Title: Names

Authoress: Lady Domino

Summary: Draco leaps blindly into the fire in an attempt to escape the Dark Lord. What will be waiting for him on the other side?

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters; they belong to J. K. Rowling. Sigh.

A/N – Hmmm. Ok, the reviews are telling me that if I leave a cliff-hanger I should really be prepared to update soon. So here it is. I hope you lot are grateful – I could have been revising for my assessments, but instead I wrote this! Anyways, it's quite short because I really need to go and do my Latin (sigh). More updates soon. Fill in the time by reviewing. Also, anyone got any questions for me?

Words

I landed less gracefully than I usually do, tumbling out of the fireplace, the box with the cup in it flying out of my grasp. My head still spun, and I caught only glimpses of legs around me. Disjointed voices echoed above me.

"… doing here?"

"Harry, why…" I coughed soot out of my mouth and frantically yelled at them.

"The fire! Throw water on the fire!" Behind me the flames still glowed green as the passageway remained open between Malfoy Manor and this shop. Was it just my imagination, or was a figure appearing in the flames? Terror gripped me, and I struggled desperately to stand, to find my wand, anything.

"Aquamenti!" A mighty hissing sound came from the fireplace as the flames were doused, and the acrid smell of wet, charred wood filled my nostrils. Slowly I stood up, my wand in my hand, eyes scanning the room. Apart from me there were the Weasley twins, looking as mangy as ever, their wands pointing at me, and Potter, who was poking in the wet fireplace with his wand tip. He stood up slowly, taking his time, and stretched the stiffness out of his knees.

"Who was following you, Draco?"

"Voldemort," I hissed. I'd expected the twins to recoil at the name, but they stood their ground (although one twitched slightly). Potter frowned.

"Explain," he said simply. I wondered if he'd picked the habit up from Dumbledore, but the silences he left to be filled yawned between us and caused words to fall out of my mouth.

"I'd started the fire, and I heard footsteps and my door burst open, and he was there, and I was scared, so I leapt into the fire."

"And You-Know-Who just let you escape?" one of the twins snorted.

"I think someone's telling lies," the other hissed. I'd never noticed before how hostile they could be.

"It's true," I snarled. "It's true."

I realised that I was shaking. I'd only had to see the Dark Lord for a second to know he knew. How much? It didn't matter. Even a fraction of what I'd done was enough to get me killed. My father… left behind, with an angry Dark Lord. What would happen to him? My stomach clenched unpleasantly. What was happening to him now, this very minute? Because of me. Because I was such a fool. Because I am such a fool, and the very reason Father could be in danger was in front of me, stretching indolently, in a black t-shirt and jeans. Potter yawned.

"I believe him," he said simply. "Fred, George, please lower your wands. Draco, do the same."

"I don't take orders from you," I spat. Potter sighed.

"Draco, this time I'm in charge. Please be sensible; surely you can see that we can not have a civilised conversation at wand-point."

"My father," I whispered, lowering the wand. Potter sighed again, and ran his right hand through his already ruffled hair.

"If Voldemort's with him Draco, then there's nothing we can do. Your father's a high ranking Deatheater. Voldemort's not going to kill him."

"You're sure?"

"Trust me, Draco. And if, by some terrible chance, your father does die, then I'll be the first to know." I met his serious eyes and my stomach flipped. Who was this terrible boy? That side I'd seen of him before, the side that threw me back and made me bleed and terrified me beyond measure, was taking over. He was giving orders, and others were following them. The twins had lowered their wands.

"You have the cup?" he asked. A sick feeling spread through me. Down to business already. He didn't care about my family, and I had been a fool to believe he cared at all about me either.

"I dropped it when I landed." I scanned the empty shop (the sign on the door was reversed to 'Closed' and spotted the box near a display of hats in various colours. I went straight for it, picking it up gingerly.

"It's in there?" one of the twins asked. I nodded. Potter stretched out his left hand, but I hugged the box close.

"Remember our deal, Potter. Asylum for me and my mother."

"If this is the right thing then you will have what I promised you," he said curtly. If our deal was news to the twins they didn't show it. Gingerly I handed the box to him. As he took it carefully in both hands, I ran my eyes over his left wrist and saw a grey sweatband covering where the Dark Mark should be. He followed my gaze and his eyes flashed a warning. Our little secret, eh Potter? It can't be good publicity for the mighty Chosen One to carry the brand of his enemy.

As he eased the box open my thoughts turned to my mother. Thank God she wasn't in the house. Would she be safe with Aunt Bellatrix? Probably not, I decided. I had to get her away and join her as soon as possible. We'd find somewhere safe and perform the Fidelius charm instantly. We'd hide. I'd already spent all summer hiding and I was sick of it. But until Lord Voldemort was gone it would not be safe for me to walk around now. Voldemort rarely forgives and never forgets. That fury I had seen in his eyes was terrifying, and it would not leave him for a long time. Lord Voldemort is an evil, vengeful creature. Unable to reach me, he might take out his rage and frustration on her. He could hurt her, and I could do nothing to stop him.

I turned my attention back to Potter as he gently reached into the open box and rested his fingertips on the surface of the cup. Impatience rose in me. Come on!

