AN: Tada! Okay, so i had the concept for the rest of this story in my head, but i wasnt planning on finishing it. i was just gonna leave it on the jet plane, but all the cool reviews convinced me to keep going! This is where the story takes a bit of a dark turn, and there will probably be several dark chapters before you see any romantic action. but keep reviewing so they get written!

War is a cold thing. It doesn't breath. It doesn't feel. It doesn't want anything, or need anything. All it does is kill. Lots of killing. That's all war needs. It kills through knives, weapons, wands, hatred, fear, starvation, torture… and there are many other ways a man can die. Many ways most men will never understand.

Draco tossed and turned in his bed, which was nothing more than two hay bells with a blanket draped over them, and another blanket for warmth. He used his arm as a pillow and held his wand tightly in his hand. Pressing into his side and attached tightly to his leg was a worn, red, leather book. In the pocket of his cloak was one fake gold galleon. Next to his bed was a single change of clothes and several magic weapons, as well as a single white mask. These were all the possessions he owned.

He was 24 now, cold and tired from a long struggle. Draco starred blankly ahead, unable to close his eyes after the day, afraid of seeing all the faces of the people he'd killed. Especially tonight.

His tattoo was hurting more so than usual tonight, but it did not surprise him. Dark marks always flared up on the anniversary of the night they were given. The cut across his right eye (which was quickly turning into a scar) was throbbing painfully, willing him to close his eyes, but he refused. Darkness surrounded him and his sleeping companions, the same ones he had always known. Sharing his room with him now was Gregory Goyle and Geoffrey Nott. The empty bed directly to his left was once occupied by the deceased Vincent Crabbe, whom Draco himself had been given the task of killing.

Draco stood from his bed, book securely fastened to his side and wand tightly gripped in his hand. He walked out from the tent to where the fires were still burning. A few Death Eaters were milling about. The sky was dark, with a ting of grey to the east, signaling the coming sunrise. Most fires had gone out, accept for those well kept by their makers. The tents spanned for miles around him, all filled with sleeping Death Eaters.

Draco looked cautiously around him before spotting a head he recognized, bent carefully over a book with a quill in hand. The black curly hair which had once hung brightly around a pale but delicate face was now limp and tangled, and the pale face of a once pretty girl was ashed and thin. The purple eyes remained calm and collected, as the purple charka stone which had once only been attached by a simple adhering spell was now permanently engrained on her forehead glittered. She didn't look up as he sat beside her, instead kept to her writing, though she knew who it was.

"I'm almost done with yesterday. Why aren't you sleeping?" She asked, never slowing her quill.

"Can't." He answered, poking the fire absently.

"Can too. You should heal that eye. It looks gruesome." She commented dryly. Draco rolled his eyes, knowing she was concerned for him, but not caring all the same. It would heal in time, like all wounds. For now, the pain was grounding.

"Why do you bother with that book anyway? Why would anyone want to read the diary of a Death Eater?" He asked, poking the pages of the rather large leather book. It was in good condition, considering all it had been through.

"Why not? Someone should document this war from our side, and I figure I'm the best one for the job. Years from now, they'll be teaching children about this war in Hogwarts, and it would be best if they heard the story from both sides accurately." She closed the book and stopped writing. She wrapped its leather casing around itself and tied it, sealing it with a simple spell. "This war will never be forgotten, nor the people who fought it. No matter the outcome, someone should know what happened here. Just as the people on the other side keep their records, we'll keep ours." She set the book aside calmly and looked up at him for the first time. "You look terrible."

"Thank you. You look lovely yourself." He tossed the stick at her half heartedly.

"Why aren't you sleeping? You need it, you know." She spoke quietly, with a dry humor that Draco sometimes appreciated and others ignored.

"Why aren't you sleeping then?" He asked, picking up his stick and poking the fire again.

"Because I don't need it. I'm a Zeel, remember?" Zeels were creatures that never slept. They were rare, and often discriminated against in the wizarding world. Draco hadn't known Blaise was a Zeel until they had lived together in the Death Eater camp. Zeels, like humans, needed to replenish their body, but they did it through meditation, which didn't take long at all. Purple eyes were a Zeel trademark.

