Chapter dedicated to my darling FreyaRailedByDraco
   — TWs for blood, gore, graphic imagery & death

  TWO YEARS PRIOR

  TO ALL BUT HERSELF, the girl laid unconscious across the cobbled streets of the Sloth district was just another dead in the wake of the war.

The world around her carried on, just as if she'd never even existed. The way it had before. The way it would after.
  — But the world would never be the same. The war had torn this city apart. The war had torn them apart.

  The war had ended, and still people ran down the streets screaming for their lives, the Crawlers were coming.

  People ran past her, no one stopped to save the dead — why would they? Nobody stopped to help the living.

  The war had ended and yet the fear remained. Harry Potter was dead. Voldemort had won, and so this became his world. His to shape and his to set, and his to set ablaze, if it so pleased him — to which it did.

  The world was not ending, it was beginning. Awakening to the genesis of a sunrise tinted with crimson grief.

  The Crawlers came and went, not sparing a second glance to the girl. Their tastes were a little more feral; after all a predator does not prey on the scavenger's feast.
  They wanted screams, they wanted pleading, they wanted feel the fight fleeting as their victim faded.

  To them, she was just another body. Just another dead in a dead man's world. They didn't care that she was somebody's daughter, somebody's lover. Somebody's everything.

  After the Crawlers rolled through even the streets themselves appeared to be bleed from all the freshly fallen bodies. Blood crawled along the gutters, thick and slow and shockingly scarlet.

  — That had been what first caused the girl to stir, the kiss of red against her fingertips as the blood met her hand laying over the drain cover.

  She did not awake slowly, gracefully. She awoke with a great gasping breath, as if before that moment the girl had never tasted oxygen. As if this was her first breath, and with it she had been reborn.
  Her hand flew to her throat, expecting to feel something that wasn't there. Instead all she found was a fine silver necklace hanging at her clavicle, her fingers wrapping around the charm like it was the only thing stopping her from slipping between this life and the next.

No words found her, even if they had, what would she say? — There was no one left alive on the street to answer her.

The girl sat up, ignoring the pounding in her head, swaying slightly, eyes frantic and scanning for something, anything, that she could find familiar.

  Her world was a whirlwind of questions, and yet not a single answer came to her. Despite the daylight blaring above her she was left entirely in the dark.

  Looking down at herself she noted that her clothes were plain, insignificant to her greater cause, except for the strange bulk pressing into her chest.
  She reached into her shirt, pulling out a fistful of letters, and staring at the singular word immortalised in calligraphy on the top of the stack.

  Seven.

***
QOTD- How do you think Seven lost her memories? - TFOA
This chapter is meant to be a short interlude between the previous and the next, I just had to drag that cliff hanger out a little longer ;)