Disclaimer: Once upon a time Miss J.K. Rowling wrote Harry Potter. Then I wrote Names. Guess which one belongs to who.

A/N – Hmm. An angsty chapter. Lots of emotions running riot, and we actually get a glimpse at Harry's (many) problems. Draco isn't the only one having a hard time of it, but in real life, in such a situation as post HBP, none of them are going to be particularly smiley. My first attempt at giving Ginny multiple lines!

Pain

I woke up in the middle of the night, the familiar leaden aches throbbing through my left wrist. I knew what it meant; the Dark Lord was summoning his Deatheaters to him. Come, each and everyone one of you, or be declared a traitor. I had disobeyed its command before, during my year at Hogwarts where Apparition was not possible, but this was the first time I was actively choosing not to return to my master. No longer my master, I reminded myself. I lay back miserably in the pillows, nursing the soreness, when a muffled groan reached me. Instantly I stiffened, pricking my ears in the semi-darkness. The orange street lamp outside my room cast a lurid glow across my bed as I scanned it. No one could be seen in my room other than me, but still I strained to catch the slightest sound, my own breath roaring in my ears, my heart pounding like a drum.

There! I heard it again. A muffled moan of agony. Slowly, silently, I slid out of the covers and lowered my bare feet onto the old carpet. I stood up carefully, lest the bed creak, and crept to the door. The carpet muffled my feet and I trod stealthily to further ensure that I was not heard. I grasped the cold door handle and slowly twisted it, and the door swung open silently. The house itself felt asleep as I padded out onto the landing. The pictures around me that had remained on the walls depicted slumbering witches and wizards, and the silence was deafening. I froze there for a whole minute, until I began to believe that I had imagined the whole thing. And then, another small sound, and I knew without a doubt that they were coming from the only other room on the same floor as mine. Harry Potter's room.

I hesitated. He had told me that the door was booby trapped, and besides, I was unwilling to walk in on something I'd rather not see, but the aching in my arm was maddening and I knew I'd not be getting back to sleep for a long time. In fact, the walk to the landing had woken me up fully, so I threw caution to the winds and stepped up to his door. Gripping the door knob, I turned it silently (this house had well oiled door knobs and hinges, which was a blessing) and slid the door open, tensed and ready for some attack. Nothing happened, so I swung it open further and paused for a second as my eyes adjusted to the gloom.

He lay on the bed, a dim shape twisted around with the sheets, and as I watched he writhed convulsively on his side, before rolling over. I reached for the light switch and flicked it on.

"Turn it off!" he begged instantly, panicked and blinded in the harsh glare. I didn't, but instead shut the door and crossed swiftly to the bed.

"What's wrong? Are you ill?" He certainly looked ill; drenched in sweat and pale, with tears rolling down his face and his jaw clenched shut.

"Not ill," he hissed. "It hurts!" He waved his left arm wildly and I grasped it just below the elbow, then breathed in sharply. The sweat band was off, showing the Dark Mark, standing out far bolder than I had ever seen it before. The flesh surrounding it was inflamed and red, whilst the skin had cracked along some of the lines of the Mark, and golden yellow liquid oozed through.

"Potter? What is this?"

"Nngh," he whimpered, and trembled, whipping the arm out of my grasp and cradling it.

I felt totally helpless. What to me was a bearable ache was to him utter torture. Had the Dark Lord foreseen this consequence of his burning the Mark on? No, he couldn't have; he hadn't expected Potter to live. But was he feeling it now? Was he laughing to himself as his enemy writhed in pain?

"Make it stop," Potter begged. I could see that it was only through supreme self-control that he stopped himself from crying out loudly. Ever the hero, hey Wonder Boy? "Please, Draco," he whispered. No, I corrected myself. He wasn't a hero at the moment. He was a teenager in total agony, seeking comfort from any quarter. I was wholly inadequate; he'd have been better off with Granger or his Weasley girlfriend, but I did the best I could. I cradled his head and shoulders, and held him as he shook and wept and retched dryly. I kept an eye on the door to check that no one came in, and ran my hand through his unruly hair. It seemed to calm him, so I supplemented it with whispering in his ear. I spoke to him about flying, about Quidditch, about sunshine and mistletoe and pretty girls. He even managed a wan smile when I told him that the first time I kissed a girl under mistletoe we both closed our eyes and as a consequence bumped heads.

