A/N - Hey guys :) Welcome to chapter 2! As you can probably tell I'm taking my sweet time updating...! Well, a lot have things have changed since I wrote Use Somebody - most prominent was the birth of my second child, Jasper, who is now 9 months old! - so I'm not as free to write as I previously was. Still, I love our Drarry, and though it may not seem that way judging by this chapter, I really want to try and expand on my writing style - after all, I don't want to have to tell the same story over and over again. So, please, stick with it even if you hate it (or me! lol) because Draco is gonna need us all! lol. Enjoy xx

WARNING! May be upsetting to some readers.

Chapter two

For better, for worse.

Draco slammed around in the kitchen as the sound of the 10 o'clock news sounded from the T.V in the lounge. The dinner he had lovingly prepared - well, lovingly bought from a local restaurant and plated as though he had cooked it - was now sat in the bottom of the bin. After 2 and a half hours Draco had become so overcome with rage he had thrown it into the rubbish in a fit of annoyance. He now regretted that decision as his stomach rumbled in protest.

How could Harry be so late? 3 hours was a record, even for him! Draco could just see him, holed up at the Weasley/Granger residence, being fawned over by that Mudblood as he ate junk food and played computer games with the ginger idiot! He had done it before, said he was coming straight home and then taken a detour to the Gruesome Twosome's house for 'a file he urgently needed to read' or some other rubbish. It didn't take 3 hours to get a file - he was lazing around! And no doubt he'd blame the Public Transport - Draco cursed his stupid blackmail attempt.

As he finished loading the dishwasher, a knock sounded at the front door. Relief and fury smashed into him in equal measures, and he stomped towards it ready to crucify Harry for not only being late but for also forgetting his keys!

"Where the fuck have you been!" he yelled as he threw the door open, almost ripping it off its hinges. He paused stupidly when he was greeted with, not Harry, but two sombre looking muggle police men stood awkwardly on the door step.

"Are you Mr Draco Malfoy - partner of Mr Harry Potter?" One of the officers asked when Draco failed to greet them. He stood frozen, unable to make his brain work.

"Yes." he replied, his voice quivering. Panic washed through his veins like poison, turning his blood to ice. "Why?"

The police man glanced at his companion, "I'm P.C Radcliff and this is P.C Rowling, may we come in please, sir?" he asked Draco, his tone gentle. Delicate.

"No." Draco retorted harshly, his breathing becoming shallow. "Where's Harry - what's going on!" he demanded gripping the door frame as his legs wobbled beneath him.

"Please sir, may we come in?" P.C Radcliff asked again, this time he sounded pleading, as though he wanted nothing more than to come inside and have a cup of tea. Draco ignored him and appealed to his partner.

"Where the fuck is my boyfriend - what the fuck is going on? Is he in trouble? Has he been hurt?" he asked desperately, knowing deep down that Harry probably was in trouble, and that it was highly likely that he was hurt.

"Mr Malfoy, I really think -" P.C Radcliff obviously wasn't getting it as he tried for a 3rd time to gain access, his face falling into a empathetic frown.

Draco reached the end of his tether. He could feel his magic building up inside him and any minute it was going to explode around him. "Tell me!" he yelled, his eyes feeling so wide they hurt at the edges.

P.C Rowling removed his hat and gazed at Draco with sympathetic eyes, "Mr Malfoy, I'm sorry to inform you that we believe Mr Potter was involved in a mugging at Kings Cross Underground station earlier this evening." he said clearly, his voice portraying pity.

Draco's stomach turned uncomfortably, "Oh my god! Oh my god - is he ok? Was he hurt? Oh fuck, of course he was hurt because you're here! Was he badly hurt, Merlin, this isn't happening! Which hospital is he at?" He rambled, grabbing his coat from the hook beside the front door and pulling his arms through the sleeves.

