Next chapter at 300 comments!
  — Dedicated to marieemj88

THE NIGHT BURST into focus with a wicked whip of wind, a crack that — to anyone listening — would signal apparition.
Seven had to take a moment to steady herself from that horrid, pulling feeling that always came with that particular form of magic transport. It felt almost like she'd left some small part of herself behind.

"It won't always hurt the way it does now." Draco said quietly beside her so that only she could hear, "It gets better, I promise."

"How long before it gets better?" She asked.

For a long while he was quiet, then he said, "Sometimes weeks, sometimes years, but the important part is that it does get better. The more you focus on that, the quicker it will come."

  Try as she might, the feeling persisted, curling around her stomach like a snake. Seven grimaced, "Does it hurt you like it hurts me?"

  The edges of his lips tugged upwards into a melancholic mockery of a smile, "More."

For the second time in recent days, the group emerged from an alley, only this time when they stepped from between the buildings there were no factories in sight, no smog-coated flats stacked atop of one another for as far as the eye could see.

For Pride was the district of the rich, where only the very most affluent of the population could afford to live. Homed to many of Lord Voldemort's most valued advisers & supporters, Pride was quite often referred to as the 'Death Eater district'.

  Midnight had been and gone, but darkness still hung about the air like a veil, suffocating the bone-white buildings in shrouds of shadows.

  "Come on." Navy's voice rolled like waves in the night; gone almost as soon as it had appeared, seeming as if the words themselves had fallen away in the same moment they'd been spoken, "It's not far to the checkpoint."

  Even to an outsider, the group of five cloaked figures gliding through the red-brick streets would not have seemed particularly strange, after all, the 'Death Eater district' was not named so for nought.
Despite the lateness, a few lone stragglers still milled about the streets, every now and again Navy would nod or exchange glances with them, and Seven would wonder if they were in on all of this too?
Just how many people were involved at this point?

"Through here."

They ducked down the side of two buildings, jutting out like bone-white flesh wounds from the scarlet pavements. The stark contrast to Sloth made Seven sick — it made her angry; furious. She'd always hated Pride most of all, and every rotten bastard in it.
The people in Sloth were worked until their bones broke and their skin hung in bloody curtains from their knuckles, and even so, most starved.
But the people of Pride didn't even work at all, they lived off a thousand years of generational wealth. They ate what they want and did as they pleased. Spending their days attending balls and shopping and fine dining nightly on food most could only dream of. Nobody in Pride had ever even felt a pang of hunger in all their lives.

  Another hooded figure awaited them at the end of the alley, quickly ushering the group through the door it held open, "Welcome back, Angelina." The voice was light; airy, something about it so distinctly feminine.

"Shh!" Navy hissed, stepping inside, "Quiet girl! How many damn times do I have to tell you not to call me that! — Especially not here, you never know who —," She eyed a strange-looking wall clock, it had the face of a bright-yellow rabbit complete with long, fluffy ears and the clock hands rotated from the creatures button nose. Googly green eyes glared back at Navy as she continued, "— Or what, may be listening."

"Apologies, Navy," The girl grinned as she set down her hood and the door clicked locked, "It's just it's been such an awfully long time since... Well, you know..." She trailed off and Seven tried her best not to stare at her marred face.

  A gruesome three-pronged scar tore down one side of the girl's pale face, right from the top of her forehead, through her eyebrow — through her eye — only trailing off at the very base of her throat where Seven could see no further due to her cloak.
  Then the girl cocked her head unperturbed by the stares, straggly blonde hair falling at her waist. One of her eyes, the one with the scar running through it, was milky-white and sightless, but her other, remaining eye was alight with the softest sense of madness.
  She whispered, "Last time you left we didn't think you were coming back."

Seven caught onto the way she'd said 'we' just in time not to be startled by a second figure appearing behind the blonde girl. An eccentric-looking wizard, much older than the girl herself — her father, possibly, thought Seven.

Navy tipped her head in revered acknowledgement, "Xenophillius."

The man's face cracked into an empty-eyed smile, his daughter's delirium was mild compared to this; Xenophillius looked positively deranged.
  Seven's fingers lingered consciously over her wand, prepared to fight if only he was the violent kind of misguided.
Many had lost their minds after the war, whether it be by overwhelming grief or the rogue remnants of a spell — and Seven had been unfortunate to encounter many of the very worst of them.

"Dad," Said the girl, gentle enough to not ripple water, "Why don't you go back to your writing, you said that you'd like to finish your article by tonight remember, so it will be ready for publishing in the morning?"
  The man's eyes cloud as if recalling, his face falling into a scrunch, then all at once it loosened and the Cheshire Cat smile returned, just as eerie as ever. Just as silently as he had arrived and almost as if sleepwalking, Xenophillius drifted away out of sight, set to return back to his 'article.'