Slowly the dull throbbing in my own wrist drained away, and I felt him calm down. Sporadically he still jerked, but the shudders became fewer and further between, and the tears dried on his cheeks. His shirt and the sheets were sweat-drenched, and my hand was slick from wiping over his forehead and through his hair. The famous scar blazed feverishly under my touch, and stood out vividly. But his Mark… My own was surrounded by slightly flushed skin, and blacker than usual. His was an inky stain of darkness, cracked and encrusted with the fluid that had oozed out. Around it the skin was a livid shade of red, and scratched from where he'd clawed at it in his distress.

When he lay still I left him and filled a basin with warm water in his bathroom. I brought it back, sat on the bed and balanced it on my knee. He was silent as I gently bathed the wrist, but flinched as my fingers brushed over his skin. I cleaned him up the best I could, and he didn't say a word throughout. When I released his arm he curled it in on his chest defensively, sitting up with the blankets twisted around his hips. I emptied the basin of the dirty water and refilled it, bringing a flannel with me. Gently I sponged down his drenched face and neck, and again he suffered it in silence. After emptying the basin a second time, I sat on the edge of the bed, at a loss as to what else to do. He hugged his knees up to his chest, looking incredibly small and vulnerable. He was small, I noted. Slender arms and legs, and built all to a smaller scale than I was. If we were to stand side by side his hip would be a little way above my knee, his shoulders halfway up my chest, and my eyes easily able to see over the top of his head. Diminutive and delicate, and at the moment he looked on the verge of shattering. This was the mighty Chosen One, whom I had thrown my lot in with?

I shifted uneasily, then stood up abruptly.

"If you want me to leave, then I'll just go."

"No," he said instantly, and I heard the desperate note in his voice. He fought to control his tone. "No, I'd rather you stayed." I sat down again.

"Has this ever happened before, Po-Harry?" He shook his head.

"First time He's called them." His laugh was bitter. "As if I didn't have enough problems." I cast my mind around for something to say to break the silence that yawned between us.

"Can you get rid of it?"

"No, I've already told you, I can't. Believe me, I've tried." He lowered his chin onto his knees. "If I were to kill him; if he were to die… then I would have peace."

"A high price for peace," I said sympathetically. He closed his eyes tiredly.

"Sometimes, sometimes I fear I will go mad. Always locking my mind closed and fighting the pain and, and never trusting anyone."

"You can trust me," I murmured, desperately trying to find something reassuring to say. Again the bitter laugh.

"And what does that say, that I can only trust a man with the Dark Mark burned on his arm?"

"It says that we're in the same boat," I replied. He met my eyes, and I could see fatigue and the dregs of pain.

"No, Draco. You come close, but I'm afraid your galley is still a long way away from my wretched raft."

"Last night," she said, her voice faint through the wood. "Last night I couldn't sleep, so I had a walk around the house." I sidled closer to the door, and slid the Extendable Ears I'd found in through the keyhole. They were amazingly effective, so much so that I felt I was in the room with the two of them as they talked. "I walked around the house, Harry," she continued. "And do you know what I saw?" No answer. He must have shaken his head. "I saw Draco Malfoy going into your room," she told him. He laughed, that bitter laugh I was growing so familiar with.

"Ginny, it's not what you think."

"Isn't it? He sneaks into your bedroom at night, and then you turn up in the morning looking absolutely exhausted. Are you going to try and tell me that you were asleep all night? That you didn't know you had a Deatheater in your room?"

"Ginny, we just talked. We both have a lot of issues at the moment."

