Disclaimer: Harry Potter J.K. Rowling's. Song words belong to Pink.

A/N: Never say never… only this morning I was thinking how Names seemed to be on hiatus. And now look! Another chapter (much delayed, I know I know). Anyway, this features a reminder of just how dark Draco can be (he killed Bilpy remember?)

Sunshine and roses it ain't.

Kitchen talk

I'm not dead, just floating

Underneath the ink of my tattoo

I've tried to hide my scars from you

The owl hooted loudly and Potter opened his green eyes sleepily. I yawned.

"There's this owl and he wants money and I don't have any money, so give me some money now." Potter ran a hand through his hair tiredly, blinking in the dim morning light that filtered through the net curtains.

"Muh?"

"Money," I whimpered. "Give me the damn money so I can pay the damn bird and go back to sleep."

"Muh?" I was growing more pathetic by the second, as tiredness threatened to cause my knees to buckle.

"Po-o-otter! I have an owl on my wrist. I do not want an owl on my wrist. Have an owl." With a convulsive action of my arm I threw the bird in his direction. It landed on him, claws sinking into his shirted chest, exposed as the duvet was half off the bed and half on the floor.

"Gah!" He leapt up faster than Weasley R. the day we attached a bowtruckle to his rear (a most amusing day that was), and sprawled on the floor.

"See – I knew you were faking," I snorted. The laughter woke me up a little, so that I could now take in what was grasped in the owl's claws. A rolled up newspaper. Ah, the Daily Prophet bird. Although why it had decided that for once it would come into my bedroom instead of the Granger girl's was a mystery. She was probably out.

Grumbling Potter sat up on the ground. The shirt he slept in was torn a little from the owl's free claws, and a bead of blood stained it, growing like a scarlet blossom.

"Draco, that hurt!"

"Whiner," I teased. He growled something unintelligible, dragged himself over to his bedside table, opened the drawer and withdrew a pouch of coins.

"Here you go, you wretched bird." The owl hooted grumpily, accepted the coins, ditched the newspaper and left. Yawning, I sat down on Potter's bed as he clutched his head and gave a groan.

"All right, the illusion's over. You're obviously well enough to be out of bed, so no more sympathy for you." He shot me a look of dark murder.

"Draco, if I were to take this newspaper and hit you over the head with it a hundred times your headache would still not compare to what I am currently feeling." he groaned again. "Ooh, I want to die." I smiled predatorily.

"Well if you close your eyes and wish really hard…" His head snapped up and his eyes glazed briefly in agony.

"Get off my bed and out of my room. Now. I don't like what you're implying." I affected an injured pose.

"I was proposing to spare you from your pain. Next time I won't bother."

Potter said nothing but clambered awkwardly back into bed.

"I ache all over," he moaned. "Damn Horcrux."

"Your own fault," I reminded him. "You were the one who went all heroic. Besides, that was over a week ago. When are you planning to get better?" He smiled wearily.

"I think I'll sit here feeling like a dead dishcloth for a few more days and then miraculously recover." I poked him.

"Wouldn't put it past you." He batted my hand away with the newspaper and I took it from his unresisting fingers. As he lay back into the pillows with a deep sigh I ran my eyes over the headline and gasped.

"Have Fred and George been found yet?" Potter asked, missing the gasp.

"Give me a minute and I'll tell you," I answered. He frowned.

"Why do you need a minute?"

"To read what Ms Cleopatra Fama has to say," I replied tightly. His eyes snapped open and he leant over my shoulder, gaping at the headline.

Weasleys in Double Jeopardy!

"That's not even funny," I said, wincing at the poor pun.

"Read on," he breathed. "My eyes are swimming Draco. Please read it to me." He leant back again. I cleared my throat and began to read.

