Title: Names

Authoress: Lady Domino

Summary: Harry and his friends are trying desperately to rescue Mrs Malfoy, but they encounter some unexpected problems.

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

A/N – Yay! I finally remembered to update. I'm completely snowed under by a hellish workload at the moment, so this is quite an achievement. Oh, and btw, the theory of people's auras is believed by some people. One of my friends sees a kind of psychic for her problems and he told her about it.

Please review. It brings me joy. Also, anyone got any questions for me?

Helplessness

The fire flared up green and I nearly had a heart attack. Surely this was the Dark Lord, come to drag me away! My hand flew to my wand, although what good it would do me against him, I didn't know. And then… relief. Weasley. R stepped out of the flames. He smirked when he saw me with my wand raised.

"Jumpy, aren't you Draco?" I lowered the wand and allowed my contempt to show.

"Call me by my name again and you will regret it, Weaselby." He laughed mockingly, eyes challenging, hands on hips. A stance that should have looked cool, but just didn't when combined with the utter hopelessness of Weasleydom. A red-haired man and a red-haired woman should NOT be allowed to breed. We just end up with hoards of the wretched things.

"Oh you're a big man, Draco. Scurrying to my brothers' shop, Draco. Hiding like the ferret you are. What are you going to do, Draco?" Every time he repeated my name the fury rose in me. I was so sick of being jerked around! My wand shook in my hand as the anger built up. I wanted to inflict pain. I wanted to hurt someone and for once feel in control!

"Orosangues!"

He didn't have time to block; the curse picked him up and threw him back against a wall, eyes stunned. He coughed and blood spayed from his mouth, splattering down his front.

"MALFOY!" Potter's shout made me freeze like a guilty child. He had his wand out, pointing it at me. "Put your wand down, now." I shrugged still furious, still raging inside. A fight? Bring it on.

"So, it's fine for you to hurt me? But not for me to hurt your friends? Even traitors like that?" I pointed the hand not holding the wand at Weasley who was scrabbling frantically at his throat.

"Drop your wand, Draco." Potter's tone was ice. My cheeks burned with anger. I was not to be ordered around!

"So concerned for our friends, Harry!" Result! He twitched when I said his name. Weasley coughed blood and tried to speak, but only managed a gurgle. I laughed. It was so amusing! "Surely your efforts would be better employed in rescuing Weasleby from his plight, Potter?" He hesitated and I smiled, knowing that it would infuriate him. "But do you really care about traitors such as him?" An indignant gurgle. Potter didn't move, his eyes wonderfully shocked. And then the slow burn returned. The thinly veiled hatred. Hell, I'd missed it. This was where I wanted us to be. I took a step closer and licked my lips slightly. "Perhaps you need some new friends."

"Expelliarmus!!" The long overdue spell hurled me onto my back, my wand flying from my grasp. Potter stood over me, panting, and I was afraid. Yes, I was afraid. But I couldn't show that, so I raised my eyebrows and blew him a kiss. His eyes were icy cold.

"Never, ever harm any of my friends again, Malfoy." I levered myself up onto my elbows.

"And you'll do what? Send me to Azkaban? I brought you the cup!" He leaned down and unconsciously I shrunk back.

"Don't tempt me, Malfoy. Do not tempt me."

He turned his back on me stalked over to Weasley, who now resembled a very ill vampire. Blood still ran from his mouth. I was not worried for his safety; the blood was magically created and he was not injured. Pity really. Whilst Potter fixed him up I searched for my wand. It had rolled under a display case of lolly pops, and I stretched for it. It had been gratifying, seeing the hatred in Potter's eyes. He had promised to protect me, and I would see that he upheld his vow, no matter how much he came to regret it. I had no intention of making his life any easier. At least, after my mother was safe. A horrible sick feeling slunk into my stomach. I'd been so caught up in my emotions that I'd forgotten about her! What if the delay I had caused hurt her? What if they were too late?

I stood up shakily, and saw that Weasley was no longer regurgitating blood. He spoke and I pricked up my ears.

"What the hell is that git doing here, Harry?"

"He stays with me until I say otherwise," Potter replied, skirting the question. Sniff sniff, do I detect a lack of trust in the air? Weaselby certainly did, because he bridled right on cue.

