Quick Authors Note: This is a sequel to my one shot, 'Malfoys Never Cry'. It was requested by many readers of the original story, and I really hope it's satisfactory and not too dark for you. :) Thanks MarySueeeee for beta-ing it!

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Harry held the letter in shaking fingers. It had taken him a while to comprehend what he was reading, because the words didn't seem make any sense to him what-so ever.

Harry

You know, I don't think I have ever addressed you by your first name before. Harry. It's such a common name. Harry. I don not think it really suits you, because your not at all a common sort of person.

But no matter how common or how boring the name is, I just can't seem to get it out of my head.

It hurts. It hurts because I know you never have given me a second thought. You've never thought that one day you might want to address me by my first name, as I so wanted to address you.

You have ruined me Potter. You have torn me apart. Therefor I tore them apart. I made them hurt for all the hurt you've caused me. Especially Weasley. If it hadn't been for him, things might have been different between us. You might have loved me back.

Love. Another word that's stuck in my wretched mind, gnawing at my sanity. Love. Harry. Simple words. Yet words I can no longer handle.

I'm leaving Harry. Leaving you, leaving everyone. Leaving everything. I just can't handle it any more.

I had to tell you.

I wish things could have been different, Harry.

Love Draco

Was this some kind of sick, twisted joke? If it was, Harry couldn't see anything remotely funny about it. The green ink was smudged slightly in one corner, and fuzzy green stems stuck out from the smudge where it had come into contact with a drop of water. A tear, maybe?

Harry swore loudly. This just didn't make any sense. How had he ruined Draco and what did he mean by 'tore them apart'? He suddenly felt a pang of fear for Ron and Hermione. Ron wasn't in his bed.

Shit.

He sprinted down the stairs to the common room; it was empty.

Hermione wasn't in her dorm room either.

Panic rose in Harry's chest. What could Malfoy have possibly done to them?

It was late at night, very late. He should have gone looking for them as soon as he'd gotten back from detention with Snape, but Peeves had distracted him, and later; the letter he had found on his bed.

How had Malfoy gotten into the common room?

His heart began to slow down again. Maybe it had just been a... joke? Malfoy couldn't possibly have guessed the password, but that didn't explain where Ron and Hermione were.

Thinking more rationally, he hurried quietly upstairs again to find the Marauders Map for an explanation.

He traced the passageways with his finger. His eyes searched the library, the great hall, every class room and office, but no prevail. They weren't in Hogwarts.

He cried out in frustration. What was going on? He stared at Ron's bed, as though he could will him into it. And quite suddenly he caught sight of something glistening under it. Something ghostly white. Something wet. A hand.

Fuck no.

He knelt next to the bed, his breath shaking as he pushed away the heavy wood. He could have easily pulled the body out from underneath, in fact it probably would have been easier, but he didn't want to move it. He didn't want to touch it.

Please be alright.

The face of Ron Weasley was revealed. Wide eyed and open mouthed. Blind eyed and expressionless. Blood seeped out from the multiple wounds in his flesh. The side of his head had been ripped open to reveal his skull. A long slash in his chest was still issuing blood. His arm bone jutted out through the skin of his elbow.

“You're not dead.” Harry whimpered. “You can't be.”

His tears blinded him as he stumbled away and vomited. How had this happened? How had no one heard anything? Seamus and Dean slept soundly, just meters away. He threw up again.

A whole minute passed. Harry sobbed, and screamed, and still the other boys didn't wake, although he could hear their steady breathing. No one came. No one heard his cries.

“Whats wrong with you!” He shouted at no one in particular. Or perhaps at everyone. At the other Gryfindors for supposedly being in an enchanted sleep. At himself. At Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy.

The name seared through Harry like a knife.

I'll fucking kill you, you bastard.

He ran. Down the stairs, out of the common room. He refused to look at the girls dorm, where he knew Hermione must lay, under her own bed. He ran blindly, loudly. He knew Malfoy wouldn't be in his common room.

But I'll find him, and I'll kill him.

And he ran. And soon he ran out of breath.

Panting, he lent against the great wooden door that led to the castle grounds. He could hear the rain beating against it rhythmically. It was almost soothing.

Revenge forgotten, Harry suddenly desired nothing more than to drown himself in the lake.

He pushed against the door, surprised to find it unlocked. Outside the rain was harsh against his skin. It was horribly cold. He walked in a daze, his trainers sliding in the mud.

Ron and Hermione are dead.

He couldn't hear his own sobs above the rain.

They're never coming back.

He fell over. Mud splashed up to his face and into his mouth. He stayed there in the rain, his eyes shut, willing himself dead. His mind wondered to the letter, still clutched in his fist. I'm 'not a common sort of person', is that why you did it Malfoy? Harry thought wildly. You couldn't get me out of your head? I hurt you? I ruined you? He could feel something warm against his cheek. A warm, shuddering breath. Love? His heart began to beat faster as it suddenly dawned on him.

“Draco...” he whispered for the first time in his life. His eyes snapped open, and he gasped.

Inches from his face a pair of eyes stared back at him. Silver eyes, lids specked with mud. And blood. They twitched..

“I love you Harry.”

And the eyes shut, the breathing stopped. and Harry cried. A knife protruded from Draco's drenched chest, but the blood was all but washed away. Harry clung to the dead boys body. Shivering, but not from the cold. He cried for Ron and Hermione. For Draco. For Draco's idiocy.

Draco. Draco. Draco.

It's a beautiful name. He thought madly, and laughed. Choking on rain and mud. A twisted smile played on his face.

Draco Malfoy loved me.

He kissed the corpse roughly. It was cold and lifeless. But Harry didn't care. He dug his nails into the skin and let out a loud, hopelessly insane howl of laughter. Thunder lit up the sky and the two beneath it, but the castle remained silent.

Harry died that night from hypothermia later that night, entwined around Draco Malfoy, a damp piece of parchment clutched tight to his chest. The two boys were found together the following morning, lips touching. Had it not been for the blood, they could have been sleeping.