I did not expect this story to get that much interest. Wow. So several months later and right before my paper is due, I finally get the inspiration and motivation to write chapter two. Hope you enjoy it!

Funny thing is, Harry wakes up to a blurry man in a suit. With a cane – no wait, that's an umbrella. He rubs his eyes with one hand and pats around for his glasses with the other. His glasses aren't there, and as he glances around the bed he remembers that someone stepped on them. When he looks up again, the man is gone.

Wrong room, perhaps?

Harry shrugs, then discreetly checks around for nurses. It was time to find an exit; no need for them to call the Dursley's after all.

The escape did not go as planned.

The police had more questions for him.

Questions he was avoiding by hiding in the cold storage room on the basement floor.

It was a bit cold, but nothing bad. The niche under the table was comfortable to sit in, at least. And the woman who came to work in the room looked rather simple – Harry was sure that, if he needed to, he could plead being lost and confused and probably get away with it. Many adults her age didn't look too closely into things.

She was pulling something out of the cabinet in the wall now, and the drawer slid out long enough to reveal a long black sack. Humming, she slid open the zipper on the sack to reveal –

Great Merlin, was that a head!? Just where was he?

The zipper slid open further, and there were a pair of feet at the end, with what looked like a white tag hanging off the toes.

"Well hello there, Henry!" The woman said cheerfully.

Harry jumped with a clang.

So did the woman. "Who's there," she called. She definitely wasn't smiling now. Harry debated the merits of staying where he was versus coming out, and stepped out of his hiding place. Hopefully the woman was nice, but the exit was still unblocked.

He pasted what he hoped was a sheepish expression on his face. "Sorry ma'am, got a bit turned around on the way to the restrooms, you see…" He noticed that he could see the body in the sack behind the woman, and quickly glanced higher up.

The woman noticed though. "I though the restrooms were right across from the visitors area," she said aloud. Oops, Harry thought. However, then her expression changed. "Were you interested in the bodies? That's something teenage boys like, isn't it? Though not really because not many people actually want to see them because dead bodies tend to gross other people out, but they are rather fascinating, aren't they? And they're great company too." She gazed fondly at the body on the table, then seemed to notice herself and blush. "Oh my, I never introduced myself. I'm Molly from the morgue – I mean, Molly Hooper."

"I'm Harry –" Harry offers, before checking himself, "Just Harry."

"It's nice to meet you, Harry," she said. What followed was several seconds of silence where no one moved.

"…Well," Molly spoke up, "Can I help you…?"

Harry hesitated. On one hand, he was leaving…

"Why did you call him Henry?"

Molly blinked. "Because that's his name."

"The –" Harry gestured to the body while making as little eye contact as possible.

Molly looked back toward the body. "Yes, Henry Porter, age fifteen. Died yesterday, the police just finished identifying the body. He was on the missing person's list from last year, a runaway I think. I knew his grandmother. Well, knew in a relative sense, when she came through here a few months back –"

Harry crept closer as she went on, and noticed one of her hands was gripping a small scalpel. He promptly moved to her other side, and finally got a good look at the body. From this angle, he could see that the body was entirely naked, somewhat emaciated, and not nearly as whole as it looked from a distance.

"Why is he – what happened to him?" He asked, gesturing to the scattered blackening markings all over the arms and torso.

Molly became more animated the more she talked. "The scratches are mainly from debris. If you look over here – " she hefted the upper body up, carefully cradling the head so that Harry could see the great bruise stretching from the head down the back of the neck, "- he was actually killed by blunt impact against his neck, snapping it and killing him instantly. The rest is all cosmetic –" she put the body back down, jarring it slightly, but enough that the eyelids parted to reveal slivers of green. Harry shivered, and tore his gaze away.

"- You can also see that Henry had a difficult time on the streets, malnutrition and poor bone development. Apparently he'd been living outside the Bently Nursing Home - that's where the police found him – and got caught in an explosion that took out the whole building. It was one of the string of bomb threats across London these past few days, they say that people were actually strapped to bombs. Which is frightening, but Sherlock was on the case I think. I never told you about Sherlock, have I – Harry?"

Harry was nowhere to be found. In the corner of the room, the exit door slid shut.

I have no idea how a morgue actually works or how cause of death is determined, but Molly should be able to do that much. She's a professional (and a bit of a gossip, though corpses are terrible conversationalists).

Please review!