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TWs - EDs

BODIES PRESSED IN on them from all sides. The reek of a thousand different perfumes assaulted Seven's senses and caused her head to spin with the ghastly rich sweetness.

She clutched Draco's hand like a lifeline, dreading the thought of getting lost in this crowd. They stayed close to one another as they wound their way through the thick mess of people. Navy and the two Weasley brothers had split off from them a while back — Navy and George to play fiancés, and Bill to meet with Seamus Finnegan and inform him of their arrival and so begin to initiate the first stages of the plan.

Pride's pearly white mansion sprawled atop marble steps above them, just as glorious and overdone as expected.
This place was strange, but the people were certainly stranger. Seven would've thought that being part of the richest district, that they would've been above all the pushing and shoving she would've expected from a place like Sloth, but apparently, they were not.

Talk hummed, drowning out the lull of music somewhat. And as Seven glanced over her shoulder she could only be thankful that at least they were near to the front of the crowd.

The well-groomed men animated themselves with raucous displays of laughter, many of which held hungry-eyed women on their arms.
These women were angular with bones and had a harshness in the hollows of their cheeks that should have no place in a district like this. She frowned. They had food, yet still, they starved. They had everything they could ever want, and yet still, they looked despairing.

Seven didn't let herself look at them any longer, didn't allow herself to think what their fates may be after tonight.
Instead, she stared out beyond the crowd, past statue-carved the fountains and every colour flowers, to the place where the hedges grew thick and tall.

The maze. That was to be the pinochle of the night — or so they said. For at exactly midnight the ball would halt and all inside would venture out to the gardens, and it was then that the games would begin.

Supposedly at the centre of the maze, lay a prize, though it was anybodies guess as to what the prize was. Even Navy's informants had been unable to uncover it.

  •  •  •

  THEY ENTERED WITH EASE, their heads held high and their arms intertwined, as any Lord and Lady may.
  The mask of calm amid such impending chaos seemed to come so innately to Draco, for he practically glided across those floors, a dangerous conviction in each and every step. He looked like he belonged here, amongst these people, in this house, with her on his arm.
To Seven, however, the grace did not come quite so naturally. It took all her strength not to gawp at the vast marble-white expanses of Pride's mansion, a beauty paralleled by no other, with its pale stone pillars and in the middle of the foyer, a five-man-wide staircase leading to the floors above.
The fingers of her free hand twitched, itching for the familiar safety of her wand as they followed the stream of people through the halls.

The gaunt faces of the Pride aristocracy almost seemed to blend in with the walls, a stark contrast to the bright and colourful outfits they wore. Seven saw plum-coloured suits and shoulders draped with pink feather boas, grande hats filled with vast arrays of plumage, and more glitter than her eyes could comprehend. And then, she saw something else.

It happened so fast that she told herself she must have imagined him. There, in the corner grinning at her, with a flash of pearly teeth and close-cropped hair, a peacock-green mask obscuring the upper portion of his sable face.

But that's all it was, a flash. And then he was gone. All that was left was the words he'd once said echoing through Seven's mind.

A secret worth seeking is a secret worth keeping.

It couldn't be, she told herself. For the man she believed herself to have seen had no business here in Pride. At least, she hoped not — because if it truly was him, their plans were about to get a hell of a lot more complicated.

"Did you see that?" Her eyes were still fixed on the spot where the man had been.

  What little of Draco's face was visible was dark, fixed with grim determination, "I hope not." He didn't stop to look back at the empty space, didn't let it slow him in the slightest. The halls continued for what felt like miles, until finally, they ended in a set of double doors, pushed open to reveal the colossal ballroom beyond.
The gentry spilt into the cavernous expanse like water tipped from a glass, dispersing themselves at even intervals about the room as they sought out friendly and familiar masked faces.

The ceiling was a great glass dome, cast heavenly with starlight and limning the ball below with an eternal glow.
The music was loudest here, and most beautiful too. A piano melody curled about the air, light and restless as those who threw themselves into practised dance beneath it.
Great fountains erupted oceans of blood-red wine, and some of the nobility stood beneath them; with their lips stained scarlet and their glasses raised in grape-fuelled greed as boundless ends of wine poured into them.

"Lady De Winter," Said Draco with a strange sense of apprehension. When Seven turned his eyes were on her, drinking in the grace of the femme fatale he'd sworn himself to hate.
He took his time, studying her as if for the first time again, a new hue finding her beneath the starlight. He looked longingly, stuck in the moment, as if, for them, the world would wait and time would cease to pass.
And only then, when he was sick on the sight of did he speak again; heart-drunk and foolish as any falling man may be, "Will you dance with me?"

