we all die you either kill yourself or get killed

so maybe i hit some inspiration

anyways

for reasons you will understand later, instead of dorm rooms each person gets their own room

(i am not writing these in a positive light, just so you know. some of them are morally grey, some of them are good people, some are terrible. you are not meant to love some of these characters, despite seeing things through their perspective. some of them do make horrible choices)

(tw: mentions of thoughts of a rapist (as in the rapist's thought process) if you would like to skip over that one, skip the Luxuria part.)

The Seven Princes of Hell

Avaritia

He takes and takes and takes.

Picture after picture, pinned to his walls, to his desk, to his dressers, anywhere they can fit.

He revels in little things given to him: trinkets, time, attention. Tangible or not, he takes it all.

The first picture is a capture of a surprised Harry Potter, and after that he cannot get enough.

Gold photo frames line any free space they can reach, shimmering in the corners of his peripheral vision. 

Smile after smile after smile is collected and treasured and gathered, pinned to corkboards and shoved in boxes and stuffed under pillows.

He revels in the spare moments he gets attention, he takes those moments and puts them in his Pensieve, and soon tiny glittering bottles of memories line the shelves next to photo frames.

Boxes of cameras are shoved in the corners of his room, piles of pictures rest atop the floor, thousands of memories of glances his way, of smiles and on the rare occasion, words, that Harry Potter gives him.

He collects and collects and sooner he decides he wants more.

He wants Harry Potter.

And so he sneaks out of his room in the middle of the night and comes into Harry's, and he stands over his bed, breathing shakily because he's so close to having everything he's ever wanted.

Before he can do anything, Harry wakes up and shouts, and lights flick on in other rooms, and the pounding of feet rushes near, and dozens of boys burst into the room amidst Harry's screaming.

They ask him what the fuck is wrong with him, why he's just creeping over Harry, and he tries to get away, rushing to his room, but a few boys follow him.

They stare around the room at the collection he has, and they look at him like he's crazy.

But this isn't insanity, he tells himself. This is love. This is want.

They don't understand. They shout at him, they call him a freak, they tell him to stay away from Harry Potter, that Harry Potter is too good for him and will never love him.

And something inside of him cracks.

He lunges at one of the boys, and they scream and shout and in the midst of trying to murder the boy who tried to tell him Harry doesn't love him, a green flash appears.

And Colin Creevey, filled with twisted greed, is the first to fall.

Luxuria

He is too willing to take them to bed.

He will accept anyone who offers, he will lure them in with sensual smiles and trailing of fingers and suggestive words.

He looks for power and craves attention, and he loves sex more than he could ever love a person.

Desire courses through his veins more so than blood, and his avidity for affairs of the flesh are well-known throughout the school.

However, when one has had so many lovers that throw themselves at them, it becomes boring.

He wants a challenge.

He chooses Ginny Weasley.

And she puts up a fight, and it's beautiful, the way she hits him and screams for help when none will come, and he thinks this, this is what life is about.

He develops a taste for it, for sex with a fight, and he chooses more partners who give him that fight.

Padma leaves bruises that turn him on for days. Theo's nails draw blood as he tries to get away. Marietta's kick to his stomach aches for a week.

And then Ginny fucking Weasley goes and tells Potter.

And Potter tells the other boys in the school what he has been doing, and late in the night, they come into his room with wands drawn and vengeance in their eyes.

But it is not they who fire the spell. Ginny Weasley pushes past them, and with a dagger in her hand, she slits his throat.

And Blaise Zabini, filled with twisted lust, is the second to fall.

Acedia

He is a walking irony, because despite being a Hufflepuff, he is quite lazy.

But where else could he go? He is not cunning enough for Slytherin, nor brave enough for Gryffindor, nor intelligent enough for Ravenclaw.

And thus, he becomes a Hufflepuff who is, in fact, afraid of toil.

