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 Two

Fiery Inferiors

His fingers slipped off the fork, a clatter piercing the unnatural quiet. His tongue stuck to his throat, and he gulped down a cold slosh of milk from his goblet. Draco glanced about the Great Hall, straining to hear the whispers and dull mutters from the tables. A few Hufflepuff boys stole a dark look at him, mistrust clearly evident on their faces. He shrugged it off carelessly, poking at an egg. Blaise lifted his head from his own plate, his eyes burning holes through Draco, a deep frown tugging at his lips.

Pansy Parkinson babbled on in his ear, smacking on her bacon eagerly. Draco glowered at Zabini coldly as he stabbed a piece of bacon violently. Blaise lowered his gaze, his ears red with fury. His mouth formed incoherent words, and he quickly washed down his egg with pumpkin juice.

"Malfoy, why don't you get off your bloody arse?" a voice demanded. He tilted his head upward, gawking at the lingering pair of brown eyes.

"Got some language on you, eh, Weasley?" Draco said, a delightful smile threatening to break through his sneer.

Her fiery red curls cascaded down her shoulders in waves, and her large, glittering chocolate eyes studied him with loathing. He jumped to his feet, towering her petite body. She defiantly glared up, her delicate hands on her hips. Draco fought the sudden urge to brush his fingers against her freckled nose and her porcelain cheeks.

"Screw off," Ginny snapped angrily. "Dumbledore wants you…army business."

"Are you joining?" Draco asked eagerly. She blinked at him in surprise but she regained her composure immediately.

"Yes," she replied stiffly. "I am. What does it matter to you? Hoping to train me to exhaustion?" Draco snorted as he glanced up at the head table, catching a glimpse of a mop of dark hedgehog hair.

"Highly unlikely, Weasel," he replied smoothly. "Well, why didn't Potter get me himself?" He brushed down his robes.

"Harry asked me," Weasley explained with impatience. "What is this? An interview? Malfoy, you better get up there soon."

A rush of jealousy smacked him in the face. "Potter? What are you his girlfriend? Or is he too afraid to declare his love for you in the moonlight? Or did he serenade you last night and give you a promise ring?" To his surprise, Ginny raised her eyebrow unblushingly. She merely smiled blandly and casually stuck her hands into her pockets.

"Nope," was all that came out of her full lips. She looked up at him forcing a smirk on her face, though a bite of annoyance tinged her voice. "Look, that stuff doesn't matter anymore, Malfoy. I've grown up. Now, will you just get up there before Dumbledore comes down here himself?"

"Sure," Draco said, dragging his feet along the floor. He got a few looks from the Ravenclaw table as he passed and leered at Potter. "Good morning, Headmaster. Potter." Draco scrutinized his pinched face, shadows marring the ashen skin beneath his eyes. His mop of dark hair messily flopped onto his forehead, and his black robes hung loosely around his gaunt figure. "God, Potter, what have you done to yourself? You look like a bloody ghost. Sorry, professor." He glanced at Dumbledore with a mock apologetic look.

"Quite fine, Mr. Malfoy," the Headmaster said grimly. "I wanted to ask you whether this afternoon would be a good time to…meet the troops." He smiled sadly as he clapped his gnarled hands together. "I daresay an adequate few signed up in only one day."

Draco folded his arms, breathing deeply. "It's fine," he muttered. He wasn't too eager to work with a bunch of fools, willing to risk their lives against Death Eaters. Especially Muggle-loving fools. "What time, professor?"

"At three, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said, his sapphire eyes twinkling.

Draco, unnerved, whirled around, walking swiftly back to his cold plate of eggs. "So, I suppose you did it to spite your father again? Just do it for one day and leave them all to die?" Zabini's voice asked loudly as he sat down beside Crabbe.

"Shut up, Zabini," Draco snapped, his gray eyes flashing dangerously. Blaise twisted with rage, his fists clenched on the table. "You know nothing about me so don't start being my mother. Shove off and mind your own business. I don't even know why I told you."

"Well, you need someone to set you right because obviously your damn mother isn't!" Blaise yelled, attracting several stares from various tables. He jumped to his feet, his face turning steadily red with anger. He immediately regretted his words as Draco's eyes glistened and his face hardened quickly, shielding the overwhelming wave of emotions drowning him.

