TWS for themes of rape, abuse, torture, extreme violence, grief, character distress, death, descriptions of corpses. This is possible the darkest fallout chapter yet, you have been warned.

  SHE CUPPED HIS face between her palms, willing him to wake, for the blood to work it away back inside of him, not even seeing the crowd of Crawlers that surrounded them.
Giddy with glee the Crawlers watched on, savouring the stormy hue of her grief. To them, she was just another girl, a faceless creature concealed behind a sheet of long black hair, matted with soot and the blood of her lover. No different from the hundred others they'd already torn their way through.

It wore quickly though, her crying, the Crawlers hunger needing something a little more carnal to sate. One of them stepped forward and spat onto the body of the son of Pride.

That was what caused Seven to snap, whipping around to fix her wand on the crowd, "Get away from him!" She cried; voice breaking.

They laughed at her. All except one. All except Fenrir Greyback, instead, he simply stared at her; expressionless. It was that, not his mountainous stature, or the wolfish influence of his features, that made him terrifying. He held that same cold quietness that Draco did when he turned volatile, like a bomb that might go off at any moment, without any grimaced facial expression or shout of warning.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here? Got a girlfriend have you, Malfoy?" Said another from the crowd, a short, piggy-eyed man, "I'm sure you won't mind if we try her out for a bit — seeing as you're certainly not in any shape to, seems such a shame to waste such a pretty face."

That elicited a raw of laughter from the Crawlers, and the first sign of life from Draco's bloody lips. He groaned; a terrible, pained sound.

"If you're lucky, we'll even let you watch." One man sneered.
Their eyes burned into Seven like steel rods, each one hungry, every one thinking something even more terrible than the last. But still she remained, poised, crouched over Draco like some feral creature, ready to lay herself down beside him if it meant defending him.

"Seven..." The whisper came so quietly at first she thought she had imagined it. Then it came again, the slightest movement of his lips, angled so that only she could see and spoken with the weight of a feather, "Seven, you have to run... I'll — find you."

"Enough with the games." Fenrir Greyback's snarling voice ripped her back to the cruel cold of reality. Back to the biting chill of the night air and the agony writhing itself into knots inside her chest, "Take the boy to the tower. The Dark Lord should be pleased to see him returned."

"What about the girl?"

Greyback's inhumane face curled into hideous look, "Kill her and hang her corpse outside Gringotts with the rest, after that, let the rot and the rain have at her." And with that both he and the man from the previous day turned and left, leaving the Crawlers to their fun.

They can't take him, Seven's thoughts raced, they can't take him. But then the Crawlers were closing in, and no matter how many curses she threw or spells she pleaded with, they just kept coming. Then they were on them, Draco's body ripped out from under her as Seven thrashed and fought like a wild dog, "Draco!"

He was gone, already disappearing into the crowd, dragged after their inhuman leader the man who had almost certainly betrayed their location. Gone, as if he never was. The only remains he had ever been carved into every inch of her skin, from the scars to the ache to the screams that raked her throat raw.
They would not kill her kindly. She didn't care. Every second she had left was another second she would fight to get back to him.

They took it in turns, just as they had promised. One after another they beat her, cursed her, used her for the most perverse fantasies a sick mind could conjure.
Seven had thought she'd known hurt before this, she had not. This was never something that was supposed to happen to her. This was a cruelty reserved for the others, for the women like the chosen one's lover and all the rest she watched but never helped, but never her. And all the while she cried his name, begging to be saved by a saviour who didn't even know her name. A saviour who never came.
No one ever came. She was just as she had always been, in both the beginning and the end, Seven was alone.

They took her apart, piece by piece, dismantling a girl and in turn creating a monster. A hideous, bloodied stain of a being, torn across the streets of Greed. They jeered as she writhed with each new crimson-tongued kiss of a curse. Spell after spell scorched her skin, her veins turning black like inky lightning strikes beneath her skin as all their violent magic surged through her.

With time they grew disinterested, their tortures dissipating as their hunger temporarily sated and their plaything slowed; became less reactive, stiller, until eventually, she showed no response at all. Not to even the most inhumane touch a man could offer. And so, the Crawlers grew bored.

They found no fun in corpses safe for desecrating them.

Seven was still breathing when they fastened the noose around her neck and dragged her lifelessly through the streets of Greed. The stones were sharp and the uneven edges cut into her flesh, leaving a trail of bloody streaks in her wake. He'll find me, her thoughts had turned to whips of smoke, as if spoken from drunken lovers' tongues, in this life of the next, he'll find me.

Once, what seemed like a lifetime ago, Seven had stood at a window and watched as Harry Potter's corpse was mutilated on the streets and his lover defiled and damned to be dragged alongside him until death. Back then, it had made her sick — a witness but also a victim by proxy in her own right. She didn't eat, didn't sleep for days after, but now she found herself wondering if all those pale, candle-lit faces peering out at her from behind veiled curtains and boarded up windows would be same. They watched in either horror or sick fascination as Seven was dragged towards Gringotts, mothers holding their sons and shielding their daughters. She supposed it didn't really matter their reasons, no one was coming to help, why would they? She hadn't helped the Chosen One's lover, or even comforted the mother as grieved in the aftermath. Seven was as much a coward as them.

Seven had never much believed in karma — or any other Devine justice for that matter — despite how much she wished to. But as the looming form of Gringotts became to block out the stars above her, she felt this might be it — the end to a life that had never truly began.

Bodies hung like overripe shadows from the marble pillars of the bank, stinking and awful, the rot of them seeping down, staining the pale stone greyish-brown.

She didn't beg, didn't even plead as they threw the end of the noose over the brow of a pillar and began to pull her up until she hung besides the rest of the bodies. The rope constricted around her throat and her feet hung limp, hollow eyes staring numbly at the Crawlers who had already begun to walk away.

Perhaps this was what death felt like, that familiar darkness clawing away at the edges of her fractured mind, like a tidal wave that loomed ever nearer, blocking out the dim light of the street lamps and threatening to pull her under. It couldn't drown out the distant pinpricks of stars however, so Seven stared at those tiny flecks of light as she slipped into the dark.