Next chapter at 100 votes, and trust me — it's one you're going to want to vote for ;) Dedicated to malfoyseclipse

  SEVEN'S BROWS KNIT down into a frown, "But... Why the tattoos? Surely those are memories you'd rather forget?"

  "Even if I could take away every tragic memory I'd ever made, I wouldn't." Draco sounded eerily calm; almost rehearsed. Was this the speech that he told himself on those sleepless nights when the nightmares crept in? "There's nothing worse than forgetting." He said, then seemed to regret the particular choice of words, as for a moment he looked dejected. "I don't want to ever lose focus on what I'm fighting for — who I'm fighting for."

  There's nothing worse than forgetting.

  Seven had witnessed some of the most horrific acts known to man, the true cruelty of the human condition.
  She'd seen children torn away and mothers struck dead with young still wrapped in their arms, some in their stomachs.
  She'd seen lovers violated and fathers beheaded before their daughters. Could forgetting possibly be worse than that?
  All she knew was that if she could, she'd forget those memories in a heartbeat.

  Seven had always told herself that memories were the real curse —  a curse that she wished desperately to possess, but a curse nonetheless.

  Draco's grief fuelled his ambition, and his memories were the just petrol to his flame. He'd said it himself, he had nothing and no one left, and what could be more dangerous than a man who had nothing to lose?

  — Only a girl who'd already lost it all and stood the world to gain. A girl who had to claw, fight and bleed for every second she had earned . A girl who'd lost it all, and yet hadn't. Could it really be classed as a loss if she couldn't not even recall what was missing?

  Seven did not grieve. Not for her mother, not for her father — because she knew she must've had a family, at least once upon a time.
  Some nights, when the nightmares had been especially cruel, her thoughts would drift to them. Had they tucked her in? Had they ever stayed with her, waiting for the moment the terrors came for her. Had they warded them off? Had they fought for her?

  The girl who had no memories to cry for, was the most dangerous of all. She felt nothing. She had no petrol, and so she made her own. She became the fuel, but in doing so she'd also become the flame.

  "Do they all have meanings?" She asked quietly, eyes instantly drawn to one of the peaked turrets that curled around his rib cage, only slightly visible from the front. The moon had shifted, seemingly fuller than before.

  "Yes."

"What about that one?" Without thinking she found herself reaching out, to touch the art just as she had the willow, aching to watch it unfold and unravel beneath her touch. She wanted to see him come undone. But most of all, she wanted to be his undoing.
The stars flared like sparks and he grabbed her wrist, her hand hesitating moments away. He looked down upon her; just as austere and unreadable as always. "Not that one — at least, not yet."

  Seven's tongue fumbled over words, embarrassment pooling in her cheeks. "Sorry I — I don't know what came over me."

  The faintest trace of amusement laced his lips. He looked younger this way, lighter, without the crushing weight of the world on his shoulders, "You're blushing."

  She knew damn well she was, scowling fiercely at him and wishing away the heat that only seemed to multiply tenfold. "I am not."

That did it, and in some small way he came undone, face cracking into a devastating mess of white-blonde hair and strictly wicked intent. He leaned closer, not even attempting to hold back the smirk that made her knees weaken. "Do I make you nervous, Seven?"

  Yes. She wanted to scream. He was close. So close that she debated stabbing him again — anything to rid the horrid trembling that vibrated in her fingertips and that tight, curling feeling in the pit of her stomach. But he'd survived the first, and perhaps a second attempt would end in even greater humiliation if he survived again.

  Seven took a breath, steadying herself, donning the mask that they both knew all too well and answering firmly, "No." Grateful that her voice didn't shake the way her heart did.

  Draco scoffed, not backing away. If anything he pressed closer, cocking his head as if she were a riddle he couldn't quite decipher. A toy that wasn't his but that he refused to put down nonetheless.
   "That's strange, because everything about you screams otherwise," Feral grey eyes roamed her body, taking in every greedy inch of her. Dragging all the way down to her bare legs, before working their way back up again, lingering on the fullness of her hips, the dip of her waist, the chaste heaving of her chest. "And I never had you as a liar, Seven..."

She'd never felt so exposed, suddenly achingly aware of how cold the air was on her skin — and just how little her thin silk nightdress covered.

"... What about you — Do I make you nervous?" She pushed back, deciding to test him — to see if she could catch him off guard — hoping he'd cower.
  If she pressed all the right buttons would he back down or come back at her ten times worse?
  She lowered her eyes to his full lips, but only for a second, taking her time working her way over his stern face, before looking back up at him through her long lashes.

Every feature was just as harsh and unforgiving as the man himself, terrifyingly beautiful in that strange way only monstrous things could be.
  A few strands of hair that looked more silver than blonde in the light fell over his face as he eyed her; looking as if he was trying to figure out the answer himself. Seven hadn't even realised she was biting her lip again until his eyes clung to the motion; seemingly starved.

  "Nervous?" He echoed, each syllable curling around Seven's throat like a fist. She couldn't breathe. " — No."

  That was the answer she'd expected, so far removed from the one she'd hoped for. His eyes were on her as she stepped closer, so that her chest ghosted his when he sucked in a greedy breath. Was he suffocating too?
  Seven's world was grey, cold, and unbearably piercing. His gaze felt as though it had torn straight through her, leaving behind an empty, hollowness in her chest. A longing. A want. A need.

  Adrenaline forced fire through her veins, making her brave — reckless. Maybe even foolish.
  "Are you sure?" She trailed her hand across his strong chest, settling in the place she hoped she'd find life and revelling in the way his breathing faltered. The place where his heart should he, though some small part of her expected to feel nothing at all. Was he really as heartless as he pretended to be?

  For a moment, she was almost giddy with relief. Beneath her palm his heart pounded, just as mercilessly traitorous as her own. Pressing herself onto her tiptoes, so that when she spoke her lips grazed his ear, she whispered, "I always knew you were a liar."

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