"Harry, what's wrong with you? You're acting like you're elite all of a sudden, and we're your, your minions. To be ordered around. My brothers, and Hermione, and my parents. And I don't like it." Potter's stance spoke volumes – arms defensively crossed, body tense, poised for… what? Fight? Or flight from a potentially ugly situation? He certainly wasn't prepared to talk reasonably. I interrupted them.

"I hate to break up the lovers' quarrel, but may I remind you that my mother is out there, and in danger?"

"Who cares about your mother? If I had her I'd be glad to be rid of her," Weasley snarled. I froze, blinking back tears of fury and anguish.

"Now who's acting like a git?" Potter's voice was measured, a neutral tone. And it hit Weasley like a whip.

"You're defending him?" he whined.

"He's worried about his mother," Potter replied. "You can not expect him to be civil."

"Yes, but he-"

"He has a name and is standing right here," I growled. Potter glanced over at me, the message in his eyes clear. Shut up now. Grumpily I complied.

"Yes, but-" Weasley tried again. Potter touched his arm, and I noted the gesture. A touch more than friendly, perhaps? Please no. Come on Potter, I accredited you with better taste than that.

"Ron, I seriously do not have time for this. Trust me, ok? Now, what's happening?" Weasley sighed, brow furrowed, but acquiesced.

"You want the truth, mate? We can't get through to Erebos. Something's blocking the network. Lupin's working on it, but we don't have a clue what, or where it is. Moody, Tonks and Shacklebolt have apparated to the area, but that place has anti-apparation shields stretching for miles around it. It'll be over an hour before they arrive." Potter nodded gravely, showing no dismay. Ever the leader, never flummoxed. Find my mother, I prayed. I hate him, Lord I hate him, but let him find my mother. Please.

"Keep working on it," he said softly. "We'll come to the house in a minute."

"You're bringing him to your house?" Weasley spat. I yawned under his hostile glare and he rubbed his mouth subconsciously.

"I have to help him," Potter replied. "Ron, you know what he did for me. Voldemort wants him dead for it." Weasley muttered something like 'Good riddance to bad rubbish', but stepped back into the flames and vanished. Potter glanced over towards me.

"As you no doubt heard, Malfoy, we are experiencing difficulties. We will get to your mother as soon as possible-"

"That's not soon enough!" I interrupted. What would Aunt Bellatrix, faithful Bellatrix do to her?

"How am I to go any faster? Tell me, Draco. I'd very much like to know!"

"I told you, don't call me Draco!"

"Fine then, Malfoy. What do you want me to do?" I shook, waves of hopelessness rolling over me.

"I don't know. I want you to fix it. People say you are powerful." His voice was devoid of sympathy.

"People say many things. They say you are a murdering Deatheater." I nearly laughed. To think, that there were people afraid of me! And I had never felt more pathetic. He walked away from me, over to the fire, and pulled out a pouch of Floo powder. I glanced up.

"I've heard about where you live, Potter. I'll tell you now; I refuse to enter a muggle house." He shrugged.

"You've heard about the Dursleys? I don't live there any more."

"Where do you live then?" I asked, curiosity getting the better of me. He smiled, the first smile I'd seen on him since before Dumbledore died, and his eyes danced as he came close. I tensed. Fight or flight, again. But he didn't do either. Instead he leaned in towards me and said very carefully, "I live at 12 Grimwauld Place." I frowned.

"Am I supposed to know the address?"

"No." He was still close to me, so close I could feel his presence. A friend of mine once told me the theory of auras. No, not a type of wizard hunter, but a person's aura. Apparently the molecules you can see of a person, their figure, are only one of many layers of molecules. The rest are moving too fast to be seen, but radiate from around a person's centre of gravity. Thus people can sense each other's anger, through subconsciously feeling fluctuations in their auras. Thus you can recognise someone without seeing their face. I had laughed at the idea back then, but with Potter this close it felt like we were, in some way, touching. I didn't like it. I didn't like him being this close to me, and I stepped back subconsciously, scrabbling for my personal space. He smiled. "You see, Draco, 12 Grimwauld Place is my house. It belongs to me. And incidentally, it is also the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix." I sneered.