"You promised sanctuary for my mother," I said, fighting to control the urge to yell. "She could be in danger. I need your help rescuing her." He didn't reply, but lifted the cup and weighed it thoughtfully in the palm of his hand, then placed it back in the box.

"It's genuine," he said to the twins, handing the box to one of them. The way Weasley held it nervously made me wonder what the hell it was. Perhaps it was cursed. Potter turned to me. "Where is your mother, Draco?"

"Erebos," I replied. "My Aunt's house." He shrugged.

"Then what would you have me do, Draco? I can hardly pay a social visit to your aunt Bellatrix." My rage and frustration exploded out of me.

"Then your words are empty! I was right – you can't protect me! And I was foolish ever to believe you could!" He raised his left hand.

"Draco, I promised to protect her, yes."

"Well you're a liar then! Liar! She needs your help and you won't…"

"I never said I won't," Potter said softly. "Draco, you know your aunt better than me. How am I to extract your mother from her house?" I slumped, righteous anger leaving me in favour of exhaustion. Fatigue marshalled its troops and marched through my veins.

"I don't know." Harry glanced at the twins.

"Fred, can you drop that thing off to my house, in my room." Twin Number One nodded and apparated away, clutching the box.

"Harry, I'm not leaving you alone with him," Twin Number Two said. Potter waved his hand impatiently.

"I'll be fine, George. Can you see who's in the house and tell them that we need a way of getting Narcissa Malfoy out of Erebos, please?" Twin Number Two shrugged angrily and apparated away too. We were alone.

I lifted my head as he slumped against the counter, the strange lethargy taking hold of me. A minute ago I'd wanted action, now I just wanted to sit here.

"You look ill, Potter."

"Hardly surprising considering it has only been four days," he acknowledged. He smiled tiredly, the circles under his eyes dark. "You don't appear to be in the peak of health yourself, Draco."

"Don't do that," I snapped, annoyed.

"Do what?" he sounded amused.

"Don't call me 'Draco'. Like you're my friend or something. You're not. I hate you. The only relationship between us is a business one. How dare you call me my name when all I am to you is a Malfoy? What gives you the right?" He shook his head.

"Some might say having you save my life does."

"Well it doesn't," I replied shortly. He inclined his head my way.

"As you wish, Malfoy." I put my own head in my hands, tired beyond measure, drained by the argument.

"Your wrist?"

"No one else knows. The situation will stay that way." The coldness of his voice surprised me. This boy had had far too much contact with Lord Voldemort. When he threatened me the tone was horribly familiar.

"Understandable."

I wished I was alone. He was just standing there, watching me, so I slid my back down the wall and sat on the floor, with my elbows on my knees. I had known my lies would catch up with me, but the speed of it surprised me. Had one of the House Elves talked? Had Aunt Bellatrix seen the truth and told the Dark Lord? Had Voldemort simply guessed? Had someone leaked to him that Potter was still alive?

"How?" I whispered to myself.

"Here." Potter's reply caught me off guard. I glanced up and was shocked at the degree of anger in his face. With his eyes narrowed like that, one could almost see the gleam of red. He lifted a newspaper off the countertop and threw it to me. I caught it and recognised it; The Daily Prophet. My family had cancelled our subscription out of disgust when all it printed was spite, hatred and misled anger next to our names. The date at the top told me this was today's edition. The main photograph was a new one of Potter, taken on a crowded street. As I watched he walked hurriedly, head bowed, face averted from the camera. But it was the headline that triggered instant alerts, and I read on, horrified.

HE'S DONE IT AGAIN!!

Harry Potter, the Chosen One, has survived yet another attack on his life by You-Know-Who, Cleopatra Fama reveals. Potter, now seventeen, was completing unknown business in Wiltshire when he was surprised by several Deatheaters and You-Know-Who himself! He was taken to the nearby residence of a certain Deatheater, (sources lead us to believe that this was none other than Lucius Malfoy who escaped from Azkaban prison a month ago) where it is thought that he was tortured for a period of time. Although Harry Potter is unwilling to talk about his experience and the details of his escape, Cleopatra Fama can confidently inform you that he was aided by a turncoat Deatheater. Speculations on the name of this Deatheater include the infamous Bellatrix Lestrange and also Harry Potter's peer, the recently disgraced Draco Malfoy. A source close to him reveals that Harry Potter is 'tired and physically drained, but expecting to make a full recovery'. Harry Potter has refused all requests for a recent interview.

For previous interviews with Harry Potter see page 3

The paper slipped from my fingers. In print. My name. The black and white type damning me. For all the world to see. And this article was not just guesswork. It was far too accurate. Someone knew about Potter's little adventure at Malfoy Manor. That someone had nearly got me killed by mouthing off. I stood up, angry.

"You idiot! What, did you have to brag about your great escape?"

"I told only two people, both of whom I trusted," Potter replied, and I could see the fury blazing in his eyes. Ah, I'd wondered why there was no sign of his extra appendages; Granger and Wealey. R.

"Well one of them obviously had a little word with Ms. Cleopatra Fama," I snarled harshly. For just a second his mask slipped and I saw the pain of the betrayed in his eyes. "And because of their loose tongue I nearly died and my mother is in danger," I added, in an attempt to build on his guilt. He hung his head, looking iller than ever.

"I know, Draco. I know."

Feel the pain!!! Now review!