SOMETHING HAD CHANGED, —she was sure of it. Though try as she might Seven couldn't quite work out which of the posters it was that had changed this time.

  She stared at them indignantly, rain pounding down around her, beating into her bruises and slicking her hair. Enchanted ink didn't dare smear the perfect portraits of agony before her.

  She knew their faces and by now she knew them well. She'd seen them almost everyday for the past two years by now. At first she'd never paid them much mind, for what was the point? —Seven knew no one, much less the foreign faces of those who had rebelled back in the dark days before the war.

  —But as time passed she found herself more and more drawn to the posters. She still had the two posters she'd stolen of the boy and the girl tucked away in the recesses of her purse, she'd almost forgotten about them.

  She debated telling her new ally about them, and the leads that came with them, a path to the destruction of Sloth herself. —But still she scarcely knew him; she didn't even know his name come to think of it.

  Seven had never really believed in a God, and if he did exist then she thought him cruel and not worthy of worship, —but she knew that if you spoke of the devil then he shall appear, and in that moment it appeared true as she felt his presence, lingering at the edge of the alley way.

  He smelled like home. —Like rain and smoke and freshly washed laundry, wrapping around Seven like a comforting embrace and making her want to bury her face into his chest. He smelled safe.

  "Do you recognise any of them?" He was beside her now, but Seven couldn't tear her eyes from the posters.

  "No." —And it was then she realised which one had changed, the third one from the right, fourth row down. A round-faced boy, with sturdy hazel eyes. "...Do you?"

[Neville Longbottom]

"No." He said firmly, entirely unreadable to all but himself.

Seven stared at the face of Neville Longbottom, now redacted by a thick red slash. He'd been captured, possibly killed, no doubt even if by some miracle he was still alive, it wouldn't last long. It was only a matter of days or weeks until they slit his throat and hung him with the rest in the Great Hall. After a while Seven spoke, "...Who were you before all this? —before the war?..."

For a long time she feared he may never answer, as her words slowly faded into the silence, washed away by the rain.

"...Just a boy, a nobody."

Seven frowned at his response, the rain causing a bitter chill to settle over her, "So who are you now?"

"I'm not entirely sure." His face was dark, every line drawn hellish in the fine light, his pale hair slick with the weight of the rain, the colour of smoke and ash and ire.

She scarcely allowed herself to hope, but the words left her lips before she could stop them. "Are you... —Are you like me?"

"No." He gave a small laugh, a golden sound that was gone just as soon as it as appeared. "—I know my name and every memory I ever made, only, I wish I didn't."

"What is your name?"

He turned to her with a look Seven couldn't quite decipher, rain crawling down his cheeks like tears, but there was no felt behind his grey eyes. "Draco."

Seven didn't react, but deep down, somewhere deep inside she felt something stir.

When she didn't speak, his face seemed to turn even darker though Seven doubted that was even possible at this point. "Come, I need to show you something."

• • •

INSIDE SEVEN'S HOTEL room the TV blared, and it took a moment for her eyes to become accustomed to the burning blue light of the news report.

"—Look."

She didn't need to see the screen to get the gist of what was going on, as Draco draped himself across the old leather armchair just as he had the first, —well technically second, time they'd met.

Tonight there would be an execution.

Seven perched on the edge of her bed, watching with baited breath for the reveal of tonight's sacrifice, unconsciously digging her nails into her palms in angst. She thought of the newly redacted poster, —of the boy, Neville Longbottom, but when eventually the figure was lead through the hall, a black bag fastened over his head, Seven knew this was more than just an ordinary killing.
  —This, this was so much more.

It took two men to hold him, and his arms were tightly bound behind his back, a silver curse around his wrists, his exposed flesh ravaged by scratches and untold nights of torture.

  They dragged him up to the gallows, where Dumbledore himself once stood, only now the traitor stood before the Dark Lord himself, Death-Eaters and faithfuls alike baying at his feet. This was not just any execution, —this, was the execution of a Sin.

When they pulled the bag from his head to reveal an all too familiar face, Seven couldn't stifle her gasp fast enough. "—That's impossible..."

He was dead, Seven was sure of it. After all she had killed him herself... Hadn't she?
But nonetheless Lust stood before the crowd, his face emotionless as he was forced to his knees, a wicked cut running the length of his handsome face, from his brow to his jaw, and at the corner of his eye his tan skin hinted violet.

"But he's..." Seven began only to fall short.

"—Dead?" Draco finished for her. "...I know."

