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  — Dedicated to AlanaWoodss

  "IT'S TIME." Announced Navy, standing and brushing her palms down the lap of her gown; golden as the horizon of a newly born morning. If Seven was the stars, Navy was certain to be the sun.

  The hours since the early morning had passed incredibly slow. Most of it had been spent sat in the relative silence of Luna's living room, the sound of her manic father's type writer beating quietly through the hall. He hadn't stopped, not for a second.

  At one point Navy had pulled Draco from the room and Seven had strained to work out their harsh words through the relative hush.
  Draco hadn't stopped staring since they'd gotten ready, and she thought perhaps the rebel leader had finally had enough. She wouldn't blame her — she'd certainly had enough too.
  Something about the look in his eyes made her skin crawl. A strange and complex emotion, unlike anything she'd ever seen before.

  "She's not fucking wearing that. She can't... Navy — please, I can't —,"

  "Yes. She is." Navy's sharp voice was easier to comprehend than the begging that proceeded it. "You need to get ahold of yourself, Draco. Don't let your emotions cloud your judgement, we have a job to do! Once this is all over you two can tear all seven districts to the ground with your fighting for all I care! But not here! Not now."

  There was a long pause after that. Then Draco hissed, "Someone's listening."

  After that the voices disappeared down the hall, but certainly the argument continued as they did not return straight away. When at last they reentered frustrated lines fixed Navy's face into a ferocious scowl and Draco would no longer look at her.

  That was how the hours passed after that. Silent. Slow. Bleeding painfully as if they were an old wound, only spilling when provoked.

  "Remember," Said Navy, pulling Seven from her thoughts and dragging her into that living moment as she fastened her golden mask, obscuring the top part of her face, and signalling for the others to do the same, "Keep your wands and wits about you, wait for the signal. You know what to do then. And don't forget, if you need it the spell is Vera Verto."

  They all nodded — Luna a little too vigorously as her mask fell off and she hastened to retie it. Seven stared down at her own mask, green as her dress and accented with little aureate threads. She fumbled with the ribbons behind her head for a while, failing several times to manage a knot through her thick mess of hair that had been tied up into a bun at the apex of her head. Tendrils of the dark-red hair cascaded down, getting in the way as she worked.
  Then right as she was seriously contemplating dashing the damned thing across the room, Draco hissed, "Oh for fucks sake this is painful — just give it here."

  Ordinarily, she would've taken utmost pleasure in telling him exactly where he could stick the mask — however, time was a luxury they could not afford to waste. The rest of the group stood waiting, watching as he tied the mask for her.

  Draco's hands, sinfully warm and ruefully callused, brushed against her neck. A tender gesture? Seven sucked in a breath, no, she told herself, he was just moving her hair out of the way.
  Still, as his deft fingers worked the knot, she felt his closeness like a forest would a fire. Everything screamed danger. Get away. Run.
He'd fooled her once, she wouldn't ever let him close enough to give him the change to try again. The aching feel of him was still sore in her memory, and sorer still on her skin. His claim etched in blood beneath the beauty of the dress, though the tapered edge of one of the bloody lines still peaked out over her breast.

  Even the subtle fan of his breath against the back of her neck made her head ring like a warning bell. It felt like forever. It felt like too long. It felt like forever was not long enough. She wanted to shove him away. She wanted to pull him close. She hated him. She —

  "Done." His hands dropped and he stepped back.

  Her face burned, scolded by her own inner-monologue, so she busied herself with fixing her wand, making sure it was firmly secured and hidden in the centre boning of her corset.
The high slits over both her thighs made it far more difficult than usual to conceal her daggers but still she managed it, opting instead to wear them at the sides of her garter as opposed to the front. The garter itself could easily be passed off as part of the get up, after all the latest elitist fashions of Pride were always slyly derived from those of the Lust district, though thinly veiled and priced ten times over.

"Dad and I will see you there," Said Luna as she showed the group to the door. Navy opened her mouth as if to speak but Luna continued, already knowing what it was she would say, "And don't worry, I'll be sure to get him out before the signal and then after that I'll come find you. I promise."