"The Order of the Phoenix, the legendary organisation created by Albus Dumbledore when He Who Must Not Be Named was at large 19 years ago, was thrown into great shock two days ago,' our dear friend 'Cleopatra Fama reports. Two of its youngest members, Fred Weasley and George Weasley, both 19, have reportedly gone missing (see main photograph)." Potter opened his sick eyes briefly and I showed him the picture of the twins grinning mischievously in front of their shop. How fitting, that the last glimpse the world was ever likely to get of them should be of them wearing their trademark beams. Potter wobbled and gripped my shoulder for balance and I suddenly realised how grey he looked. How thin. I mean, he was always slender but now his knuckles stood out in his hands and his arms were dangerously close to bony. The drops of blood had fanned out into feathery lines on his shirt, where his movements had smeared the crimson across the material. He still didn't appear to have noticed it. The blood was frighteningly bright against him, with his dull hair (being bedridden he probably hadn't washed it for a while), his pale skin, drained of colour and his grey shirt. He wasn't wearing the sweat band on his wrist, and the Dark Mark glared malignly at me like some horrific plague sore. A plague. That was what Voldemort was, and he was eating away at this boy who used to be so vibrant with anger and determination. He's fading away, I thought desperately, and wondered for the first time what horrific toll the breaking of the Horcrux had really taken from him. And he struggles so much to hide it. The previous day I'd had no idea how ill he was, because he'd had time to put on his mask. I'd surprised him today and the truth was shocking. He seems to be getting worse, not better.

"Read on," Potter asked tiredly, and I complied.

"The twins, pictured outside their establishment Weasley Wizard Wheezes, were taken at some time shortly after noon. Their younger sister, Ginevra Weasley, 16, who was staying with them at the time, is reported to have discovered the shop in a great mess, with the Dark Mark hovering in the sky above it. 'She went in tentatively and then I heard a scream and she came running out, then went back in and I suppose she used the Floo network to get away' an eyewitness said. Although members of the Order of the Phoenix are currently searching for the twins there seems to be little cause for hope for their survival. Leading ministry members have linked this attack to the recent murder of the Auror Dawlish, and believe that these three individuals were all betrayed by the renegade Deatheater Draco Malfoy' Oh really now!" I exclaimed in anger. I'd wondered if I was going to be mentioned. Cleopatra Fama seemed quite unable to let go of me, but instead harassed me like a dog worrying a bone. "A ministry official divulges, 'we're getting very suspicious of Mr Malfoy's allegiances. We have no proof that he is changed, and the Order of the Phoenix is obstructing justice by sheltering him when he is wanted in a murder inquiry.' The Ministry of Magic reveals that it intends to demand that the Order surrender Mr Malfoy to their Aurors by the end of the week or…" My voice caught in my throat, but I read on determinedly. "Or Harry Potter, who has claimed responsibility for Mr Malfoy, will be charged with sheltering a known criminal and obstructing justice. Harry Potter is said to still be sick from his recent adventures and fans fear he may be being unwittingly manipulated by Mr Malfoy." Feeling ill I stopped reading and put the paper down on the bed.

Potter turned his tired eyes to me.

"Are you manipulating me, Draco?" The directness of the question caught me off balance, and I hesitated slightly before answering.

"No, of course not."

"Really?"

"I said I'm not!" I snarled, hurt filling me. Why did I care what Wonder Boy thought of me? Because I'd said I would be his friend, that was why. And he didn't trust that. He looked anxious.

"Then I believe you Draco. Honestly, I do. I believe you, and I trust you." he reached out and took my arm. "You're shaking."

"I'll never lose the stigma, will I?" I asked bitterly. "The Deatheater. Don't trust the Deatheater. You know quite as well as I, Potter, that one does not always wear this brand out of choice." I rolled up my sleeve and wriggled out of his grasp, pressing my mark against his own, feeling our pulses throb beneath Death's calling card. Marked for murder.

His eyes met mine and held them steadily.

