The Proposal

The days after the fight were strange. An unspoken truce settled between them, but the air was still thick with something neither of them wanted to acknowledge. Harry and Draco existed in this uneasy space where everything was in flux. It was as if they were two magnets, drawn together by some invisible force but constantly trying to push each other away.

They didn't talk about the kiss. They didn't talk about the fight. They didn't talk about the things that had been said or the things they both wished they could take back.

Instead, they spent their time doing what they always did: bickering, teasing, sniping at each other in that familiar, infuriating way. It was the closest thing they had to normal. It was the only language they knew.

But even then, there was something different. A spark in their exchanges, a weight behind their words, like the fight had cracked something open inside both of them. The anger was still there, but so was something else. Something softer, something real.

"Oi, Potter!" Draco called from across the room one evening, his voice dripping with sarcasm as always. "You planning on making dinner, or are we just going to keep starving to death?"

Harry's eyebrow twitched. "You're not starving, Malfoy. You ate lunch two hours ago."

"Yeah, well, I'm hungry again," Draco said, leaning back in his chair, watching Harry with that same annoying, half-amused look.

Harry rolled his eyes and walked into the kitchen. "Typical. You eat more than a bloody Hippogriff, and you're still this thin."

"Hey, it's called metabolism," Draco shot back. "You should try it sometime."

Harry just grunted, grabbing a couple of plates from the cupboard. It felt weird, having this... normal conversation. Like everything between them had somehow shifted without either of them realizing it.

"Yeah, well, I'm not the one stuffing my face with carbs every time I get stressed," Harry muttered under his breath, but Draco caught it.

"Oh, now you're calling me fat?" Draco's voice took on that dangerous edge that always made Harry's blood run a little colder.

Harry set the plates down with a thud and turned to face Draco. "Don't be so sensitive, Malfoy. I didn't say you were fat. I said you ate too much."

Draco snorted. "Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night, Potter."

"Right," Harry shot back, his mouth twisting into a smirk. "You're just perfect, aren't you?"

Draco met his gaze, his expression softening for a second before he quickly masked it with another sneer. "Hardly."

But there was something in the way his eyes lingered on Harry that gave him away. Something that Harry wasn't sure he was ready to confront.

"Sit down, Malfoy," Harry said, his voice softer than he intended, and then he added, "I'll make you dinner."

Draco raised an eyebrow, clearly shocked. "Did I hear that right? You're cooking for me?"

"Don't get used to it," Harry muttered, but he couldn't suppress the flicker of amusement that tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Just sit."

Draco hesitated for a second, but then he stood up and wandered over to the couch, collapsing onto it with a sigh. "I'll hold you to this, Potter. You're setting the bar very high."

"Shut up," Harry said, though the hint of a smile was already forming. "It's a one-time deal."

As Harry moved around the kitchen, preparing something simple for dinner, he found himself more aware of Draco's presence than he cared to admit. There was something magnetic about the way Draco was watching him, the way his eyes flickered to Harry's every move.

It wasn't lost on Harry that things had changed, and despite everything, despite all the arguments and the anger and the push and pull, there was a shift happening between them. Something that neither of them could control, no matter how much they tried.

"So," Draco began, breaking the silence as Harry put the finishing touches on the meal, "we have to go to my grandmother's birthday party this weekend."

Harry froze mid-motion, a knife hovering over a vegetable. He hadn't even considered the party yet. The thought of being around Draco's family—the very family that had once loathed him—was enough to make his stomach turn.

"Right," Harry said carefully, trying to keep his voice level. "Your grandmother's birthday."

Draco's lips twitched. "Yeah. And as much as I'm sure you're dreading the thought of being around my insufferable relatives, it's important."

"I know," Harry muttered, his eyes fixed on the plate in front of him. "I'll... I'll do my part. I'll pretend to be your doting fiancé or whatever."

Draco didn't respond right away, and for a moment, the room was heavy with the silence of unspoken things. Then, just when Harry thought the conversation was over, Draco spoke again.

"Thanks," he said quietly, almost too quietly for Harry to catch.

Harry glanced at him over his shoulder. "What?"

Draco's eyes flickered to him, something unreadable behind his gaze. "I said... thanks. For doing this. For sticking around, even when it's probably the last thing you want to do."

Harry's chest tightened, his fingers gripping the edge of the counter until his knuckles turned white. "I'm not going anywhere, Draco," he said, his voice low but firm. "And I don't care how hard it gets. I'm not leaving."

Draco didn't say anything else. Instead, he just nodded, his eyes softening, the walls between them breaking down just a little bit more.

It was the first time since everything had started that Harry felt like they might actually have a chance at this. Not just the fake engagement, not just the act they'd put on for the world, but something real. Something that was theirs, and theirs alone.

As they sat down to eat, the tension between them was still there, but it was different now. It wasn't as suffocating. It wasn't as sharp.

Maybe—just maybe—they were starting to figure it out.