  Seven frowned, what need had anyone for articles nowadays? She knew before the war there had been an abundance of diurnal newspapers, but since, the Daily Prophet had been the only newspaper allowed to continue to be published — and even that was heavily guarded by the Ministry. Seven had dared to read it once and had made it through all of four pages before she burned the damned thing; filled with nothing but page after page of shameless Ministry and Death Eater propaganda.

"Oh, hello." The soft voice cooed, and Seven looked up. The girl was staring straight at her, her seeing-eye so pale blue it could've been silver, whilst her milky eye remained still. "It's very strange seeing you —,"

"— Luna." Navy interjected, her lips pursed, "Keep it together. Don't forget why we're here."

  Luna shook her head as if she had something in her ear, and Seven could've sworn she'd heard her mumble something that sounded awfully like 'Wrackspurts.' "Oh yes, yes of course Angel — Navy. Yes, that's right, please, follow me."

It didn't escape Seven's notice, the way Draco lingered a little too close behind her as they began to trail after Luna through the house. Perhaps for once, he wasn't lying, he really wasn't planning on letting her out of his sight.
And for once, Seven found herself grateful, for this house appeared almost as crazed at its occupants.
As Luna led them through what looked like a living room, Seven could distantly hear a rhythmical tapping — like typing— except far faster than any human fingers could hope move. There was a doorway beyond, left open to reveal a brief glance at Xenophillius, waving his hands like he was conducting an orchestra and mumbling quietly to himself as the keys on the muggle typewriter worked themselves into stamping words on parchment.

Strange, thought Seven.

She almost collided face-first with the back of one of the Weasley boys as he stopped to avoid stepping on a four-legged kettle that scampered across the carpet.

"They're up here." Luna's face was whimsical as she began to climb the spiral staircase, and Seven wondered if, like her father, she was one of the unfortunates to survive a spell at the cost of losing her mind.
Vines curled about the bannisters, blooming with vast arrays of wildflowers and when Seven looked closely into one, she saw a tiny blue pixie, dusted in pollen, asleep amidst the filaments.

Luna waited for them at the apex of the stairs, staring oddly down at George, "I haven't seen a Weasley in years," She said; reminiscent, "How's Ron?"

Just like that, the horrid feeling returned. Seven had almost allowed herself to forget how grief felt until now. It was a lead weight of sorrow, pitting itself inside her like a wicked seed, one that grew to wrap around her chest, constricting as it matured.
With all her might she fought to tear it down, to keep the horrid thoughts at bay, and worse, the images — Ron dead at her feet, by her own hand.

"He's dead." Navy said eventually when neither Weasley could bring themselves to answer.

Seven blinked, instead focusing her sights on thousands of pictures that blared upon the walls. Instead of wallpaper, the entire surface had been plastered with front-page newspaper articles, the title of every one reading, 'The Quibbler.'

They caught up to her and Luna motioned for them to follow her into one of the side rooms, "Oh, that's sad," Luna said distantly, hardly sounding sad at all, though Seven could hardly blame her, there was far too much death in this world not to become accustomed to it. "At least he's sleeping soundly now. We've all been fighting for so long, we can only hope to be envious of the peace he's found."

The room was round and abundant with things. Little cages hung from the high, domed ceiling; except these cages did not have doors, and the insides were decorated with flowers and fur. More pixies danced about them, darting in and out of their hanging homes. On the far side, beneath a canopy of ivory wisps, was a bed. This was her bedroom.

Several other animals lounged about the room. In one corner a bright creature that looked rather like a fluffy pink quaffel, nibbled on the corner of a bookshelf. In another, a brown lump of fur was curled into a ball, looking more like an old woman's hat than a living being.

"You still have your Pygmy Puff," George commented with a smile, watching as the pink thing continued to desecrate the corner of the bookshelf.

"Of course." Luna said, pulling a third creature out from beneath her bed. It squealed in protest, clutching a silver pocket watch between its webbed paws.
Seven knew the creature to be a Niffler, after coming into contact with one of the thieving things a year ago. It had stolen her entire purse for the shiny gold that it held and ran, Seven had chased it, of course, but the creature had darted down a drain — where she could not follow. She'd starved for days because of the Niffler.
Luna pet the creature to calm it and asked, "Does your sister still have hers?"

George's face dropped at once, "No."

"That's a shame, they really are lovely things, very misunderstood —,"

"— Lovegood." Navy said sternly.

"Oh yes, of course, how could I forget." Luna set down the Niffler, which immediately scuttled back under the bed. "Here they are." She said, throwing open a wardrobe.

Seven struggled to stifle a gasp, they all did.

***
QOTD-Any thoughts? Theories?