A Thousand Little Realizations
(Harry’s POV)
Harry had been through a lot.
He had faced Voldemort. He had walked willingly into death. He had fought, bled, lost people who mattered.
And yet—somehow, this felt different.
Because Malfoy was dying.
And Harry was the only one who knew.
_____________________________________________________
The Weight of Knowing
He couldn’t sleep.
Not after reading that book.
Not after learning the truth.
Hanahaki Disease. A sickness born from unrequited love. The petals bloomed in the lungs, a slow, suffocating curse, choking the victim from the inside out. If nothing changed—if the love remained unreturned—it would kill them.
The only cure?
The love had to be mutual.
Or—it had to be removed.
But the procedure wasn’t simple. It cut out the disease. Cut out the feelings. Left the person empty.
It was dangerous. It was final.
And Malfoy…
Malfoy had been hiding this.
For how long?
How much worse had it already gotten?
And—who?
Who the hell did Malfoy love?
Because if Harry didn’t figure that out soon, Malfoy was going to—
No.
Harry refused to think about that.
Instead, he got up.
Because if Malfoy wasn’t going to tell him the truth, he’d figure it out himself.
________________________________________________________
Step One: Confrontation (Again)
Harry found him the next morning.
Malfoy was in the hallway near the Slytherin common room, halfway through trying to disappear into the shadows like a dramatic little shit.
“Malfoy.”
Malfoy stiffened.
Then—he kept walking.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Harry muttered.
He grabbed Malfoy’s arm.
Malfoy jerked away instantly, turning sharply, eyes flashing.
“I told you to drop it, Potter.”
Harry clenched his jaw. Not this time.
“You’re coughing up flowers.”
Malfoy went still.
His whole body locked up, frozen in place.
Then—**slowly, carefully—**he exhaled.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Harry let out a harsh laugh. “I do, actually. I read about it.”
Malfoy’s face twitched.
Harry stepped closer. “You have Hanahaki.”
A pause.
A long one.
Malfoy’s fingers twitched at his sides, like he wanted to shove them into his pockets—hide them, like he always did.
And then, finally—he spoke.
“So what if I do?”
Harry’s stomach twisted.
Because Malfoy wasn’t denying it anymore.
He was admitting it.
And somehow, that was worse.
________________________________________________________________
Step Two: Finding Out Who Malfoy Loves
Harry didn’t let it go.
He couldn’t.
Malfoy wasn’t going to talk. That much was obvious.
So Harry started watching. Really watching.
Because someone in this castle—**someone Malfoy saw every day—**was the reason he was dying.
And Harry needed to know who.
The Suspect List (By Harry Potter)
1. Blaise Zabini
They were friends.
But Malfoy barely spoke to him anymore.
2. Theo Nott
Also a friend.
But Malfoy avoided him, too.
3. Pansy Parkinson
They used to be attached at the hip.
Now? Distant. Cold.
4. Astoria Greengrass
Possible.
But Harry had never seen them together.
Some random Slytherin.
Maybe?
The problem?
Malfoy didn’t act normal around anyone.
There was no one person he stared at longingly. No one person he acted different around.
Except—
Harry frowned.
Because there was someone Malfoy acted differently around.
Him.
Harry.
Harry exhaled, rubbing his hands over his face.
That was stupid.
Malfoy hated him.
Right?
…Right?
_______________________________________
Step Three: The Moment It Clicks
It was late when it happened.
Harry was heading back to the Gryffindor tower, exhausted after another day of watching Malfoy fall apart.
And then—he heard it.
A cough.
A sharp, broken sound from around the corner.
Harry froze.
Slowly, carefully, he stepped closer.
And there—**half-hidden in the shadows—**was Malfoy.
Slumped against the wall.
One hand clutching his chest.
The other pressed against his mouth.
And on the floor beneath him—
Petals.
Too many. So many.
Some of them were clean, pale white with that faint golden edge.
But others—others were stained red.
Harry’s heart lurched.
Because Malfoy wasn’t just sick.
Malfoy was barely standing.
And then—**as if sensing him, as if feeling the weight of his gaze—**Malfoy’s head lifted.
And their eyes met.
For a second—**just a second—**Harry saw it.
The exhaustion. The pain. The fear.
And something else.
Something warmer.
Something dangerous.
Harry’s stomach twisted.
Because he had been so sure.
So sure it wasn’t him. So sure Malfoy was in love with someone else.
But now—looking at him, breaking in the dark, staring at Harry like he was the only thing keeping him upright—
Harry wasn’t so sure anymore.
And that realization?
Terrified him.