Seven could feel the change in atmosphere even through the screen as the crowd fell silent, and all heads turned at once. —And there he was, the hooded figure that sight alone struck fear into an entire nation.

  His long black robe trailed the floor, his face concealed in shrouds of darkness and his hands covered by fine leather gloves. He held no wand, he didn't need to, —only the cruel-looking dagger clutched between his fingertips, gold hilt catching in the candle light.

"Notice how Lust died days ago, and yet still they haven't announced his death to the public..." Draco said quietly but Seven couldn't respond, unable to tear her eyes from the screen. "—They're going to paint him as a traitor."

  Dread coursed thick through Seven's veins as she watched the vile display. Wrath approached the platform with sickening ease, a deft hand slipping under the traitorous Sin's chin, readying the blade against his throat with his other hand, —waiting for the command.

  The Dark Lord gave a slight bow of his head, and just like that a dead man died all over again.

  Wrath carved crimson across Lust's throat. He did not die instantly, —no, a quick death would've been far too kind for a blood traitor. Instead he knelt for a moment, gurgling his last breaths, eyes suddenly wide with fear, and his lips moved as if to speak but only scarlet left his tongue, splattering the floor before him, thick and rich and beautiful in some sick way.

  As two members of the same elite coalition, the two Sins must've at least known each other, and Seven couldn't help but wonder if maybe they had even been friends once, sat opposite one another during fine dinners and political meetings. She as she suppressed the urge to vomit as Lust finally fell with nauseating thud.
Her fingers trembled and her voice was unsteady as she asked the only question she could manage in that moment, "Is this live?"

Draco shrugged, apparently unfazed by the brutal killing he'd witnessed just moments prior. "Who knows, —apparently it is, but then again they've just lied to an entire nation about the death of a Sin, I think that makes them more than capable of falsifying time stamps too, don't you think?"

"What do you mean they lied?" Her dark eyebrows knit together, hardly even allowing herself to comprehend all the possible implications of what he'd just said. "...Are you saying Lust's not dead?"

"No. He's dead, you of all people should know, —you killed him yourself."

  Seven's stomach dropped. "How did you—?"

  "—It doesn't matter." He cut her off, "—But what does is that they're sending us a message. They want to show that they're replaceable, —the Sins, that no matter how many times we kill them they'll keep coming back, united and stronger than ever.... —But they're not. It's all a lie."

  "What do you mean?" She felt dizzy, head sick with words, —with the knowledge that how hard she'd fought to get as far as she had, was possibly all for nothing. She'd traveled for weeks to meet Lust, trained for months, and now they were just going to replace him?

  Draco eyed her for a moment; unreadable. "The original sins can never be replaced... They're Horcruxes, to replace the ones the rebels destroyed during the war."

  "—But even so that doesn't explain that!" She gestured to the screen, now filled with static. "Lust's dead, —I mean, I killed him, how is it possible..."

  "It's not that complicated," He scoffed, "They took his body, made a Polyjuice Potion from it and then forced it on one of the rebels that was set to be executed anyways."

  That explained Wrath's new found method of destruction, the dagger. Never before had Seven witnessed an execution that was not done by magic or hanging, and even so, if it was a previously influential figurehead to be killed they always left the body. When they killed the previous Envy, they left his body hanging from the beams of the Great Hall until his skin slipped with rot and his bones began to fall. —But straight after Lust's death, right before the camera cut away, Seven saw two men, dressed in black, coming in to take the body away.

  It seemed to confirm exactly what Draco was saying, for if they really had faked Lust's body with a Polyjuice Potion, then it was only a matter of hours until it wore off and exposed their lie

  "But why? —Why go to all this trouble? Why not just announce him dead and be done with it? —Instead they go to all this effort to portray him as a traitor and then kill him off themselves?"

  His face turned ashen, "If they kill him, it shows strength, —control, —power." A knowing smile tugged story the corner of his mouth, "—If we kill him, it will expose how weak they really are. The system as we know it will fall apart." He leaned towards Seven in his seat, resting his forearms on his knees, "...God forbid people realise that the sins can be killed, if they did, what would stop them rising up and killing all of them just like you? —With all his Horcruxes destroyed it would leave Voldemort vulnerable."

Seven flinched at the name but nonetheless understood what she had to do. "So who's next?"

Draco smirked, a sick little twinkle glinting in the hollows of his pale eyes, "Gluttony."

***
Who do you think Lust was? (There was evidence in previous chapters of his identity) -TFOA