"Draco, I would trust you with my life again in an instant." He reached down, lifted my left hand and pressed it to his forehead. Fascinated, I stroked the vivid scar that stood there.

"No one's ever touched that before," he whispered, and shivered. I pulled my hand away, unwilling to cause him pain. He smiled slightly.

"So," I said, attempting a jocular tone. "Four days to decide whether or not you're turning me in to the Ministry. Any ideas what your final decision will be?" He laughed a little.

"Wait, wait, I'm imagining life as a fugitive." He pulled a face. "Can I hand you in and then anonymously break you out from Azkaban?" I pinched his nose.

"No. You promised me safety." And at one time my mother too. But you couldn't save her. I won't let you fail again. I can't.

"Gib be back by dose."

"Not until you promise to keep me safe."

"I probise."

"Cross your heart and hope to die?"

"Draaaaaco!"

"Say it!"

"Cross by heart and hope to die." I released him and he stroked his nose tenderly.

"That really hurt," he whimpered.

"Poor baby," I teased. "Does baby want a rattle to make it better?" Grumpily he shoved my shoulder, and I fought to swallow the lump that rose in my throat as I felt the lack of strength in his action.

I left him with the newspaper, and went in search of some breakfast. Granger was sitting at the kitchen table, stirring a bowl of porridge with the air of one who could stir porridge for the next five years.

"Morning," I said chirpily. I must have been in an incredibly good mood or something. She started slightly.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

"Currently? An orange. You should have one. Vitamin C. It'd perk you up no end." I glanced at her chest provocatively. "If you want to get Weasley back I might suggest a slightly perkier look." She folded her arms protectively across her small breasts.

"Lave me alone, Malfoy. I am really not in the mood."

"Someone got out of the wrong side of bed this morning," I observed, peeling my orange. She yawned.

"For your information I didn't sleep at all last night."

"Ah yes. Too busy having a laugh at the pub whilst poor Fred and George have probably expired with despairing last wails of 'Hermione, Hermione where arrrre yooooou?'" She flinched as if I'd slapped her, and then stood up abruptly, pushing her chair back with a hideous scraping sound.

"You sick bastard, Malfoy! How dare you! How dare you? How dare you mock the pain of the people who've taken you in-"

"Welcomed me like one of their own," I jeered.

"Kept you safe!" she thundered. "Ignored your origins, trusted you-"

"My God, have you all forgiven me already for those many many times I betrayed you?" I mocked.

"This isn't funny!" she screamed. "Fred and George are possibly dead, their father is worried sick, their mother has had a mental breakdown…"

"Get used to it, I doubt she'll be passing on any more words of wisdom to you lot," I snarled viciously. I hadn't realized quite how much that article had infuriated me and now it all poured out, directed against someone I was used to hating. Worst, someone I felt contempt for. Someone I was determined to always have the last word over. Her face was flushed red now, and a cruelty was building in me. I wanted to hurt, to be in a position of power for once. If I could, I wanted to make her cry.

"So how was your drink last night?" I asked. "Did it make the demons go away? Can you sleep at night, or do their faces fill your mind?" I leant closer. "If you close your eyes, can you hear them scream?"

"This isn't my fault!" she cried, sounding frightened.

"All your brilliance," I purred. "All your intelligence and you are powerless, my dear. Trapped in a kitchen with the son of a Deatheater." She took a step backwards. "You never told me why Weasley left you," I continued, revelling in the delicious feeling of power. Damn but I loved the haunted expression on her face, the way her breath caught.

"No time, with the battle and the Order," she breathed.

"No time? He spends all his time in his room," I scoffed. "Or is it that he's found someone else?"

"That's not true!" she spat.

"After all, how could he compare to you? You excel at every subject. Your brilliance was just so far removed from him… did you drive him away?"

"No," she whimpered.

"Well, whatever the reason, he's dropped you," I breathed. "All alone. And Harry, he's dropped you too… after all, why should the Chosen One spend his time with a mere mudblood?" She gasped audibly.

