Title: Names

Authoress: Lady Domino

Rating: M

Summary: It's the Summer after Sixth Year. Draco Malfoy's just quietly living in his manor trying to pretend the outside world no longer exists when an unexpected visitor drops in. The thing is, this visitor didn't plan on being there either. But he needs help or all hope for the future will be lost.

Warnings: Strong violence, language, death – all the stuff that happens around Lord Voldemort…

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters, they belong to J. K. Rowling. The Harry Potter films belong to Warner Bros. I am not making any money off of this and I write with the sole intention to entertain. However, any characters that appear which are not in the books or films are mine, and should not be plagiarised.

A/N: Hmm, not very many reviews for the first chapter (one, people! Surely we can do better than that?) Anyways, here's chapter two. It's a touch short, I know, but chapter three will more than make up for it. Anything else? Oh yes. Review damn it!

Doubts

Have you ever felt true fear? I mean mind-boggling, shit-I'm-going-to-die terror? Yeah? You think so? You're wrong. Because no one in the world has ever experienced the nightmare that I went through that August afternoon. Lord Voldemort searching my house and getting angrier and angrier. At any moment he could read my mind and see the answer. My only hope lay in keeping out of his way. The Dumbledore affair had led him to believe that I was weak and useless. Perhaps that was why he hadn't bothered to break through my mental defences. I had to keep them up. One slip up and I truly was dead.

And then what? Would my father help his lord? Would he stand there whilst I was tortured horribly? Whilst I died? Or would he fight it and lose his own life too? God, what a decision! And I didn't know the answer. How awful is that? I didn't know whether my own father would protect me. I had to prevent the choice from happening. I had to fix this horrible mess. Already I was regretting my impulsive action. But it was not undoable. I could just imagine the scenario. 'Actually, my Lord, I know where Potter is. You see, I thought I'd hide him in the cellar, but now I've changed my mind…' Cue me screaming in agony. No thank you. Malfoys aren't good at screaming. I'd have to do what we do best; play it cool.

As soon as I could I left the kitchen (the Dark Lord was occupied by venting his temper on a pair of house elves and their wails followed me up the stairs) and went to my room. My mind was burning. Potter is in the wine cellar. I felt as if the words were branded on my brain. Brick wall, brick wall. You can't get into my head. I'd already be dead if it weren't for Aunt Bellatrix's training. People say you can't lie to Voldemort. It appeared that actually you could, but how long the lie would hold was another question. The Dark Lord would not leave until he found Potter. No, correct that. The Dark Lord would not leave until he killed Potter. No, correct that. The Dark Lord would not leave until Harry Potter died. So all I had to do was kill Potter and all would be well.

I sat on the end of my bed and put my head in my hands. There was no way out. No solution where we both kept our lives. I could either give him to Voldemort, and watch him die or I could take him away and give him to his friends, and then live the rest of my life in fear as Voldemort hunted me down and communicated his displeasure to me. Most people who displease Lord Voldemort meet horrible deaths.

Anger surged through me. Dammit, I was Draco Malfoy! The genius who worked out how to get Deatheaters into the seemingly impregnable fortress that was Hogwarts. Somewhere there was a solution and if anyone could find it, it was me. What could I use? What did I have to hand? My eyes roved around my room. None of my schoolbooks, and none of my robes of course; they were all still in Hogwarts. I hadn't had time to claim them the night we fled. What did I have? I had my wand, but a one-to-one duel with Lord Voldemort would only result in a painful, fatal defeat. Beside my bed I had laid a book on Eastern Snake charmers. On the bedside table a half empty glass of cold sleeping potion (I have had the most terrible nightmares ever since that night when dreams and reality merged and the choice became impossible). Not much use really – there wasn't enough there to put a house elf to sleep, let alone a rampaging Dark Lord. But wait! Potter had seemed less than alert; his eyes glassy, his expression vacant. He'd barely fought me as I took him down to the cellar. He'd be even easier to move around asleep (no unnecessary flapping/ struggling/ noise), and I dared not stun him for fear that he wouldn't wake up again. I picked up the glass and calculated. A small amount of sleeping potion to usher him gently into sleep. No sudden shocks to the system, no risk of brain damage such as a stunning spell might inflict on someone mentally fragile. It would work.

I opened a drawer in my desk, took out a small vial and poured the dregs of the potion into it. The clumpy liquid slid down the sides of the glass very slowly. My impatience mounted. Every second wasted was a second closer to the Dark Lord discovering the truth!

I stowed the vial in my pocket and considered further. So I could put him to sleep. That wouldn't stop the Dark Lord searching for him. It wouldn't get him out of danger either. I walked over to my desk and scanned it. Spare quills and parchment. But above my desk; of course! Two shelves, each lined with rows of bottles. There had to be something here that could help.

These shelves were my beauty shelves. I mean THE beauty shelves. The shelves every Malfoy must have, the shelves every Malfoy visits at least five times a day. Prominently arranged on the top one were five pots of hair gel (for the I-don't-give-a-damn look, the bow-when-you-speak-to-me-you-worm look, the just-another-day-in-the-life-of-the-perfect-Mr-Malfoy look, the arrogant-bastard look and the PARTY look. The last one was only used when I was already rather drunk.) Automatically I opened the first one (the I-don't-give-a-damn one) and smoothed it through my hair. The familiar ritual relaxed me, whilst my eyes wondered over the rest of the shelf. My Calvin Klein, of course. All three bottles of it (many people over apply. They should be Crucioed within an inch of their lives. A little and often. Say it with me. A little and often). Hmm. Not very useful, although Potter could certainly do with something better than what he was wearing (eau de blood is so vampire) but then, I could spend hours improving him and I didn't have the time.