"But you could talk to me," she persisted, sounding hurt. "We never, never talk. I know you're trying to protect me, Harry, but I have a right to know what's upsetting you so much." They're going to break up now, I suddenly thought with absolute clarity.

"You wouldn't understand," he said softly. "And, Ginny, I don't want to burden you with my problems."

"But you'll talk to him." There was a pause. "Well, if you'd rather talk to him than me, then perhaps you'd rather kiss him than me, and go out with him rather than me."

Urgh. Outside the door I wrinkled my nose. No, thank you. Last night's talk had been a one off, when that increasingly familiar emotion, pity, had stirred me into action. As a rule I'd rather not spend any time alone with the creature called Harry Potter. I still would not forget that look in his eyes when he had hurt me in the bathroom at Hogwarts. Hatred. Anger. And whatever he said afterwards, I knew then that he wanted to hurt me.

Inside the room Potter snorted.

"Don't be silly, Ginny. I'm not remotely interested in Draco Malfoy that way." Not much of a reassurance, I noted. He didn't tell her he loved her, or that he'd rather have her. She must have picked up on his chilliness, because her tone became firm and resolved.

"Harry, I've been thinking." Now there was a one off, I sniggered to myself. "I, I think we should have a break. Because, ever since the beginning of Summer, or really, ever since you disappeared and came back hurt, you've been so distant." She sounded tearful. "I don't know where I stand with you anymore. You hardly ever talk to Ron, or my parents. It's like you're drifting away from us, and it's all because of him. Draco bloody Malfoy." There was a long silence. Oh come on Potter, I prayed. Say something gallant and noble. Otherwise we'll be deluged in tears.

"Yeah, ok," he said. I nearly dropped my Extendable Ears in shock, and then trembled with amusement. 'Yeah, ok'?? What a prat. What a prize prat. She's never going to come back to you after that.

"You think it's best too?" she asked in a somewhat strangled voice.

"Yes," he answered. "You're right; I haven't been paying you the attention you deserve recently. It's great that you've put up with me for so long, but I can't keep asking you to try and keep this relationship going on your own." Another of those loud silences.

"What's happened to you, Harry?" she whispered, finally. "We used to be alive, you and I. You used to care. Don't you remember the common room after Quidditch, or, or those walks by the lake?" Her voice was breaking up. "You had so much emotion, I could b-barely match you, b-but I tried. We kissed under the stars that time we went out in your invisibility c-cloak. You said you loved me. Where have your emotions gone?"

"I don't know," he replied, and his tone was strangely detached. "You're right, Ginny. You deserve someone with more time and love for you."

"You're not supposed to say that!" she screamed, and I heard footsteps. Quick as a flash, I whipped the Extendable Ear out of the keyhole and dashed into the room across the landing (a bathroom with a cracked mirror which I utilised briefly to check my appearance). Half a second later and the door I had been listening at flew open. The Weasley girl stormed out of the room, tears streaming from her eyes. I waited until she'd gone, then left the bathroom and went to Potter.

He glanced up as I entered.

"You heard?"

"Parts of it," I admitted. "Messy break up." Potter rubbed his wrist subconsciously. Today's sweatband was black, with a cobalt blue dragon rearing on it.

"It should have happened long before now," he said.

"Last night…" I began.

"Last night never happened," Potter told me. "I don't care what lie you feed them, but the truth never happened." He looked absolutely exhausted, but his eyes blazed bright. "And Draco, if people do find out, then I'll know who to blame." Surprisingly, I was hurt.

"I wasn't intending to tell anyone," I said sharply.

"Good," he replied, still caressing his wrist. A dark fury sprung to those eyes. "I hate it!" he suddenly screamed, and, spinning, smashed his arm into the wall. Nervously I kicked the door shut behind me, to keep away prying eyes.

"Potter?"