"Mr Malfoy," the officer said softly, trying to get Draco's attention again as the blonde searched his pockets for his keys, "Mr Malfoy, please." Draco focused on him again, his breathing shallow as he imagined Harry laid up in a hospital bed or in a police cell. "Mr Malfoy, I'm sorry, but Mr Potter received fatal injuries. He was pronounced dead on arrival to hospital."

Draco froze midway through pulling up his zip. He stared at the officer in silence, every thought that had been in his brain completely abandoning him. He couldn't work out what Rowling had just said to him - it didn't make sense. He couldn't even process the sentence because it made absolutely no sense.

"What?" he whispered, his body starting to shake uncontrollably, "I don't understand, what are you talking about? What do you mean?" he asked, half annoyed and half terrified.

"Mr Potter was attacked at Kings Cross Underground station. We believe it was a mugging gone wrong. Mr Potter received…a…knife wound to his abdomen. The paramedics tried their best to revive him, but he was already gone before they could help him. I'm terribly sorry, Mr Malfoy."

"No. No, no, no, you're wrong - you're wrong! It's not him, it's someone else. It's not him!" Draco cried, his eyes stinging as they filled with salty tears. No, Harry wasn't…it was impossible - he was The Boy Who Lived, he was Harry Potter! "No."

"Is there anyone we can contact for you, a friend or a relative?" One of the men asked. Draco couldn't tell who it was, he was too far gone in his grief. He melted to the ground, a howling cry ripping through him.

"No! Please, tell me you're wrong. Please!" he begged.

The officers stood around, apparently unsure whether to leave him in the state he was in. They mumbled words of comfort and information that barely registered, and introduced the Family Liaison Officer when she arrived. Draco cried himself hoarse, slumped against the door frame, the winter air barely touching him. How could anything touch him now?

He was eventually convinced to move into the lounge where he was placed on his couch. The Liaison Officer explained what had happened to Harry's body and the search for his attacker, but Draco tuned her out. He didn't want to think of Harry as a victim, a victim who was laid on a slab in a morgue. Dead. He couldn't bare it.

"Hermione." He mumbled after a stretch of silence. His voice croaked as the words passed through his raw throat, "Hermione should know." He reached across to the telephone, unaware of how late the hour was as he dialled her number. It rang 3 times before a groggy Ron answered.

"What?" He asked grumpily, obviously just woken by the phone. "Do you know what time it is, Harry!"

"Weasley! You and Granger need to get here now. You have a key." he whispered. Ron seemed a bit thrown by hearing Draco's voice at the end of the line.

"Key? Do you have Muggles there?" he asked, and Draco could hear Hermione being woken in the background and asking what was going on.

"Just get here now, Wealsey. Please." He whispered, aware that Ron would know from his voice that something was wrong. He hung up, not bothering to say goodbye. They would be there in seconds anyway, apparating straight to the door step.

Minutes later Hermione flew through the door, her hair in complete disarray wearing mismatched clothes, and a bright red Ron still wearing his pyjamas close behind her, "Harry?" they called as the entered the lounge and found Draco with the Liaison. "What's going on?" Hermione demanded.

She looked at Draco and her face visibly drained of colour. She shook her head softly, more to herself than at Draco.

"Why is there a police car outside?" Ron asked stupidly.

Draco stood unsteadily. He still wore his coat, though it did nothing to warm him. He was bone cold, and he was sure that he would never be warm again. He stepped towards Hermione, unaware how red and blotchy his face was, and whispered to her in his gravely, rough voice. "Harry didn't come home from work."

Hermione frowned and turned to Ron who frowned in return. "He left work the same time as I did, about 7pm, he said he was headed straight home. Have you tried The Burrow?" Hermione asked, turning her eyes to the Liaison watching from her perch on the couch.

"He's dead." Draco choked, disgusted as the words left his mouth. "He was…he was sta…stabbed!" he fell to his knees and cradled his head as another round of agonised tears assaulted him.

