"Greg," Niki echoed, not sounding too sure of that face. Probably because he hadn't heard Goyle called much else but Goyle all through school.
"Me?" he asked when Goyle adressed him, and he blew out a little snorting noise.
"I know him. I know you." He pointed, vaguely, at the both of them, and then let his hand drop. "I'm Niki." A pause and then, "Nikolai. Urquhart." Who had once been so... normal. Clean cut, well dressed, posh, Quidditch player, all that. And now he was a little rag-tag thing with a glazed look in his eyes.