  George's face was mellow, his mind weighed down by a lifetime of grief as he said, "Stay safe, Luna. I mean it."

  Beneath the mask her scarred face switched with the faintest ghost of a smile, "Always do."

•  •  •

  EVEN FROM WHERE they stood, three blocks away from Pride's mansion, the blare of music carried over them. Though not the deep, bass booming kind that permeated the streets of the Lust district — instead this was an entirely different breed of sound. The sort that told of live instruments, more than Seven had ever heard before, all in one place and all at once. An orchestra.

  "Do you feel that?" Whispered Bill, rubbing his arms as if cold despite the pleasant night.

  "Magic." Replied Draco , eyes fixed and frowning dead ahead, "We're close."

  Seven felt it too, that strange static buzz that hung about the air and settled on her skin like a mist, more powerful and concentration than she had ever felt before. It made the small well of nervousness within her churn; manifesting itself into a whole other emotion entirely, one that the buried deep — smothering it before it could be felt. Fear.

  The long lengths of her dress glistened like a thousand constellations beneath the street lamps and her heels tapped dissonant rhythm with Navy's. Though not at all short herself in heels, Seven still had to crane her neck to look up at Draco, who'd resigned himself to avoiding her at all costs.
  She walked alongside him in silence for a time, with the dull murmur of Bill and George chattering behind them, only interrupted by Navy's occasional chides.

  Just as she'd spent the past months pretending to be his fiancé, tonight was no different. On this day they were to play the parts of Lord and Lady De Winter, born, bred and raised into the aristocracy of the Pride district, and invited to the ball by the Sin himself.
  Luna had given each of them a handwritten invite — fraudulent, of course. Though Seven had to admit, they looked pretty real. She'd bought and used worst herself from the black markets in Sloth — paid a pretty penny for them too — and still successfully gotten into any ball or party she'd ever wanted to.

  "Do you remember the spell?" Draco asked, beneath the mask his eyes narrowed onto the thin stream of gentry visible in the distance, spilling from their homes and onto the streets like colourful ants.

  "Of course." Her voice was tight, hardly able to speak through the knotted that formed in her throat the louder the music became — the closer they came. She cleared her throat, "Yes."

    "Good." It didn't sound good at all, in fact, Draco sounded as if nothing could be worse. Was he nervous too? She wondered. He took a deep breath, "And by my side, no matter what, I want you in my sight at all time."

  "Well that might be difficult," Seven grumbled under her breath, "— Considering you won't even look at me."

  Beside her Draco tensed, despite the mask she could still see the firm lines drawing themselves into the corners of his eyes, into the terse set of his lips, "I'm trying my best, Seven."

  At first she didn't understand. She stared openly at him, like he was a puzzle that if she looked long enough she could discern. Only he was not, and the more she looked the more she hurt, until finally, he looked at her too.

  Draco had never been one for clarity; for closeness. He'd forced her into the shadows more times than she could count, and all so she didn't see exactly what stood before her now. A boy. Broken and sad. How was it that even when half his face was obscured by a mask this seemed to be the most of himself he'd ever allowed her to see.

  He looked tired, so incredibly tired, and a regretful exhaustion tugged downwards at his limbs, like he bore the weight of the world upon them. Like all the fight had long drained from him. How long had he been pretending?

  "Hey." She said softly. Half expecting him to recoil, she expected him to shove her away at any moment — to call her stupid, foolish for misreading him. Perhaps he didn't want her pity, and she wasn't about to give it to him. This was different. This was understanding. She felt it too. "It's okay." She said, and before she could think of what she was doing, or what consequence may follow, she slid her hand into his, "We'll be okay, we've got this."

  He didn't pull away as he stared down at their joined hands, thinly-veiled in his surprise. But he didn't push her away. Instead, he sighed, giving her hand a small squeeze.
  "I know."

***
QOTD- What's your favourite quote from this story so far?
Sorry!! Next chapter will be the ball I promise but I just wanted Seven and Draco to have this little moment🥺