He moves slowly and without direction, lazy smiles and easy waves, shoving homework aside to talk to Cho Chang, being unable to move out of the way before Justin Finch-Fletchley jokingly hits him on the back of the head.

He moves without care, with ease and zen, and he tosses his name carelessly into the flaming cup.

When it comes sputtering back out days later, he can only give a languorous smile and slowly walk to the front.

The first task, he gets Harry Potter to find out what it is for him.

The second, he follows Viktor until he finds Cho. He leaves Harry to fend off the merpeople, and he accepts his first-place spot with easy grace.

The third, he strolls through the maze without worry, wand resting casually at his side. He takes the cup at the same time as Harry and figures hey, for the lack of work he put into it, he's got first place. Not bad.

With all of his sluggish energy, he barely registers it. He can't move out of the way in time to avoid the green spell.

And Cedric Diggory, filled with twisted sloth, is the third to fall.

Gula

He cannot delay gratification.

Instead of eating a few candies a day, he eats the whole bag before he even gets home, and then he has to go and buy more.

He always wants more.

He has drink after drink after drink, only stopping when he blacks out or when he feels too sick to even drink another sip.

He cannot limit himself.

Hit after hit, the smoke pours into the air, and he revels in the feeling of being high. White powder on dollar bills and green leaves on rolled papers and dark brown liquid in needles. Anything he can get his hands on, he consumes as fast as he can.

More and more and more, and people tell him he's too young, he's still a kid, but when has being a kid ever stopped the world from giving him too much to handle?

So he spends every penny of his money on sweets and drugs and alcohol and spends every day in a daze.

His fall is at his own hand, and maybe that of the bartender. The drinks catch up to him, and alcohol poisoning mixes with an accidental heroin overdose, and he collapses to the ground.

And Ron Weasley, filled with twisted gluttony, is the fourth to fall.

Invidia

It starts with fame.

Given his family name, he should be the most famous boy in their year. He has money, god damn it, money and power and connections at the age of eleven.

But the damn Potter boy is in his year, and he did nothing but not die.

He has spent his whole life not dying. Where is his fame?

Harry Potter has it all, the eyes and the attention and the glory.

He is filled with jealousy. He wants what Potter has, and he tries to befriend him to get it, but it doesn't work.

Over the years, his resentment grows. It doesn't help that he has developed an attraction for the boy as well, and attraction and hate don't blend well in his heart.

Potter comes out as bi in fifth year, and it isn't fucking fair, how he will get to marry who he wants.

But you know what they say. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

And so he spends sixth year following the boy who follows him, and they dance around each other in a strange game of copycat.

If he can't be better than Harry Potter now, he will just do everything Harry Potter does until he is.

Harry Potter eats toast for breakfast, so does he. Harry Potter goes shopping, so does he. Harry Potter gets two cling-on friends, so does he. 

Harry Potter ventures out to the cave in the night with Dumbledore, so does he.

If he can reach that locket at the other side of the lake before Potter, he will be better than him. He can finally escape the confines of jealousy.

He runs past the pair and jumps into the water, ignoring the shouted protests from the both of them, and he swims as fast as he can toward the cup.

Something brushes his leg, and it's only then that he realizes Lord Voldemort would put up protections for his precious locket.

Something touches his leg again, but this time it grabs. It locks around his ankle and yanks, and his head goes under as what feels like a thousand slimy hands grab him and pull him down, down, down.

And Draco Malfoy, filled with twisted envy, is the fifth to fall.

Ira

Hate and pain and fear are all that live in his head anymore.

It's a ringing sound, grief, and it echoes whenever someone talks to him. 

And he drowns it with fury.

He will kill whoever did this, whoever could commit such an atrocity as ripping one part of a pair from the other.

Blinded by hatred, he goes to Azkaban in a desperate attempt to find Augustus Rookwood.

Augustus Rookwood dies a peaceful death in his sleep before he can get there.

Filled with frenzied anger that has no channel to escape through now, he cracks.

