivalry so thick that it seemed to fill the entire room. Harry's breathing was shallow, and for a moment, he wondered if he'd taken this too far. But before either of them could speak again, a voice broke through the silence.

"Is everything all right here?" Narcissa Malfoy's voice was calm and collected, but there was an underlying concern as she looked between them.

Draco visibly stiffened, his walls immediately going back up. "Yes, Mother. Everything's fine."

Narcissa raised an eyebrow but said nothing more. She exchanged a brief glance with Harry before turning to her son, her tone softening. "I understand this isn't easy, Draco. But if you're going to go through with this engagement, you need to remember what it means. Not just to the family, but to yourself."

Draco was silent, his face impassive, but Harry caught the brief flicker of something—regret, perhaps? It was hard to tell. Narcissa gave him one last look before turning her attention to the rest of the room, and the tension didn't dissolve—it only simmered beneath the surface, unresolved and heavier than ever.

Later that evening, after the guests had left, Draco finally approached Harry in the drawing room, where Harry was staring out at the garden through the tall windows.

"I didn't mean to yell," Draco said, his voice quieter now, and for the first time in days, Harry heard the vulnerability there. "I... I just don't know what to do anymore. I didn't ask for any of this."

Harry turned, his expression softening. "I get it, Draco. I'm not blaming you. But I need you to stop shutting me out. This is a mess, but we're in it together. And I don't want to go through this alone."

Draco looked away, his jaw clenched, but Harry could see the slight tremor in his hand as he pushed it through his hair. "I don't know what you want me to say, Potter."

"I don't want you to say anything," Harry replied, his tone gentler now. "I just want you to be honest. Even if it's difficult. Even if it doesn't make sense."

Draco met his eyes, his gaze unwavering. For a moment, Harry thought he saw something flicker there—a spark of something real, something unspoken—but it vanished as quickly as it came. Draco exhaled sharply, stepping back.

"Fine," he muttered. "I'll be honest with you... I don't know what the hell is going on either."

And that was all he said before walking away.

Harry stood there, staring after Draco, feeling the weight of the conversation settle in his chest. It wasn't much—just a crack in the walls Draco had built around himself—but it was something. And for the first time in a long while, Harry felt like there was hope. Maybe, just maybe, they could figure this out.