"An extremely pathetic headquarters, Potter, if it doesn't even have a Fidelius charm concealing it."

"Oh but it does." He cocked his head to the side. "You see, I am the new Keeper."

"You!" I snorted. "The one most likely of all to be personally tortured by the Dark Lord. You carry the secret of the Order's whereabouts?"

"Exactly," he agreed. "The very last thing Lord Voldemort would expect. With any luck, should the occasion arise, he'll kill me before he thinks to ask. And now, Draco…" He gestured to the fire. I took a handful of Floo powder from the pouch he offered, and stepped towards the flames. The headquarters of the legendary Order of the Phoenix? Bring it on.

"12 Grimwauld Place!"

Vwoom! I emerged from the fireplace, head spinning. Too much Floo powder in too short a time can seriously disorientate you. It took me a second to get my bearings. I blinked, and rubbed my eyes. If it hadn't been for that clapped out old werewolf, Lupin, standing there looking even shabbier than usual, I could have sworn I'd come to the wrong place.

This was where Harry Potter lived?

This was where Harry Potter lived?

The place bore a startling resemblance to Erebos. Same gloom, some atmosphere. The evening sunlight glowed brilliantly outside, but only a few tendrils of it filtered in through the clouded windows, framed by thick velvet curtains. The room wasn't dusty, as one might have expected; instead it smelled strongly of Clean-away! fluid. Recently cleaned, then. The furniture gleamed resentfully, protesting at its forced polishing. The house's mood was almost palpable – it had been bullied back to life after many years of darkness, and it wasn't pleased about it.

Lupin walked forwards and steadied my elbow. I batted him away.

"I'm fine." A whoosh behind me, and Potter stepped out of the fireplace. I turned on him. "This is your house?" My eyes travelled over the pictures on the wall, paintings of witches and wizards sneering with the assurance of authentic purebloods. He followed my gaze and grimaced.

"We've been trying to get those down for at least a year now. They're not the worst; be very quiet whenever we walk through the hallway or you'll see what I mean." Lupin stepped close to the fireplace, and Potter moved me away from it. "How's it coming?"

"Slow," the werewolf complained. "This block can't have been up for long; the Ministry would have noticed it." He frowned. "Or at least, they should have noticed it." Potter smiled tiredly.

"Just keep at it. And if you need anything, give me a yell. Or bully Kreacher into getting it." Kreacher? The name was strangely familiar. I was sure I'd heard my parents say it at some point.

"Of course. Where are you going, Harry?"

"Getting Draco set up. He and his mother will be staying here; they'll need a room." I glanced around the room. This was where I'd be staying, then? And probably for a while too. Well, it could have been worse, I suppose. The house almost felt like home (or at least a danker version of).

As we crossed the room and passed out into the corridor I admired the doorknob. A bronze snake's head. The glittering rubies set as eyes were a nice touch. Whoever had furnished this house had had good taste, and in its heyday I could imagine it as a magnificent and imposing place. Poor house. It felt very unloved.

We climbed a flight of stairs, the ankle deep carpet swallowing our footsteps. As more of the house came into view my approval increased. Lots of pictures of whatever pureblood family had owned it, showing a true and applaudable pride in their pedigree and heritage. Pale, blank circles on the walls indicated were trophy shields had been taken down. I wondered what had been up there which had offended Potter's delicate sense of decorum. Unicorn horns? Hippogriff heads? Or, more likely, the trophies had in fact been shields of honour, bearing the heads of loyal House Elves. House Elves. A place like this should have a whole army of them, and yet there was no sign of them, or, more importantly, their work. A coat had been thrown casually across the banister. Even in a house with one Elf, deaf, blind and incontinent, it would have been carefully placed on a hook within seconds. I wondered how on earth Potter had acquired this house. When he said it was his, did he mean legally, as in he had bought it (it seemed unlikely) or had he merely taken over a house he had found abandoned?

We had reached a landing lit by candles in silver wall brackets (the silver bore that very-tarnished-until-a-recent-brutal-scrubbing look), and Potter turned left into a large room.