Hermione and Ron stared at him with wide eyes, neither seemingly able to process what he had just told them. The Liaison took over, stepping forward and offering for Hermione and Ron to take a seat. They were obviously as stunned as Draco had been.

"Harry? Are you…you're not serious! Our Harry can't be…" Hermione stuttered disbelievingly. "It's impossible."

Banging footsteps thundered up the stairs and seconds later they could hear Ron vomiting noisily in the bathroom. Draco wondered if he felt sick, too, but he could feel nothing. He was as dead as Harry was.

From the confines of his grief, he heard the liason inform Hermione that Harry would need to be formally identified and Hermione agree to do it, and he finally pulled himself back to reality. "No. No, I want to see him! We don't even know if it is him! I want to see him, now!" He demanded, swiping at his face as more tears spilled over his cheeks. "Now."

The ride to the hospital didn't pass by in a blur like it did in muggle movies, it didn't fast forward so quickly that a blink of an eye would render it missed. No. It passed slowly, and Draco catalogued every building and car they passed, every face that flashed by the window. The street lights hurt his tender eyes and the hum of the engine roared like a lion in his ears.

He continued cataloguing every detail as he was led from the car to a room in a hospital that he had never wanted to enter. The clinical smell didn't turn his stomach because nothing could touch him by this point. He sat in a chair that he assumed was supposed to be comfortable but felt like stone and stared at the door that concealed the love of his life.

A woman who worked for the hospital was sat beside him, explaining what he would see and trying to prepare him for it. He didn't hear a word she said.

Then it was up to him. He was left to take as much time as he needed to say goodbye to the man he had planned to live out his days with.

He knew he couldn't do it, knew he couldn't walk through the door and see Harry lying lifeless on a table. It would kill him. He convinced himself after a while that it wasn't Harry, that the police had made a mistake. There was just no way that Harry Potter - the boy who lived - the man who defeated the darkest wizard of all time could be killed by a muggle! It was laughable.

Time passed in lulls. A collection of hospital staff and the police liaison had tried to talk him into making a decision - whether to see Harry or go home and come back when he was ready. But he didn't move, didn't respond, and didn't commit. He just stared at the door, his mind running through the last conversation he'd had with his fiancé - his brain unhelpfully supplying him with the promise that Harry would be home, 20 minutes and he'd be home.

"Excuse me?" a female voice interrupted his blank staring. Draco didn't turn to look at the woman. "I'm sorry to intrude, sweetheart. Am I right in believing you're Draco?" she asked timidly.

Draco nodded stiffly, still too far removed from the world to respond properly.

The woman seemed to dither, apparently unsure whether to sit or stay standing. After a moment she sank slowing into the seat beside him. Her hand crept across the distance between them and rested on top of Draco's. He realised after a moment that he should shake the stranger off, that her clammy hands felt like fire against his ice cold skin, but he couldn't bring himself to do it - he couldn't move.

"My name's Emma. I was at the tube station. I was with…I was with Mr Potter when he…passed." she stammered softly, emotion heavy in her tone.

Draco's head whipped around, his hair falling in disarray around his face. The woman, Emma, gazed at him with frightened, red-ringed eyes. She must have been in her 30s, but she looked older - her crumpled expression and haunted eyes aged her significantly. For the first time since he'd been informed about Harry, he wondered what he looked like - he wondered if he looked older than his years too.

His breathing was ragged as he waited for her to continue, and he felt his eyes sting with impending tears. "You were with him?" he gasped, his throat constricting around the words.

Emma nodded slowly, her hand gripping Draco's. "I tried to help him, but he…he was too…" she paused, unsure of what to say, so she changed direction. "He asked me to give you a message."

Draco swallowed and clamped his eyes shut. "No. No, please don't - please. It's not my Harry. You have no message -" he begged, "Please."

Emma remained silent, though her hand shook against his own. Soft hitched breaths indicated that she was silently crying. Draco glanced at her and found she was still watching him and he realised how important it was to her to relay the message she had been given.