"I hate it, I hate it, I hate it!" he raged. "I hate that he can just do whatever he wants and I hate that he can hurt me!" He shook, and his breathing grew increasingly ragged, as he stared at his wrist as if seeing it for the first time. "I hate that I couldn't stop Snape," he breathed, and his face twisted into blind anger. "I hate being so damn helpless!" His scream echoed my own, the words the same as I whispered at night into the pillow.

I didn't move towards him, because he'd have pushed me away. Instead I just stood there, whilst he lowered his head and fought to catch his breath.

"When he's dies, the pain will go," I said quietly.

"If," Potter corrected tiredly.

"When." I didn't stay to see his expression, but turned and walked out of the room.

"I'm moving out for a little while." The lunchtime babble hushed instantly after the Weasley girl's words. "I want to go and live with Fred and George in the rooms above their shop," she continued, a touch breathlessly. I glanced at Potter, who contemplated his crumble with an intensity I had hitherto not known he had.

"But why?" Mummy Weasley asked. "Why would you want to leave here, Ginny?"

"Too many people are living in this house at the moment," she replied. On cue all the eyes of the diners swung onto me. I ignored them and studied my reflection in the blade of a clean knife. "I just think it would be better. I need space."

"But," Daddy Weasley began.

"I really have made up my mind about this, Mum, Dad," she said. "I'm leaving this afternoon."

"It's not safe," M. Weasley protested.

"If it's safe enough for Fred and George then it's safe enough for me," she said stubbornly. The argument went round and round for another half hour or so, with the Weasley parents trying desperately to persuade her to stay.

"You'll get in the way."

"Don't be silly, I'm not five."

"Fred and George can't afford the time and expense." I snorted at that. The Weasley twins were earning roughly ten times more than D. Weasley every year.

"It's dangerous. It's difficult. It's inconvenient." On and on they nagged, but she stayed resolute, until finally they gave in with feeble protesting.

As soon as the words, "Well, if you're really sure," were out of D. Weasley's mouth, Weasley R. leapt to his feet, his face the same colour as his hair.

"How is that fair? How is that fair? You always kick up such a fuss when I want to go out, but she wants to move out and you're letting her??"

"Ron, not now," D. Weasley warned. Potter sighed. He had been scraping around his bowl for the whole of the previous argument, but now he obviously decided that any more spoon action would remove the pattern, so instead he contented himself with pouring a glass of water and taking slow sips. I felt a strange solidarity with him. This wasn't our family, and their arguments were embarrassing to us both. In fact, this was as far from my family as possible. I had never truly, truly argued with my Father, until I got Misty and that was a one-off fury, in which he came damn close to cursing me. Apart from that we tended to regard each other with a sort of detachment. I towed the line and he didn't pry too much in my life. As M. Weasley opened her mouth to quarrel with Weasley R., I decided that I far preferred our way.

"Ron, you never tell us where you're going," she snapped. "You just leave and say 'I'm going out', and come back at all sorts of unearthly hours of the morning. For all I know you could be hanging out with Deatheaters."

"Well, thanks for the trust," he said sarcastically. "You know, you might just give me a little independence and confidence, but you keep me on such a damn short leash that I'm climbing walls." Across the table from me Lupin appeared to have gone to sleep. Unobtrusive as always, I had barely even registered that he was joining us this mealtime. Potter finished his water with a sigh, and poured himself another glass. The jug swung in his left hand, grazing the sweatband, and he winced to himself.

"Ron, these are dangerous times," D. Weasley began, but Weasley R. had had enough. He shoved his chair back, leapt to his feet and strode out of the room.

"Where are you going?" M. Weasley demanded.

"As always, I'm going out!" he yelled over his shoulder. A ghastly screeching came from the hallway.

'Blood traitor filth, disturbing and desecrating the house of my ancestors!'

"Shut up, you old bat!" he screamed. I heard the door slam, but the shrieking continued.

'Dung, dung! Traitors, mudbloods, filth, filth!' Lupin opened his eyes and stood up with a sigh. He trotted out to the hallway, and a minute later blessed silence resumed. Quietly, Potter began clearing the table.