"This room connects with the room next to it." He indicated the door in the far wall. "There's a bathroom connected to that one. This is where you and your mother will be. We're short of space as it is, so be grateful I'm not putting you together." I glanced behind me, at the only other door on this level, opposite my room.

"Whose room is that?" He followed my gaze.

"That's my bedroom, Malfoy. I would not advice that you enter it." I didn't intend to. Knowing just how paranoid Potter must be now, it probably had more booby traps than a Tri-wizard Tournament maze.

"And you're all alone in there?" I asked, smirking.

"Absolutely," he replied coolly. "House rules apply to you too, Malfoy. No strange girls, no coming in after midnight, no drunken revelry and no sneaking into other people's bedrooms." I laughed.

"Yes, Dad. Poor Granger and Weasley. I can see why they loathe you at the moment." He didn't reply, but turned to leave. I grabbed his arm, meaning to say something about my mother, and he cried out in pain. "What? Oh…"

"Aaargh," he groaned, as blood leaked through the sweatband.

"You didn't fix it up, then," I said softly.

"I don't know how, and there's no one I can tell," he hissed through gritted teeth, clutching the wrist. An unfamiliar emotion flickered inside me. Pity? For him? Pity for a lonely boy in pain. I reached out and pushed the already soaked sweatband back. It was hard to see under the oozing blood, but I could make out the congealed mess of the scab, and the shadowy imprint of the Dark Mark underneath it. He breathed fast, whimpering slightly as I gently touched it. I pulled out my wand, still holding his wrist with my left hand.

"Here, Snape taught me how to do this after you hurt me."

"How to do what?"

"Just trust me." I leant down and stroked the cuts with my wand tip, and sang softly to them about the beauty of healing, and the joy of being whole and clean. He flinched each time my wand touched a cut, but the wrist jerks became fewer and fewer, until finally I straightened up, satisfied.

"Wash it off."

Together we walked through into my bathroom, where Potter ran a tap over his wrist. The blood rinsed off slowly, in thin watery tendrils, until all that was left was white skin and the Dark Mark, black and hideous. Potter flinched slightly as the brand came to light.

"It's not your fault," I said softly.

"I know that," he snapped, and I knew he was angry because I had seen him weak, and I had helped him, again, and that infuriated him. "Thank you for healing the cuts," he said grumpily.

"The next time you're foolish enough to hack open your arm I'll leave you with the consequences," I warned. He nodded, examining the scars that marred the skin. I slid my fingers over them and was horrified to feel how deep the trenches ran. And yet, the Dark Mark glowed there, malevolent and unbroken. I understood then. Even if Potter was to take a cheese-grater and destroy half his wrist, as soon as it was fixed the Mark would be there then, black and complete.

"Nothing can make it go away," Potter said miserably. "I've tried vanishing it, and cutting it out, and I've even tried exorcism spells on it, but it won't work." He staggered and I caught him.

"What the hell's wrong with you?"

"Tired," he said muzzily. He struggled to stand, grasping the basin to steady himself. Realisation hit me. It was only a few days since he had been extensively tortured. And what had he done in that time? He had nursed a deep and agonising secret, he had plotted with me, he had dealt with the pain of betrayal, he had planned, he had organised and he had led. If Dumbledore were still here to give orders, Potter would still be in his reserved bed in the hospital wing. As it was, he'd pushed himself and pushed himself. I snorted.

"You're an idiot. You know that, don't you?"

"I don't need sympathy!" he snapped.

"Good," I told him angrily. "Because I feel none for you." I turned and stalked out, without looking back.

Down the stairs, feet thudding on the oak beneath the thick carpet. Back to the room where Lupin knelt over the fireplace, crooning to it. My appearance startled him, and he banged his head on the top of the grating.

"Ouch! Oh Draco, it's you."

"How close are you to getting through?" I demanded.

"Well," he started, and then saw my look. "In all honesty Draco, I have no idea what's blocking the way. And unless I know there's nothing I can do." Fear gripped me. We would be too late!

"Maybe this fire's messed up," I suggested desperately. "Maybe we can try another fireplace." Lupin shook his head.