She nodded. "Yes."

In less than an hour, they would leave Pride's mansion, they would run to the lip of the maze where Seamus Finnegan would be waiting, and a little after, this place would be nothing more than rubble and dust.
  At this very moment in time, Bill and Seamus were strategically placing explosives around not only the ballroom but also the entire rest of the mansion.
  Navy and George's role was to act as a lookout for them, playing a couple enamoured by the many portraits and paintings that lined Pride's halls, when in reality, they were making sure nobody discovered Bill and Seamus.

  Draco and Seven's job was to wait for and then monitor the location of the two Sins; Sloth and Pride, set to arrive at any given moment, fashionably late to their own party — just as expected.

  She pressed herself tightly to him, and in turn, he took her by the waist, hoping that the closeness would serve as a distraction.
  "Like this," He said with a small smile, correcting her form so that her right hand was in his and her left on his shoulder.

   She held her breath, and his fingers dug into her waist; a squeeze of reassurance, "Relax," Whispered Draco, a boyishness finding the corners of his lips, "It's just dancing, Seven."

  "I am relaxed!" She gave a frustrated huff and he laughed. Soon they began to move, drifting across the dance floor like birds to a lake, weaving in and out the gentry as they danced and drank and laughed as if every last one of them would not be dead in an hour.

His hand was warm and steady in hers; an anchor amidst the wicked turbulence that raged inside her chest. Her heart pounded, she felt it in her throat, like it may leap from her or erupt into an unstoppable scream. Seven clenched her teeth, determined not to make a sound.

  Their movements were slow; deliberate. He raised an arm, spinning her gently before bringing her back to his chest. Seven could feel the beating of his heart beneath her fingertips, relieved to find it was just as strong and erratic as her own.

  She stared up at him; ablaze with want and wonder. Though something sharp bit into the softness of her heart, like teeth into an apple — the fractured shards of a memory.

  After all, they'd danced before, on a balcony beneath the stars. And he'd kissed her then; if she closed her eyes she could still taste the sickly sweet breath of him, like a ghost of the past begging to be lived.

  The memory fast became cloying on her tongue to the point of bitterness, she remembered how that night had ended too.
  Seven cast her eyes to their interlocked hands, where his ring glinted alongside her own. That was the night he'd told her about his fiancé.
  She still remembered the way it felt as if the air itself had shattered around them, daggered and irreparably and awful, like the stars would fall and the sun would never rise again.

  Suddenly the confines of Seven's dress felt suffocating, her breathing hitching, a sob caught in her throat, emotion swelling up inside her.

  The longer she looked, the more monster than man Draco seemed to become, the more her blood seemed to boil and her wounds to reopen.
In her mind moments flooded past like a dam had just broken, and all at once, she was drowning. All the pain he'd caused, all the heartache, the agony.
Was it worth it? She didn't know, deathly afraid of what the honest answer may be. Deep down she knew it, kept it there, buried deep, never to surface.

  They had a job to do.

  The song ended and she tore herself away, blanching back as if practically scorched by his touch. Perhaps it would've been easier if she were scorned by his touch, at least that way she could stay away.

  He was the curse, the wretched, poisoned, killing thing that for some reason, she couldn't get enough of. Every time she drank down another taste of him it always ended fatally.
And yet somehow, he was also the cure, the singular thing holding her together, healing her just to hurt her all over again; but healing nonetheless.

And in those brief moments, in the dead of night or the solace of their silence when he wanted her too, in those small moments of kindness; when he loved her, it made it all worth it. She'd let him kill her a thousand times over if only it meant that he'd find some joy in her company.

  The absence of him was almost as agonising as the presence. Her palms twitched and her skin bristled, innately seeking his. Seven clutched her dress to steady the shaking.

  Draco frowned down at her with a curious look.

  She opened her mouth to answer the unspoken question. She had handfuls of letters and syllables, yet no way to articulate them. Nothing came. And then they fell altogether, scattering across the marble floors, abandoning her in a moment of need, just as all things seemed to.

  Salvation came in an unusual form; silence. Without warning a hush settled over the ball, not a soul daring to disobey the stern quiet. Even the music faltered, fearing the two new figures that had entered.

  Seven looked up, straining to see over the crowd as the music started anew. Draco saw what she couldn't, and without a word pulled her close, holding her tightly even despite her protests.

  For amongst them now were the Sins; Pride and Sloth.

QOTD- What's your star sign?