When the World Stops Spinning
(Harry’s POV)
Harry couldn’t breathe.
Which was ironic, really.
Because he wasn’t the one dying.
But for a moment—**just a moment—**it felt like he was.
Because Draco Malfoy loved him.
And Draco Malfoy was dying because of it.
The hallway felt too small.
The air was too thin.
Malfoy was still standing there, watching him.
And for the first time ever—Harry had nothing to say.
Because what the fuck was he supposed to say?
He felt like he’d been dropped into a story that wasn’t his.
Like this was something meant for someone else.
But it wasn’t.
It was his.
This was his to fix.
This was his to break.
Because Malfoy—**fucking Malfoy—**was looking at him like he had already lost.
Like Harry was just another thing he couldn’t have.
Like Harry was going to walk away.
And suddenly—Harry hated that look.
More than anything in the world.
Harry’s mouth opened before he could think.
“Malfoy, I—”
But Malfoy was already shaking his head.
“Don’t.”
Harry’s stomach twisted.
“What?”
Malfoy’s throat bobbed.
His hands curled into shaking fists.
And then, softly—“Don’t say anything you don’t mean.”
Harry felt that like a punch to the ribs.
Because the problem was—he didn’t know what he meant.
What did he mean?
What the fuck was he supposed to do with this?
Malfoy was in love with him.
Malfoy was dying over him.
And Harry—Harry had never thought about this before.
Never considered it.
Never even let himself go there.
But now—he couldn’t think about anything else.
His chest felt too tight.
His thoughts were a fucking mess.
Because Malfoy was in love with him.
Because Malfoy was dying.
Because if Harry didn’t do something, Malfoy would be gone.
And Harry didn’t want that.
God, he didn’t want that.
Malfoy exhaled sharply.
His hands unclenched.
His eyes darkened.
And then—
He smiled.
A small, sad, hopeless thing.
And Harry’s chest ached.
Because Malfoy thought this was the end.
Because Malfoy thought Harry had already made his choice.
And Harry didn’t know how to tell him that he hadn’t.
That he couldn’t.
Because Malfoy was still standing here.
Because Malfoy was still breathing.
Because Harry was going to make sure he stayed that way.
Even if it killed him.
Malfoy stepped back.
The warmth between them vanished.
And then, softly—“Don’t worry about it, Potter.”
Harry’s stomach sank.
“I—”
But Malfoy was already turning away.
Already walking.
Already disappearing.
And Harry let him.
Because he was a coward.
Because he didn’t have the words.
Because he didn’t know what he was supposed to do.
So he stood there.
Alone.
With a truth too big for his hands, too heavy for his chest, too impossible to ignore.
Draco Malfoy loved him.
Draco Malfoy was dying.
And Harry had to figure out what the hell that meant before it was too late.