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Dedicated to Ray-Malfoy

  SEVEN STOOD NAKED before the mirror, staring at her battered body and trying to convince herself that she, in fact, was whole.
  For what felt like hours she'd sat curled beneath the shower's near scalding stream, her skin rubbed raw with every cloying product she could find, desperate to rid herself of every last trace of him.

  She'd only allowed herself to cry in the water — telling herself that way, it wasn't really crying at all.
Once dry and fresh out of tears, she found her bag, and within it the small vile of jade-green liquid she'd once traded three days meals for.

Dittany; read the fading grey label.

It stung like hell as she allowed three droplets to fall into the worst of the wounds, the ones she wanted most desperately to be rid of. His brand came first.
At first, her head was marred by the blinding pain, and she had to bite her tongue to stifle the scream, but then, when she came to her senses she looked down. The wound had not changed, refusing to heal.

  Even magic couldn't tear them apart.

"No... No, no — no, please!" She begged, but still, the scarlet letters glared back at her. A second later she tried the wounds on her chest, only to yield the same result.

Even magic had betrayed her, favouring the unholy, just as all things did.

• • •

EVEN THE SUN ITSELF refused to rise properly that morning, as if scorned into silence, pleading pathetically from behind thick, grey clouds and casting the city of Sloth an even more dreary shade of misery.
Seven, of course, had no idea, what with being so far beneath the earth. But when she finally emerged from her room — his room — it was with her head held high and a newfound fury burning in the emptiness of her chest.

She followed the endless mess of halls, doubting she even remembered the way to the room where she'd first met Navy — sat upon of throne of molten metal and broken swords. In the end, she didn't need to, for they found her first.

  "Seven?" Asked a familiar voice, and she turned to face the four.

  "Bill? — You're okay?" She gasped, not quite believing her eyes. She wanted desperately to go to him — maybe even to embrace him, but he stood beside a worn-looking Navy, and two others she didn't know. "I thought..." She trailed off, suddenly embarrassed.

  " — We all did." Cut in Bill's brother; the last out of many remaining. A gangly man so tall that he even made Bill appear short. "Gave us quite the fright didn't you Billy-Boy? You always did have quite a flair for the dramatics."

  "Mon chérie, do not joke like that." Said a beautiful pale-haired woman, a Veela no doubt, her French accent curling around Seven like an alluring leash. She clung to Bill's arm as if frightened he may disappear. "He almost died."

Bill beamed down at the Veela, his scarred face appearing almost youthful in its joy, and in that moment he looked eerily similar to Ron. A pit welled in Seven's chest. "Seven, I want you to meet my wife — Fleur, and this," He cocked his head towards the other red-haired man, "Is my brother, George."

Seven nodded. Navy, however, did not acknowledge her presence. Today her dark braids were tied back, and even so, still fell far below her waist. "Where is he? — He said he'd be here by now."

"Patience Angel," Winked George, "I'm sure he'll be along soon enough, I can't imagine he'd want to miss his chance to shine."

Seven was taken aback by the crassness of the boy, and half expected a woman such as Navy to strike him. But she merely turned to glance behind her at the sudden sound of footsteps.

"You're late." Navy snapped as the tall figure emerged and simultaneously Seven's stomach plummeted to somewhere beneath her feet.

  A memory toyed, somewhere far off.

You're late.

You never specified a time.

You're still late.

  The words rang in her ears, she struggled to shut them out, but when Draco spoke it was like the whole world fell silent to listen. "It's done."

  "Good." Navy's reply came with sickening ferocity. "We leave at nightfall, make sure you're both ready." Then her eyes narrowed, "Do not make me wait again."

  It was happening all over again. Just as always Seven was in the dark, drowning in the unknown, only this time she refused to remain silent only to have to beg him for answers in the first moment they were left alone together. "Ready for what?"

  Navy frowned, casting a strange look between the two of them, "You didn't tell her?"
  Draco's jaw stiffened, and though he tried to hide it, at the mention of her an involuntary snarl curled his lip.

  "Tell me what?" Seven glared too. Not bothering to hide her own distaste. It settled heavily on her tongue, sickly sweet and suffocating. She allowed herself a moment to relish it, to keep the hatred fresh — God forbid she let it settle, before swallowing the cloying taste down.

  The rebel leader shot Draco a strange look, one Seven had never seen before. He didn't react, didn't break her unrelenting eye-contact. He was as stoic and austere as the stone he stood upon, only Seven knew the valley of blood and broken trust that pooled between them. "We've found them, the Sins. Well, not all but two's better than none — we know where they'll be and when — we only have to make sure we get there first."

  At once, Seven asked, "Which ones?"

  "Sloth and Pride."

  Nothing. That was all Seven felt at the sound of the words that should've been her salvation — the words that once upon a time she would've traded anything, killed anyone to hear. Just how far had she fallen from her morals? Not that morals even existed anymore in this God-forsaken world. But in the two years she'd spent alone, without guidance, without purpose, she'd made her own morals, her own rules to abide by. And in doing so, she'd found her own purpose; killing Sins.

  The nothingness she felt only made her hate burn brighter. He had done this to her.
  Seven vowed never to return to that silky soft girl, the one that screamed fear in the darkness and sought solace in the arms of another. The girl that had fallen for a man who only wanted to see her bleed. The betrayer. The liar. The thief.

  "I have a bad feeling about this." Fleur hugged Bill's arm impossibly tighter, "How do you know your source is — how do you say — reliable?"

  "Because he's standing right in front of you." Navy answered darkly. All eyes turned to Draco.
The horrid hand of betrayal gauged itself deeper into Seven's chest. Had she ever really known him at all? What else had he been hiding? How had he even known such a thing or where to find that information? Even Seven herself wouldn't know where to start.
Part of her even wondered if he'd known where they were all along...

For the first time, when everyone else looked to him, Draco allowed his eyes to find her. Seven's skin burned beneath his heated gaze. Fire prickling like electricity, lingering on the faintest trace of a cut at her throat. A cut he had made.

"So what's the plan then?" Seven forced herself to speak, desperate for a distraction.

Navy sucked in an audible breath, perhaps to help quell the anger that came clear on her face as she pierced Draco with a black look. "There is to be a masquerade ball, held in Pride's own mansion — every Death Eater in the country is set to be there, along with a whole load of You-Know-Who supporters. Hopefully there'll be hundreds, enough to serve as a distraction... And then, we're going to blow it all up."
Something lawless danced behind her half-lit eyes. Something truly reminiscent of a rebel leader, the kind who danced on the bones of her enemy after victory.

"They'll be picking bits of Death Eater off the streets for weeks." George grinned.
Seven's head reeled, only known a handful of spells herself, but certainly not any strong enough to blow up a building, let alone one with hundred of the country's most powerful elites inside. The idea, however, sounded delicious, even if it was impossible. "But how?"

Navy smiled a wicked smile, "With a little help from our dear friend, Seamus Finnegan."

  ***
QOTD- Who's excited for the masquerade ball?🙋🏻‍♀️