"Th-that's not Harry!"

"Isn't it? I feel I know him better than you. We're growing quite close, you know," I whispered. "I know even some of his darkest secrets…secrets he never whispered in you ear." She shrank further back, her eyes deep with the misery she was struggling so vainly to conceal. I slunk around the table which separated us, so that I was directly in front of her. I was taller too, and she tried to back away. One step, two steps and she hit the sideboard.

I smiled in a way that revealed my teeth. Hello little fishy, said the shark. Let's play, little fishy.

"I think I understand you now," I hissed. "You were always the clever one, weren't you, Miss Bossy Boots? Always the one who was just a bit too smart for their own good, who showed people up. No one wanted to be your friend, did they? And now its happening all over again isn't it? No one cares." Her breath came faster and faster, sobbing gasps that sang in my ears. "All alone," I whispered, advancing. I was so close now I was looming over her. She had leant back at an angle over the kitchen sideboard, and our hips were touching. Her spare chest heaved.

"Get back, Malfoy," she whispered.

"Is that an order?" I asked.

"Yes." I moved forward, suddenly gripping her wrists in my own behind her back, pressing her hands down onto the sideboard. She twisted with a strangled sob.

"Let me go!"

"Now that sounds more like you're begging." The words slunk from my mouth and caressed her.

"What do you want?" she pleaded.

"I want to be taken seriously," I hissed. "I'm not a child for you to reprimand, Granger. I'm a trained Deatheater. I'm a killer. And if word of that gets out I will find you and I will make you pay."

"What have you done to Harry?" she moaned.

"Nothing," I promised her. "You and Weasley… you did this to him yourselves. And just when he needed you, you two cared about nothing but your own pathetic relationship. My God, Ron's quite the catch, isn't he Granger? A real man to fightfor. To lose a friend over." She whimpered and attempted again to break free. I tightened my grip.

"And you? Well worth him forgetting Harry for, aren't you?" I laughed.

"You're just being spiteful," she snapped. "You're jealous."

"Of what?" I asked. "Of Weasley? But… I have his girl pressed against me right here…" The fear in her eyes darkened. I leaned down, so that my lips were by her ear. "I could do anything," I purred. "And Harry won't believe you. He'll believe me. Anything, Granger. Consider that." She shuddered, and I ran my tongue delicately up her neck to the edge of her jaw, then laughed softly into that ear, framed by such bushy bushy hair. "Just a little thing for you to keep in mind, my dear."

In one fluid motion I released her and sprang away. I didn't bother catching her eyes; instead turning and picking up my discarded orange, I left. As I closed the kitchen door behind me I heard the first choking sob.

As I entered the hallway the front door banged open and Weasley R. fell into the house looking dishevelled (I mean, even more than usual). I smiled at him (or rather, revealed my teeth).

"Ronald! Well met, this fine day! Had a good night with your girlfriend?" he flushed bright red instantly.

"Shut up Malfoy. You don't know what you're talking about!"

"I do you know," I replied. I reached forward, closing the distance between us swiftly. Before he could react I had brushed the long blonde hair off his jacket. "Well, well, well. What is this? Not one of yours, that's for sure." He purpled and made a grab for it.

"Give it back!" I held it tauntingly out of his reach.

"For a name." He stopped instantly.

"Forget it." Turning, he climbed up the stairs.

"I hope Fred and George appreciate how ardently you've been searching for them down some girl's top," I yelled after him. He sent a line of swear words my way, but didn't stop.

I stood there, holding that long blonde hair, watching the way the dim light in the hallway shimmered off it. It was fine, and golden blonde, not silvery like Malfoy. The end was split, I noted. As I played with the spun gold in my fingers a thought occurred to me.

I wonder what colour Cleopatra Fama's hair is?

Duh Duh! Now, here's a hint. If I get more reviews it gives me more incentive to write the next chapter…