"No, it works fine otherwise. Draco, I'm really sorry. But Tonks," Who? "Moody and Shacklebolt are all highly competent aurors, and they'll be arriving at Erebos any minute now."

"You sent a decrepit old auror and two idiots I don't even know about up against Lord Voldemort?" I screamed, approaching hysterics. "They'll be killed and my mother will be killed! And if that happens I will kill you!"

"Draco, calm down," he said sternly. "We are doing everything we can. Tonks and Shacklebolt are both very well trained, and Moody is not as over the hill as you seem to believe."

"Well his mighty defence of himself at the beginning of our Fourth Year certainly inspires me," I yelled. "I mean, this guy can't even take care of a single crazy Deatheater, and Crouch was absolutely barmy, but, you know, he'll be able to take on Lord Voldemort single handed and be back in time for tea." I made a show of glancing at my watch. "Better hurry, Moody," I snarled bitterly. "You've only got half an hour until teatime is officially over."

"Draco," Lupin began hopelessly, but I'd had enough. I turned and ran out, tears running unchecked down my face. Self-loathing filled me. I was so weak! I couldn't say no to the Dark Lord, and I couldn't kill Dumbledore and I couldn't protect my mother, and I couldn't force things into going any faster. I wanted power, so desperately, I wanted the power to do what I wanted. Was this how young Tom Riddle had felt in that orphanage? I wondered dimly. My father had left some newspaper clippings out one day, accidentally, and I had read about Voldemort's origins. Had he felt so wretchedly helpless? Was that what drove him to becoming feared by all?

Blindly I crashed down the stairs, and into the hallway. Through the veil of tears I saw a velvet curtain blow back, revealing a portrait on the wall. I had barely registered this when a screeching voice split my head in half.

"Thieves! Vile Thieves! Taking my house! Ooooh! Filth! Filth befouling the house of my Fathers! Blood traitors! Murderers!"

I clapped my hands over my ears, stunned, sinking down before the onslaught. I barely registered the thundering on the stairs, and then two people ran past me.

"Get the other curtain!" Lupin panted.

"Pull!" a female voice I barely recognised ordered.

"Murderers! Murderers! My son was not even cold in the grave when you stole…" There was the sound of heaving and grunting, and then merciful silence. I opened my eyes cautiously. In front of me, looking dishevelled, stood Lupin and a large woman I recognised as the mother of the Weasley brood. Her face creased with sympathy, and I knew the tears still glistened on my cheeks. I burned with humiliation.

"Draco? Are you all right?" She reached out her hand for me, but I hit it away.

"Leave me alone," I screamed. Anger and helplessness raged inside me, and the world blurred again as more tears sprung to my eyes. "Leave me alone. Don't touch me! I hate you! I hate all of you!" She drew back from me, shocked, and I pushed past her, running to the door. It was locked by a series of elaborate bolts and I didn't have the mental capability required to open them. My fingers fumbled desperately at metal pins for a minute, then I screamed in anger and frustration and turned, running back up the stairs. I felt trapped, and I was behaving like a child, and knowing that only made me more furious. Weasley R. stood on the stairs, gaping at me, having obviously left his room when he heard the yelling. I pushed past him desperately, and he stumbled, his hands reaching for me, clawing at my wrist. I shook him off, and he tumbled down to the landing below with an angry yell.

I fled instinctively, up to the sanctity of the tiny bit here that was 'mine': my newly acquired room. Potter stood in the middle of it, confusion on his face as I burst in. He had frozen in the act of pulling the newly cleaned sweatband back onto his wrist. The sight of the Mark on his skin filled me with loathing.

"Get out!" I yelled. "This is my room, so get out!"

"Malfoy…" I swear the next person who tried to talk to me in that 'understanding' voice would not live to regret it.

"Get out! I hate you! Get out!" I grabbed his left wrist, ignoring the way he winced, and threw him at the doorway. He hesitated, and then walked out. Drawing my wand, I pointed it at the door and slammed it shut.

Oh God.

Forgive me Mother. I sobbed desperately, slumped against the door. Forgive me, Mother.

But I already know that it's too late.

Poor baby Draco! I'm so evil to him! Anyways, now that you've read it it's time to REVIEW!