"Shut up, Zabini," he retorted lamely. Crabbe and Goyle blinked up at him with eggs on their lips, furrowing their brows in confusion. He stood up, his feet pacing along the floor, hurrying toward the castle doors. He threw them open, the chilling winter bite gnawing at his skin. Draco wrapped his arms around himself, his eyes screwed tight, swallowing the nagging sob in his throat.

"To show emotion is to be weak. Are you weak, Draco? A helpless, pitiful boy?" Lucius hissed in ear. "Malfoys do not cry. We are strong. We are powerful. You put our name to shame, boy. Stop cryingDraco shivered, staring steadily at the shimmering, frozen lake. He wiped his face with his sleeve fiercely, scratching at his stinging face.

"You really shouldn't stand out in the cold…especially without a cloak." Draco snarled impatiently, whirling around, screwing his face in rage.

"Haven't you said enough Zab--" His mouth gaped, startled at the small redhead. "Weasley…what are you doing here? It's not safe." He squeezed his arms tightly to his chest, his heart pounding quickly against his hands. Her compelling eyes peered into his own with unmistakable worry reflected in the brown orbs. We do not associate with inferiors.

"You just bolted out of the room. It's not like anyone didn't hear your argument," she replied dryly. "You weren't exactly…quiet about it, Malfoy." Ginny ran her fingers through her glossy locks, tugging at the tangles cautiously.

"Why did you follow me?" Draco asked sharply, voicing his curiosity. He ran a hand through his hair distractedly, adapting the habit of a familiar Weasel. He immediately dropped his hand to his side limply, shaking his head in despair.

The Weasley sighed heavily, mumbling to herself. "Because," she finally said in a rather pained voice, "you just left. I mean, wouldn't someone follow you to see if you were okay?"

"No," Draco said bitterly. "You don't care about me. No one does." He kicked the snow, his shoes dampened with the melted flakes.

"Well, if you weren't such a ba…jerk," Ginny corrected herself in time. Draco smirked slightly, despite himself.

"You got some mouth, Weasley," he admired. "Never knew you had it in you." Take great care not to tarnish our family name.

"Didn't know much about me in the first place, Malfoy," she said curtly. "Now, can we come in please? If you don't, I will drag you…" Ginny fingered her wand in her pocket threateningly, her eyes flashing. Draco momentarily realized his fingers turned blue, and his teeth chattered loudly.

"No need, Weasel," he said coolly, his feet crunching underneath the snow. "C'mon, I don't want your death to be my responsibility."

Ginny snorted. "Unlikely." Nonetheless, she followed fervently at his heels into the warmth of the entrance hall, her face glowing. She awkwardly hovered near Draco, her ponytail bobbing up and down as she teetered on the balls of her heels. "Well…I'll see you this afternoon… You know being a commander and all." A hesitant look crossed her face as she studied him warily. She diverted her eyes to the floor, rubbing her weathered trainer against the marble.

"You might need to buy new shoes," Draco scoffed with an abrupt malevolence. "Those seem to be a little…worn." He clicked his tongue at the peeling sole on her right foot. "But your father…he hasn't gotten a raise, has he? How many nights has he stayed in the office for hours, earning that one precious Galleon? Might as well snap his wand in half and join the Muggles. Wouldn't you agree? He would fit in with his flying car."

Weasley's face toughened, staring into his gray eyes stonily. "My father works hard to provide us with materials," she said coldly. "He never sleeps and eats until he knows he has an adequate supply of money for us. He loves us. I don't know what life you live…you probably get everything with a snap of a finger. But your parents--they don't love you, do they? They don't give a damn about you. They don't starve for you, they don't work for you, they don't sacrifice anything for you." She turned around, flying into the Great Hall, strands of fire slipping out from behind her ear.

Nonplussed, Draco stared after her. His parents loved him. Weasel didn't know anything about him. Zabini didn't know anything about him. No one understood him. No one. Maybe even he didn't understand himself.

"What is love? Love is nothing to power," he whispered fiercely. "Power is everything." He nodded with satisfaction, winding his way down into the cold dungeons to ponder on his whirlwind of thoughts in his jumbled head.