Summary: Their innocence. Their blood. Their lives. The war did not spare any. It changed their outlook toward life and others and helped them find courage in their hearts. D/G

Disclaimer: I don't own anything…except the PLOT!

Sacrifice

Miss Skeeter

Chapter One

Fresh Perspectives

"Remember Draco, we are Malfoys. We do not associate with inferiors. We have authority, money, and power. Take great care not to tarnish our family name. Power is everything." Lucius's eyes gleamed wildly. "Everything. Let no one stand in your way of it…especially those Muggle-loving fools."

He stumbled into the silent hospital wing, his drenched silver hair plastered on his flushed face. His raw cheeks stung from the harsh winter bite, glistening with the icy rain. His black robes dripped with mud and splattered on the marble floor, and his tattered cloak hung from his broad shoulders dejectedly, flapping at his legs. A deep gash mauled the side of his head, a streak of dried blood running from his temple to his defiant chin. His fingers gripped his wand tightly as he sat himself on a bed. His muscles ached with exhaustion as the plump nurse tittered around him.

A sharp hiss escaped his gritted teeth as potion seeped into his wound. His fingers examined his skin, running over the cut. He winced. She tapped her wand on the slash, a tingling sensation flooding through his veins as the skin mended before his eyes, leaving a pale scar on his head.

"A battle scar," Crabbe said awed, his pudgy finger grazing Draco's skin.

"Shut up, Crabbe," he muttered irritably. Steam shot out of his ears from the Pepperup Potion the insufferable Madam Pomfrey shoved into his mouth, though the potion had regained much of his vigor. He self-consciously ran a hand on his temple, flinching at the bumpy scar.

"Why did you fight?" Goyle chortled. "It doesn't matter to you." He eyed Draco oddly, wolfing down on a fat chocolate cake noisily.

"Because," Draco said slowly, contemplating the answer, "I…I suppose I wanted to spite my father for tainting the family name. We don't receive the respect we deserve…we're treated like--like scum." He stressed the word, fury quaking in his voice. He glanced up to scrutinize his bodyguards' answers. They shrugged stupidly, mouths hanging open in bewilderment.

Draco shook his head. He sometimes wondered why he chose Crabbe and Goyle as…somewhat friends. They were rather dense, always guzzling several handfuls of food nicked from the kitchens or rather strange places. He noted the tale of the resting chocolate cakes on the banisters that made the two rather drowsy in their second year. They awoke piled in a dark broom closet with no shoes.

"…Dinner?" Crabbe grunted helpfully, his squinted eyes glancing at the clock on the wall. He stared expectantly at Draco.

"Sure, why not?" he mumbled sardonically. "Come on, boys." He jumped to his feet, puffs of smoke slipping out of his ears. He rolled his eyes as he sauntered through the dungeons, his feet carrying him to the crowded Great Hall. The usual laughter and talk was subdued, replaced with gloomy faces.

A few murmurs filled his ears as he strolled by to the Slytherin table. He searched for Potter, the hero of the battle. He frowned at him as rains of praise showered down on him from his fellow Gryffindors. Several girls from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff alike sighed dreamily, fluttering their eyelashes at him. He bent over his food nonetheless, the fame reaching into his already large head.

"Perfect Potter," he sneered to Parkinson as sat down in his reserved seat with Crabbe and Goyle at either side.

"Oh, Drakie!" she squealed, her pug-like face staring at the scar. "What happened to your face?" His face darkened as the dreaded nickname slipped from her large mouth.

Her shrill chattering pounded in his ear as he turned his head, eyes sweeping the room. He spotted the youngest Weasel contently beside Potter, staring grimly at her ranting brother. Draco studied her carefully, drinking in every detail of her. Her fiery locks curled into a messy bun piled on the top of her head, threatening to topple. A few loose strands fell onto her porcelain face specked with freckles and mottled with bags beneath her eyes. Unlike her older siblings, she inherited rather pleasing charm.

"Draco!" He tore his mesmerized eyes away from the Weasley, blinking at a pouting Pansy. "Were you listening, Drakiepoo?"

"I'm tired," he stated stonily. We do not associate with inferiors. His father's cold voice rang in his ears hauntingly, causing shivers to run down his back. "Can't we talk tomorrow, Pansy?" Parkinson nodded, her pale eyes wide with bafflement. Draco poked at his treacle pudding scornfully.

"I can't believe they serve us this shit," he declared. "But Mudbloods can't taste the difference between food and dirt." Crabbe froze, chewing hurriedly on a mouthful of treacle. Draco snorted and shook his head as he nibbled at his roll glistening with butter. He nodded with approval, chewing daintily with his lips firmly pressed together. His eyes itched to roam toward the Gryffindor table once again, though he struggled to glue them to his golden plate.

A clink tinkled through the Hall, muffling the muttered gossip. Draco eyed the eccentric Headmaster critically. Dumbledore grimly addressed them, his thin, bony fingers intertwining easily. His blue eyes twinkled as they examined the sea of faces peering up at him with interest.

"Today…Death Eaters attacked the castle," he began, his voice echoing in the silence. "There were no deaths, but a few deadly injuries. I thank the sixth and seventh years who assisted." He paused. "I have established a…an army, if you'd like to call it. Dumbledore's Army." Draco watched him carefully as Dumbledore smiled at Potter and his followers with disdain.

"If any sixth or seventh years wish, they may volunteer. The army will protect the school when in harm…but they will need training. That is why I shall appoint two commanders for the troops. Harry Potter and--" An uproar of cheers exploded at the Gryffindor table, a rain of hands slapping Potter's back appreciatively. Draco frowned in disgust, rolling his eyes in an exaggerated manner.

