Pieces Falling Apart
(Harry’s POV)
Harry Potter had faced a lot of strange things in his life.
Basilisks. Dementors. Dark Lords.
But nothing—nothing—had prepared him for the absolutely infuriating mystery that was Draco Malfoy.
Because Malfoy was definitely sick.
And Malfoy was definitely hiding it.
And Malfoy was definitely avoiding him like the plague.
Which meant one thing.
Harry needed to figure out what the hell was going on.
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The Malfoy Situation (A List, by Harry Potter)
Malfoy is sick.
He won’t admit it.
But Harry has eyes.
The coughing, the pale face, the way he keeps his hands in his pockets like he’s hiding something.
Malfoy is getting worse.
It started as little things.
Now he’s barely eating, barely responding.
Something is wrong.
Malfoy refuses to talk about it.
He runs.
He literally runs.
And Harry is getting really tired of watching Malfoy’s stupid, expensive robes swish away dramatically every time he tries to ask a simple question.
Conclusion: Malfoy is a stubborn bastard, and Harry is going to get to the bottom of this whether Malfoy likes it or not.
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Phase One: Surveillance
Hermione had not been thrilled about Harry’s newest obsession.
“You can’t just stalk Malfoy,” she had said, exasperated.
“It’s not stalking,” Harry had replied, even though it definitely was.
Ron had just shrugged. “Eh. Seems fair. Malfoy’s a shifty git.”
Hermione had glared.
But Harry didn’t care. This was important.
Which was why, over the next few days, Harry started paying attention.
And what he noticed?
Only made him more suspicious.
Malfoy was avoiding people. More than usual. Not just Harry—everyone.
Malfoy rarely spoke, rarely stayed in the Great Hall for longer than necessary.
Malfoy looked exhausted. Not just tired—drained. Like he wasn’t sleeping.
And then, of course, there was the coughing.
The constant, sharp, painful cough that Malfoy tried to hide but failed miserably at.
And worst of all—the moment Harry saw the petals.
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The Moment Everything Changed
It happened in the library.
Harry hadn’t meant to be there at the same time as Malfoy. (Okay, maybe he had.)
But Malfoy had been sitting alone, pale fingers gripping his quill, looking like he would rather be anywhere else.
And then—it happened.
Malfoy stiffened.
His hand flew to his mouth. His shoulders shook.
And before he could stop himself—he coughed.
Not just a little. A lot.
And something fell.
Harry saw it.
A petal.
Small. White.
Stained with red.
Malfoy snatched it up so fast Harry barely had time to process it.
But he had seen.
He had seen.
Malfoy’s head snapped up.
His gray eyes locked onto Harry’s.
And in that moment, Harry knew.
Malfoy wasn’t just sick.
He was dying.
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The Confrontation (Attempt #2)
Harry caught up to Malfoy outside the library.
Malfoy was walking fast—too fast. Like he was running from something.
“Malfoy,” Harry said.
No response.
Harry grabbed his wrist.
Malfoy froze.
For a second, neither of them moved.
Then Malfoy yanked his arm away, spinning around, eyes sharp and cold.
“Don’t touch me, Potter.”
Harry ignored the warning.
Instead, he took a step forward.
“I saw it,” he said.
Malfoy went still.
Harry’s chest tightened.
“I saw the petal,” he pressed. “I saw the—”
Malfoy grabbed him.
Not hard. Not aggressive.
But enough that Harry shut up.
Malfoy’s fingers curled into the front of Harry’s robes. Desperate. Trembling.
And when he spoke, his voice was quiet.
“Drop it.”
Harry didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Because Malfoy was scared.
Not annoyed. Not irritated. Scared.
His pale fingers clenched tighter, like he was holding onto the last shred of control he had left.
“Forget what you saw,” Malfoy whispered.
But Harry couldn’t.
Wouldn’t.
Because Malfoy was coughing up petals.
And there was only one thing that meant.
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That night, Harry found himself in the library again.
Not because he wanted to study.
But because he needed answers.
He found them in a thick, dust-covered book on magical afflictions.
His stomach dropped as he read.
Hanahaki Disease.
A sickness caused by unrequited love.
A curse that made flowers bloom in the lungs.
And if left untreated?
It killed.
Harry sat there, gripping the pages, stomach twisting.
Because Malfoy was sick.
Because Malfoy was coughing up flowers.
Because Malfoy was in love with someone who didn’t love him back.
And unless something changed—
He was going to die.