He nodded for her to continue.

"He said 'You can have green. You can have what ever you want.'" she whispered clearly, tears falling silently over her pale cheeks. "He was desperate for you to know."

Draco felt his heart turn to dust - his entire body turned to ice and he waited for it to shatter. He wanted to die, he wanted to be dead so he wouldn't have to experience the agony he was feeling. He wanted Harry!

"He was so brave. And he didn't suffer, it was very quick." Emma hiccupped.

Draco couldn't listen to any more. He needed to see for himself, needed to see that it wasn't his Harry - that what this woman was saying was meant for someone else. He stood abruptly, causing Emma to gasp with surprise. "My Harry isn't dead. You've got the wrong person." he informed harshly, glaring at her with repulsion. "And I'll prove it."

With arrogance and desperation spurring him on, Draco shuffled towards the door, his eyes planted on the silver handle. They were saying Harry was on the other side of the door, that he was just inside the next room - and the thought that this might be true terrified Draco. He didn't want to see him laying on a table, naked and empty and dead. He didn't want the proof to be in front of him, for him to be unable to deny it - that his boyfriend, the love of his life, the saviour of his entire world…was dead.

Ignoring the woman behind him watching, he put his shaking hand on the handle and it rattled at his touch. He clenched his puffy eyes closed and took the deepest breath he could manage. The smell of death clung to the air, clung to him like a bad smell, and he wretched as it entered his lungs. He felt infected by it, as though it were sucking out any of the life that was left inside him.

He knew Emma was waiting for him to fall apart, and he forced himself to stay strong, to try and get through this. Somehow.

He opened the door and slowly stepped inside, his eyes pinned on the body laid in the middle of the room. A blanket was pulled up to the man's neck; a plain, white, crease-free sheet, stretched across him, showing every contour of his body. His face was an odd grey colour and stood in stark contrast beneath the mop of black unruly hair splayed around his head. His lips were so pale he could barely make them out, and his eye lids had lost their soft lavender colour. They were grey…just like everything else.

Draco walked slowly towards the body, his face unable to form any type of expression. He was focusing on remembering to breathe and stay standing at the same time, and it was becoming more difficult with every second that ticked by.

He drew up beside the bed and gazed down, his eyes sweeping over the man's lifeless face. It wasn't Harry. There was nothing of his Harry in this strangers face. There was no warm smile or exasperated frown, no charisma, no heroic aura. Nothing.

But the longer he looked at the deceased man, the less able he was to deny it. It was Harry's face. Those were his lips, his hair, his jaw line. Those were his biceps beneath the sheet, those were his perfectly aligned hip bones and knobbly knees. That was his lightening bolt scar on his forehead. It was Harry. His Harry.

Huge gasping sobs climbed up his throat as he reached forward and touched his hair, as he ran his fingers down Harry's ice cold face, and he howled at the top of his lungs. A guttural, agony filled howl that hurt his own ears.

"No. Please, Merlin, please -" he cried, collapsing against Harry's chest, clutching his body close to him, desperate to melt into him and forget - forget that he was dead. "Not Harry, not my Harry! Please!" he begged, "Please, Harry, please don't leave me!"

Tears seeped across the sheet leaving water marks in its wake, and he tore it away so he could lay against Harry's bare chest. He wretched when he caught sight of the stitched up wound across his stomach, physically shaking as he stared at it. Oh, god he would have suffered, he realised - he would have been in so much pain. He would have had to wait to die, knowing that it was coming, knowing that he didn't have long left.

The sobs redoubled as he imagined Harry laid dying on the platform. It tore him apart, literally broke his heart into a thousand pieces knowing that he wasn't with him - wasn't there when he was laying helpless on cold concrete.

"I'm so sorry, Harry. I'll change, I promise. Just please, don't leave me." he begged, melting to ground, "I haven't had you long enough!" he whimpered.

To Be Continued…