He breaks down and he goes on a rampage, and everyone who ever knew Rookwood dies in his wake.

He is found in Romania by Charlie, only to be ripped away from yet another brother as the authorities yank him back and throw him in a cell.

Harry and Hermione and Charlie desperately try to testify for him, 'plead insanity', they whisper, but he is not insane, and he know exactly what he has done and why, and his sentence is death.

And George Weasley, filled with twisted wrath, is the sixth to fall.

Superbia

He is always in the light.

Cameras and stares and whispers and questions, bombarded with curiosity and insinuations.

"I won't have you die for me," he whispers the night before all hell breaks loose, and Hermione and Fred stare at him like he's insane.

"We're not dying for you," Hermione replies simply. "Hopefully, we're not dying at all, but if we did, it would be to stop him."

"But it's my fault-"

"Mate," Fred interrupts, "not everything is about you, mate. We're fighting for the Muggle-borns and the dead and for the freedom of wizardkind."

The next day, Fred is gone, and he can't help but think it's his own fault.

It's five weeks after the battle, and he's out shopping to get food when it happens.

"Excuse me, sir?"

He sighs and turns. "I'm not giving out autographs."

The girl blinks. "Erm- I was just gonna ask you to hand me that." She points at a cereal box, and he flushes.

It's three months after the battle, and a reporter stops them in the street.

"Excuse me, I just wanted to ask you a quick question for the Daily Prophet! How are you dealing with being in the spotlight all the time? Is it-"

"I've been in the spotlight my whole life," he snaps. "It's nothing new."

"Actually, sir, I was talking to your girlfriend. I wanted to know about the sudden fame that came with-"

"What? Dating someone famous? She's fine, thank you-"

"-with being a new Quidditch star."

Ginny frowns at him, and so does the reporter, and Fred's words of 'not everything is about you, mate' ring through his head.

It's four months after the battle, and he and Ginny are fighting again.

"How do I know you're not just with me because I'm-"

"Famous? Rich? Get a fucking grip! I'm with you because I fucking like you, stop trying to throw it in my face!"

"That's another thing! You still haven't said love yet!"

"Because I don't, not yet!"

"Why the fuck not? I do so much for you, I'm a great boyfriend, I shower you with love, what is stopping you from loving me?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe this exact conversation? Where you try to throw my words at me and yell at me for something I haven't done? Last week you accused me of cheating on you!"

"Because you were standing so close to Neville! No one needs to be that close!"

"We were discussing his field trip plan for the fifth years, and we didn't want them to hear! I told you this, why are you so convinced everyone has it out for you?"

"Because people have had it out for me since I was a fucking baby!"

"No one has even paid attention to you in four months! You know what I think? I think you don't know how to adjust to not having the attention on you!"

"I hate attention!"

"You don't have to like something to get used to it."

It is six months after the battle, and Ginny has a new boyfriend.

He tries to find someone else, to show her that he's better, that he can move on too, and maybe she will take him back, but she barely spares him a glance at the Halloween party.

And something inside of him snaps.

"Do you think you're fucking better than me?" he screams, and she turns around with terror in her eyes. "Do you think he's better than me?"

"What the fuck are you-"

"Don't pretend I'm the crazy one here!"

"You are the crazy one here!"

"Oh that's rich, coming from the girl who wrote to a psycho in a diary!"

"I was eleven! Why is that even relevant?"

"You need to leave," Mrs. Weasley says quietly, shooing him out. "When you're the boy we used to know and love, you can come back."

He storms away, slamming the door open to his own home and marching upstairs. He catches sight of movement in the mirror, and he pauses.

The boy looking back at him has wild, unnerved eyes and parted lips, greasy, unwashed hair and three-day-old clothes.

He wonders with a shock through his body when he went from the boy who hated attention to the one who needed it to survive.

His heart races and stops, and he gasps sharply, falling to the floor as his left arm goes numb.

And Harry Potter, filled with twisted pride, is the last to fall.