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 Three

Covering It with Lies

"Zabini?"

His hoarse, cracked voice shattered the quiet of the common room unpleasantly, hovering in his ears. He fiddled with his fingers nervously, masking the evident anxiety on his pale face. Blaise tapped his fingers impatiently on his Transfiguration book, eyes narrowed harshly. "What?" he snarled irritably.

Draco frowned, squirming uncomfortably in his chair. Blaise Zabini was the only boy in Slytherin he counted as a friend, and Draco hated conflicts with the usually jovial fellow. "Can you pass me my Charms book and tell me what the time is?" he asked casually, his eyes fixed steadily on Zabini. Blaise pushed the glossy book roughly across the table to Draco and lifted his head, gazing at the clock on the wall. Snakes intertwined on its edges, their ruby eyes glittering eerily.

"Three, can't you read?" he snapped. He then began scribbling a few words on his roll of parchment.

Draco racked around his mind, searching for the certain event at three. "God, Malfoy! We're late for the training!" Blaise yelped suddenly. He then glowered coolly at Draco. "If you're going, that is."

"I am, Zabini," Draco said defiantly. "Let's go." He jumped to his feet swiftly, his legs pumping up and down struggling to race against time. Blaise followed at his heels, panting heavily as they scrambled up the steps, emerging into the entrance hall. Draco paused, pondering on where the meeting was held.

"It's in the Room of Requirement," offered Blaise impatiently. He shoved past Draco angrily, his feet stomping on the cold marble floor. "Follow me, Malfoy."

"Arse," Draco uttered furiously, his voice carrying to Zabini's ears. He smiled with satisfaction as Blaise's back tensed. "Bloody idiot." Blaise's neck reddened, and his fists clenched tightly. Draco smiled with amusement, tailing Zabini as his pace quickened.

Their footfalls echoed in the deathly silent corridors, a sullen atmosphere hovering above them. Draco cautiously gripped his wand in his pocket, his heart beating quickly in his heart. He sidled beside Blaise, his gray eyes roaming the castle walls, drinking in every flickering shadow and sunbeam filtered on the floor. He skidded to a halt as he briefly spotted Zabini twisting a doorknob open.

"Malfoy, get your scrawny arse over here," he said loudly, pushing the door. A chorus of laughter poured from the slowly widening crack in the door, unveiling a sea of faces blinking at Blaise and Draco.

Pink tinged his cheeks as he slipped into the room, bathed with the flickering fire from the hearth. The stone walls stretched for miles, accommodating the crowds of sixth and seventh years easily with yards to spare. Draco stepped toward Potter standing upon a podium with a glare on his gaunt face. He stumbled slightly, staring down at the many cushions littering the floor.

"You're late, ferret boy." Draco smirked at Ron Weasley with his sister hovering closely behind him. "Afraid to show your arse?"

"Why would I?" he sneered. We do not associate with inferiors. "Unlike you, Weasel, I'm not ashamed of myself. I understand that you are embarrassed of your dumpy mother…and honestly, why show your face when all you have is rags as robes?" His smirk widened at the memory of his frilly, maroon dress robes.

"I don't think so," her voice piped up. He stared at her marvelous, freckled face, his mouth hanging slightly open. Blazing red tendrils framed her face, and she donned a casual pair of worn jeans, boasting her stunning curves. Her voice itself dripped with honey and glazed with splendor. He blushed slightly, pursing his mouth closed.

"You should be ashamed," Ginny said with renewed vigor. "You're jealous because you have no family. Your parents don't love you. Your father is in Azkaban and your mummy doesn't care about you, isn't that right?" A hushed silence fell, following her ruthless words. An intense flame flickered in her brown eyes as they locked with Draco's cool gray ones.

Draco swallowed, his throat contracting tightly. "Y-you said that already, Weasel," he choked out, his eyes burning.

Her large orbs examined him, a tint of guilt seeping into them. Or perhaps, fury? Draco shook it off, abruptly shoving past the Weasleys, joining Potter on the dais. He inclined his head slightly to Potter, his lips set in a taut, grim line.

"Malfoy," Potter said nodding in acknowledgement. "Since you're a bit late, let me fill you in." Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "You're to train the sixth years. I'm training the seventh. We were about to divide up into the two troops, one on the left side and the other on the right. The room is large enough for space to practice dueling. Got that or do you need me to go slower? I know you might not comprehend it as much."