Draco scoffed. "Why am I not sleeping Zabini? You tell me. You're good at that." He whispered quietly, staring at the fire.

"Do you think he actually did it? That he was working for Dumbledore?" She asked, following his gaze.

Draco sighed. "I don't know." He was quiet for a moment. "I can see him with my waking eyes, staring back at me. Pleading. I'd never seen something quite so pathetic in all my life." He tossed the stick into the fire.

"He was… a good friend, nonetheless. I'm sorry Draco." She didn't move or look at him, and neither did he.

"At night I see them. Every person I've killed. The men, the women… the children. They're waiting for me." He paused, unsure. Blaise stood, grabbing her book and her wand.

She turned. "They're waiting for us all."

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"No… no. It isn't true! If it's anyone, it isn't me. I've always been loyal! I'd never betray--" The desperate screams were cut off by another.

"Crucio!" The word echoed around the camp. For a moment, all action stopped in the camp, as the desperate screamed of the young man were heard. Some relished them; others shook in their private terror. Lucious Malfoy walked out of the tent and looked around.

"Let it be known, that no one is to enter here, no matter the screams. No one shall disturb his… peace of mind." He stalked away and out of sight.

And there Vincent stayed for weeks. Lucious lightened the spell and allowed Crabbe to be put on public display as an example to other Death Eaters. The pain of the spell drove him mad. During his lighter periods of punishment he could form words, but the seven syllables of the counter-spell were at all times beyond him.

When Draco was younger, he had thought they were bigger somehow; these people who'd managed to rise above petty rules and reach out their hands to grasp the power that was there for the taking. But here they were, giggling like naughty schoolboys kicking a puppy. It was terrible.

One particular night, Draco walked up to the platform where they had Crabbe tied up. He stood, watching him for a few moments, until Crabbe sensed his presence and looked up.

"Help me." He whispered. Draco felt a sliver of pity for him. He wasn't even sure if Vincent knew who he was at that point. He watched him for a moment, wondering what it must be like, until Crabbe squealed in pain, and Draco turned to face his father, wand in hand.

"Kill him." His father said simply. Draco blinked, and waited.

"Why should I--"

"Because you're the only one who has any pity for him." Lucious said malevolently. Draco glared and pulled out his wand, knowing that if he didn't, his own father would put him to the same fate as Crabbe. "Not that way."

Lucious tossed him a muggle knife, free of any enchantments.

"Do it the old way. For pity's sake." His father egged him on only a little, but it was enough.

As Draco held the knife and stepped towards Vincent, Vincent began to panic.

"No! I haven't done it! I haven't done anything! Let me go home! Let me go home to mama! No more! I've one nothing! NOTHING!"

Draco shot awake. He'd fallen asleep next to the warm fire. It was barely past daylight. He looked around to see everyone heading in the direction of the lead; men who were considered superior and in charge. He began to follow them.

At the lead, a man was already speaking on top of the platform. He had his mask on, but Draco recognized the voice of Nott's father. He found the short figure of Blaise quickly enough.

"What's been said?" He whispered to her.

"We're moving on. The camp in Northborough has been discovered. Half the camps been assigned there, and the rest are going on to the siege." She whispered back. He noticed few Death Eaters were wearing masks at this point, but they would all be wearing them soon.

"The siege?" He whispered back.

"They haven't said where." She answered the unasked question while still watching the man in front.

"We move in an hour! Check your list, and begin preparations, patrons to the Dark Lord!" The man stepped down and the meeting ended.

Draco and Blaise headed towards the lists. Draco spoke his name to the two pieces of paper posted, and Siege appeared across the right one. Blaise did the same, and Siege appeared for her too.

Draco and Blaise exchanged looks and parted to begin to pack their few belongings and take down the camp.

In an hour, all that was left were a few fire pits and the covered footprints of a hundred men.