As I sorted through shaving gel (yes, I shave!), face moisturiser, hand moisturiser, leg moisturiser and an anti-spot potion from Russia containing illegal ingredients (it was the strongest one on the black market and Malfoys do NOT get zits) I considered the many faults of Harry Potter. I was trying to save someone who thought that baggy jumpers were ok to wear, for Heavens sake! And don't get me started on the geeky glasses. Was it too much to ask that he find contact lenses, instead of hiding behind those silly, pity-me-I'm-a-nerd specs? Honestly.

My hand froze mid-gel-application as I stared at the bottle I'd absentmindedly picked up. Polyjuice potion. Better still, Polyjuice potion without direction! That means Polyjuice potion still needing the key ingredient – a part of the person one was to change into. Of course! I made a whole batch of it at home over the Christmas holidays when I was using it on Crabbe and Goyle, as it was safer than continuing to make it at school. And this one must have been left behind. What a coincidence! What a wonderful, wonderful coincidence! Someone, somewhere had decided that this would not be the day I die. Already a plan was fermenting in my mind, already I could see the way forward. It was risky. Scrap that. It was downright dangerous. And it would involve trickery, deception, cunning and bloody murder. Who says I wasn't following in my dear Father's footsteps?

"Draco?" I spun around, guilt written on my face. I was done for! NO! Slowly I forced my hammering heart to slow. It was just my mother. I'm sorry if that sounds callous, but that's how I felt. Thank god, it's just her. She stood there with a slightly dreamy look on her face, in her white nightdress. My heart skipped a beat. HER hand was bleeding. Oh God! Was this a terrible nightmare?

"Mother! What happened?" She looked down at her hand as if seeing it for the first time.

"Draco? The mirror. It wouldn't stop." I hastily moved between her and my own mirror, also slipping the Polyjuice potion into my pocket and wiping my gel-covered hand on a towel.

"It wouldn't stop what?" I tried to keep my voice calm. I'd never seen her look so far away before. Her face crumpled.

"It wouldn't stop showing me."

"Showing you what?" Tears slid down her face.

"The truth."

I walked to her side and took her hand gently. Beneath the blood were superficial cuts; nothing like that mangled wrist I'd seen only half an hour before. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Mother, I think we should go to your room." I would rather have died then have the Dark Lord see her this way. This pain was private. Worse: it had been inflicted by him. I could not have him see what he had done to us. And I did not know what my father would do if we did run into them. I spent a few seconds laying a shirt, a pair of clean underpants and a pair of jeans out on my bed, ready for when I would need them later, and then led her back to her rooms, always keeping a wary eye out for trouble. I heard the sound of bookshelves being overturned as we passed the library and hastened my pace, dragging my mother behind me. When Lord Voldemort loses his temper he doesn't do it in half measures.

We made it to her room without incident. I caught my breath as we entered. The mirror was cracked in the middle. In my imagination I could see her weakly slamming her fists into it again and again. I lifted my wand and licked dry lips.

"Reparo." The shards sealed themselves back into place. "Evanesco." The bloody streaks on the glass were wiped away. "Come on, Mother." I led her into the room and sat her on the bed. She gazed fearfully at the mirror. "There's nothing, there, Mother." She shook her head. "Can you see anything?" Again she shook her head. I clapped my hands loudly and a house elf appeared with a crack, bowing low. "Grunge, I need you to bring me a bowel of warm water from the kitchen, and a roll of bandage." Mother rubbed her hand and a flicker of pain passed her face. "And a dish of essence of Murtlap." The elf bowed low.

"Yes master."

"Do not speak to anyone. And bring Sparky with you." The elf vanished with a bang and I knelt before my mother and stroked her forearms.

"Mother, can you see me?" She nodded. "Do you know who I am?" She smiled, a beautiful peaceful smile.

"Of course. You're my little Draco. My son. My only son." I reached up and hugged her carefully, avoiding the bloody hands which would stain my white shirt.

"Yes, that's right Mother. I'm here. Everything's all right." Another loud crack and Grunge and Sparky reappeared, bearing the two full bowels and the bandages. I let go of my mother.

"Listen to me, Mother. I'm going to have to leave you now."

"No!" She reached out for me, her hands clutching. I fell back to avoid them.

"Mother, I have to go. I have to do something." Tears filled her eyes again.

"Draco. I won't lose you. No, I won't! Please, Draco." I shivered at her words. Her great fear of the past year – that she would lose me –communicated itself to her when she was like this so strongly that every parting was agony.

"I have to," I whispered. I stood up, bent down and kissed her forehead. Then I turned away from her to the elves. "Wash and bind her hands. Give her a mild sleeping potion. Sparky, you are to pass on all your other duties. From now on I charge you to watch my mother every minute of the day. If she attempts to hurt herself you are to stop her and report it to me. If she succeeds in hurting herself I will punish you severely." She nodded glumly.

"Sparky will do as master commands."

"Good." I jumped at the touch as my mother found my hand and held it.

"Don't leave me Draco."

"Mother, I'll be back very soon." She leaned forward in a secretive way.

"You see, I've already lost my husband. I don't want to lose you too." I bent down towards her again.

"You haven't lost him, Mother. He's come back."

"I've lost him," she repeated. I unhooked her fingers from my wrist and walked to the door. On the way out I washed her blood off of me in the basin Grunge held. Before the end of this day there would be far more blood on my hands, blood which would not come off so easily.