Draco regarded him condescendingly. "I understand very clearly, Potter," he said slowly, "just stay off my turf and it'll be fine." The huddle of students grumbled as they untangled, marching to their designated area.

"Don't count on him staying, Potter," Blaise's voice said raucously.

Anger brewed in the pits of his stomach. "Hey, Zabini!" he snarled hastily. "I'm staying in this army, and this isn't about me anymore. It's about You-Know-Who." He smirked at Blaise's stunned expression. It was all a lie, of course, to spite Blaise and his father. Draco embedded his guilt deep inside of him, burying it with his harsh façade. He strode toward his group, drinking in their glum faces.

"Stand up straight!" he barked suddenly. Startled, the troop straightened their shoulders, a few glaring nastily at him, Ginny Weasley among them. "I am your commander as of now. We will start by practicing our aiming." He conjured a few targets, digging up a few charms from the corners of his mind. "Line up!" The sixth years lingered in their places, gawking blankly at Draco. "I said LINE UP!"

They immediately formed three lines before the target, their wands clutched in their hands. "Aim any curse at the targets and try to hit the centers. If you miss, go to the back of the line and keep trying until you hit the center. If you succeed, join me at the side. GO!" A flurry of curses sprung off the walls and shot through the outer rims of the target. The three dejectedly slumped to the back of the line. "GO!" A green beam pierced through the center perfectly while the others rocketed about the room, narrowly missing Draco's head.

"Ah, Weasel," he said identifying the caster. He stood before her, towering down her thin figure. "Why don't you do that again?" Ginny pointed her wand easily at the target, her spell blasting through the center again. "Again." She succeeded. "Why don't you do it faster? A good soldier can cast several spells in a minute." Weasley smiled coolly at him before flourishing her wand. Draco leaned close to her ear. "Faster. Faster. Faster. FASTER!" Rather flustered, Ginny glared up at him, shooting another curse. "FASTER! FASTER! FASTER!" Her spell keeled to the side, veering off target by a few feet.

Draco glared at her. "You aren't ready," he said harshly. "Keep practicing." Ginny glowered at him, narrowing her eyes. "And don't give me attitude." She stomped to the back of the line, allowing the next group to flick their wands at the targets.

By the end of the hour, Draco trained the troop into frustration. His constant voice spat in their ears as they struggled to concentrate on aiming for the target. None managed to pass his tests and join him at the side to relax. They all slumped to the back again dejectedly with infuriation. Draco followed their gaze to Potter's troop that eagerly reviewed a few simple curses, in his opinion.

The army trudged out of the Room of Requirement as Potter announced the end of the training. "Malfoy, you were too hard," he said as they flooded out of the door. "You should've taught them a few new spells instead of yelling at them." He frowned deeply.

"Potter, you fought in that battle," Draco growled. "You know what it's like. I'm preparing them for a real battle. Do you think they can concentrate on their targets in all that noise? Dumbledore isn't always going to be there to save their skin."

He glanced at Ginny who watched them curiously. Her face crumpled into a fierce look as her eyes landed on his face. She quickly walked out of the room. A sudden impulse drove Draco to follow her, his hand grabbing her wrist to stop her. Tingles ran through his fingertips, causing him to shudder. "Get off, Malfoy!" she snarled maliciously. He dropped her arm, a blush creeping to his cheeks.

"Look," he said, breathing heavily, "I want to say something." She looked up at him expectantly, her striking eyelashes fluttering as she blinked. An awkward hush floated in the air as Draco gaped at Ginny. His hand twitched as it yearned to touch her soft skin again. "I'm…sor--" We do not associate with inferiors. He closed his mouth. "I'll see you at the next meeting…"

"Okay," Ginny said raising an eyebrow. She whirled around, her feet carrying her slowly down the corridor. She started to turn the corner when she turned her head toward Draco. "Um…hey, Malfoy, I'm sorry about those things I said earlier."

"Yeah, I am, too," Draco said immediately, blushing. She gave him a dazzling smile before disappearing behind the wall. Malfoys do not associate with inferiors. He groaned to himself. How did a Weasley drive him to make a fool out of himself? What charm did Ginny Weasley on him? Nothing. Or maybe something.