After lunch was cleared away, the Weasley girl stalked upstairs, resolutely ignoring the two of us. The sounds of hasty packing could be heard, if one placed one's head to the keyhole in her door (not that I ever would, you understand). Potter and I migrated by common consent to his bedroom. He sat on his bed and pulled open a drawer, then lifted the box with the Horcrux in it out. I considered his bed with a certain amount of suspicion. Teenage boys who were not brought up the Malfoy way are not known for their hygiene, and I had no idea when those sheets were last changed. Sized up in the glaring daylight streaming in through his windows, it looked somewhat unappetising. I compensated by finding a clean patch of floor (did I want to sit on the Chosen One's underwear? No I did not) and sitting cross legged there. Potter lifted out the cup, and held it in his hand.

"May I?" I asked. He passed it to me without a word and I cradled it, transfixed by the way the light played over its golden surface. A hooting broke my reverie, and I looked up to see an owl at the window.

"Mercury?" I couldn't believe it!

"Isn't that your owl?" Potter asked mistrustfully.

"My father's," I replied, oblivious to anything but the letter Mercury clutched. News from home! What would it say? My mother! The faint, suppressed hope in my heart rekindled. I dumped the Horcrux, ran to the window and relieved Mercury of the letter. He flapped to Potter's bed, hooting.

"A letter from your father?" Potter said faintly. I turned to him, and the smile died on my lips. His face showed only mistrust and suspicion. "So, Draco, how long have you been writing to him? Did you tell him about last night?"

"This is the first letter I have received," I said coldly.

"Well, you'd better read it," Potter snarled. "It might contain new instructions from your Lord, like how to kill me in my sleep."

"You're overreacting," I spat at him, angry and hurt. "It's just a letter from my father. I've no idea what it will say."

"Whatever," Potter replied. He drew his knees up to his chest. "Go to your room and read it, Draco. I don't care." I felt the walls rising between us, felt his mind retract behind mental defences of steel. The atmosphere in the room dropped several degrees, and I had to fight to keep my face straight and my tone level.

"Thank you for the dismissal, Chosen One." He flinched at the name which I had hurled like a curse, and I strode out.

In my room my fingers trembled with excitement as I broke the familiar Malfoy seal. Seeing the cat reminded me of Misty and I suddenly yearned to be in my room, in my house, with my cat. Strange; I had not felt homesick until now, but at that moment I missed my house and my family desperately.

The contents of the letter soon cured that feeling. Short, and to the point as always, my father had not wasted any words in telling me exactly what he thought of my defection. I read the letter three times, leaden misery coursing through me, then crossed the landing back to Potter's room. He was on the bed, lying on his back, eyes closed, but he opened them when I entered.

"Oh. It's you." I thrust the letter at his face.

"Here," I snarled. "Read it. Read it, and then tell me that I have betrayed you." Frowning, he took the parchment from my shaking fingers, and smoothed it on his knee. His eyes moved across the elegant script, and I could almost have followed his progress word for word in my mind. The letter's contents were burned in my heart, and short phrases kept floating back to me.

It is purely through your foolishness that our family has lost some of its members.

Our name has become synonymous with dishonour.

I am alive only as long as I can assist the Dark Lord in hunting for you.

The words spun round and round my head. Dishonour. Shame. Fool. Murderer. And then his final phrase.

I hereby disinherit you, Draco Abraxos Malfoy. You are no longer my son or a Malfoy.

Laughter spilled from my lips, hysterical silly laughter. Potter looked up anxiously.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine," I sang, silly and shaking. "I was terrified that he'd order me back to Malfoy Manor, but see, see! I'm never going home. Never, never!" I trembled with the uncontrolled laughter, whilst inside I wept.

I'm never going home.

Hey guys! Well done for getting this far! :P

Seriously, I swear I end every chapter on a majorly depressing note. I'll warn you now – 'Names' will have a sort of happy ending but it's going to be a great struggle for all the characters, and not all of them will make it.

Please Review.