The Headmaster waited patiently as the chatter died down. "And Draco Malfoy."

Eyes burned through him and a sweep of mumbles erupted in the Hall immediately. A few stood to examine him closely. Draco flushed, waves of shock crashing down upon him. His gray eyes glared questioningly at Dumbledore. "Everyone knows Malfoy is a Death Eater!" a voice carried over to the Slytherin table. A group grumbled in approval. "Look at his father. Everyone knows the Malfoys are going to the dogs."

Draco fumed, his anger building at his father. The man he listened to…the man who ruined their family name…and lost their fortune. "Who said I was my father?" he replied in a loud, carrying tone, his eyes twinkling challengingly. A hushed silence followed his defiant words, a few averting his eyes fearfully.

"Thank you," Dumbledore finished, his lips tugging into a smile. "You may leave for a good night's sleep." He waved his hand quickly, the newly cleaned plates glistening, devoid of a crumb of food.

Draco pushed himself out of his seat with Crabbe and Goyle, keen on the prospect of curling in his bed. Power is everything. He tailed the crowd, his eyes swimming about, catching a mane of flaming curls gleaming in the light. Her brown eyes stared baldly at him, hatred written across her porcelain face.

Beneath his hard façade, a surge of hurt flowed through his veins as he gaped at the vicious glare from the Weasel. He pushed the abrupt emotion away, hiding it underneath his tough demeanor. Why should he care what a Muggle-loving Weasley thought of him? He hated them, and they loathed him in return. And yet…he couldn't help but think of how attractive the youngest really was.

Students jostled past him as he slowly made his way to the dungeons. "I can't believe Malfoy is a commander with you, mate. We know he's following his daddy's footsteps." Draco glared at Ron Weasley who was at Potter's heels.

"Wish it was you, Weasel?" he called scathingly. "We all know sidekicks don't cut it. And Dumbledore isn't paying either so don't be too disappointed." Weasley narrowed his eyes, his ears turning an unsightly shade of red. A thin concealment of his temper was evident as he gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. Draco smiled with satisfaction. "Come on, Crabbe. Goyle." He whirled around, his feet clicking against the marble floor.

"Stop trying to be so big, Malfoy. You're lower than dirt," she said harshly behind his back. He tilted his head to Ginny, masking his upset with a scowl. As he slipped down into the dungeons, he glanced over his shoulder to stare at her glowering eyes. Those wide, brown ones…

"Move it, Commander Malfoy," Blaise Zabini said cheerfully. "You're blocking the way. You can stare at your girlfriend." His eyes glittered with amusement as they studied Draco, sliding up and down.

"Sorry, Zabini," Draco replied with a mock sneer, elbowing past Crabbe to sidle beside Blaise. A slight blush crept to his cheeks. "She isn't my girlfriend."

"I'm joining Dumbly's Army," he continued, eyes sparkling with excitement. "I fought today…Stunned a good few Death Eaters." He puffed out his chest proudly. "And no scratch." His smile faltered as his eyes fell on the scar. "Nice battle scar." He whistled appreciatively, jabbing his thumb at Draco's temple.

"Rock," Draco grunted, his hand running down his face. "Physical combat with a Death Eater, you know. I disarmed him first." He frowned. "My face is ruined." Zabini shrugged carelessly.

"Look," Blaise said with a grin, "that scar will go away."

"Potter's hasn't," Draco said dryly. Blaise laughed as he fed the stone wall the password. They climbed into the common room with his chuckle echoing off the walls. "What? It's true."

"Potter is a different case," he explained patiently. "You-Know-Who didn't curse you, did he? A rock just smashed into your head. It'll go away with time."

"When I die, maybe." Draco plopped down into a hard chair, leaning against its rigid back with content. Blaise followed the suit, his eyes fixed on the crackling fire in the hearth. "Well, time to get scarred again. Don't know why Dumbledore appointed me. Why not Potter's followers? Creevey, perhaps? Better than a Slytherin…"

Blaise leaned over, his face inching closer to Draco's. "Malfoy," he said in a hard tone, unlike his joking manner. "Why did you fight in the battle anyway? I'm sorry to say, but it's unlike you to get involved in anything out of your hands." His hands gripped the arms of his chair tightly, his knuckles turning white. "So? What's the answer?"

"Look, I don't need to tell you, Zabini," Draco said roughly. "But…I will." He sighed. "My father told me not to stain our family name…when I was eleven, in fact. He grabbed me in the corridor and asked me for a word. Two years ago, he was arrested in Azkaban. They knew he was a Death Eater…and that was when it happened. Our money slipped from our hands and our name…no one respected us as Malfoys. Only as…only as…" He trailed off, burying his emotions deep underneath the layers of his skin. He smiled darkly.

Blaise blinked, the words sinking into his mind. Anger seeped through him as he regarded Draco roughly. "You're doing it…for you?"

"Yes," Draco said shrugging. "To spite my father. I have no need to command any army. Dumbledore can find someone else or something."

"God, Malfoy! There are more important things than you! Like lives that are taken away each day with You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters on the loose! And you just want to irritate your father? Screw him!" Blaise jumped out of his chair as though it was on fire. He glared at Draco. "Grow up and stop being so selfish." He fumed off, his feet pounding on the staircase as he hurried to his dormitory.

Draco stared after him furiously. What did he know? He was the selfish one. "Stupid Zabini," he growled, casting his gray eyes on the fire.