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  HE HAD BEEN HER FRIEND. Once upon a time, in a life seemingly so far removed from the one she was living, Ronald Weasley had been her friend, and now, she had killed him.

  Seven stepped into the room, and at the sight of her entrance, Molly Weasley crumbled all over again.

  "It's done." Seven said grimly. Her hands felt dirty, weighed heavy with the metaphysical blood that stained them. She would never be clean again, she thought as she wiped them on her jeans, realising they were slick with anxious sweat.
  And now, with the new-found knowledge brought about by the glimpse of a memory, Seven couldn't help but think with a horrid feeling curling in the pit of her stomach, — just how many of her friends has she killed, maybe without even realising it...

Had she known the bodies she'd felled? Had their last dying breaths been calling out for her mercy, — to remember them.
No. She couldn't have, they would've remembered her... Unless they had all forgotten too...

Absentmindedly her finger coiled around a cherry-red strand of hair. Maybe they hadn't even recognised her. It had been years since they'd last met, and she'd tried her best to change during that time.

Hadn't Draco, the very same person who'd forced this new hair colour upon her, once told her that she needed to change so that people didn't recognise her? Had he been her friend too once upon a time? — She doubted it. He was not at all the type of person she'd want to keep company with, let alone before the war when she actually had a choice of who she kept close.

Mrs. Weasley gave a heart-wrenching sob and with it came what few words she could manage, so soft Seven almost missed them entirely. "Take her."

"What?" Asked Bill.

Molly wiped her eyes; red-rimmed and full of heartache. " — Take her wherever, she needs to go. We owe her that much." Then she turned to Seven and said. "Thank you my dear, really, you've done this family a service I can never hope to repay."

It was as if Bill either hadn't heard or didn't care to hear his mother's thanks, instead he frowned, scarlet brows drawing in across his freckled forehead. " — Never mind that, what about you! — Mum I'm not leaving you, not now, not ever!"

"Bill..." Miss Weasley sounded tired, as if beaten and down-trodden by life itself. She pleaded, "Do me this one thing, please, for me... For Ron. You know this is what he fought for."

Bill grabbed his mothers arm, positioning his body so that he shielded her from Seven's view as he practically hissed. "We don't know her — we don't know who or what she fights for! As far as we know she could be one of them!"

"She could." Molly sighed, "But she's not."

"Either not it doesn't matter — I'm not leaving you!"

"You'll be back before you know it," She said, placing a reassuring hand atop his. "I'll be fine. I promise. Just take her where she needs to go."

Bill stared at his mother, eyes pleading all the words he could never bring himself to say aloud. And then, rather abruptly, he stood up, leaving the room the same way Seven had came in.

Seven stood awkwardly for a brief moment, feeling torn and unsure of what exactly to do. She cast a look to Mrs. Weasley, who managed a small nod and a feeble half-smile in the direction her son had gone. "Go."

•  •  •

THE AIR WAS STILL, thick and deathly silent. Seven stared out over the ruins of what had once been the East-End sector. Some of the more viciously destroyed buildings still seemed to smoulder, despite the years that had passed. Much of Sloth looked this way. Broken and barren.

There was no reason to repair the worst areas of Sloth torn apart during the war, if any thing Seven thought that the Dark Lord deliberately chose to keep them that way, as a sort of permanent reminder to the people. If he could uproot skyscrapers and burn entire cities to the ground, what could he do to a girl like Seven? — She didn't dare to think.

"Come on." Bill grunted. And surprisingly, those two words were the most he'd said to her so far. He gave the strong impression that hated her, and in that way he reminded Seven of Draco. A heavy feeling settled on her chest at the thought of the pale-haired boy; something akin to longing, but in a far more primal sense. She wondered what he was doing in this moment... Probably sulking in some back alley like some terrible storm cloud or drinking his weight in Firewhiskey. Wherever he was, was he thinking of her in the same way she was thinking of him? Probably not.

"How much further?" She asked, by habit her eyes darting about the street in search of Crawlers. There were none to be found, at least for now.

Bill ignored her, instead marching on ahead in that same way Draco so often did, leaving Seven struggling to catch up. There were far fewer people about the streets of the East-End, and infinitely fewer places to hide. It made Seven anxious, the thought of feeling so exposed, and unconsciously she found herself keeping closer to Bill.

She didn't blame him for his silence. In his position she would've probably been the same. Only hours before he'd had to carry his little brother's body in his arms, pick him up off the floor, and carry him from the house he could scarcely call home, burying his last sibling in a shallow grave somewhere where his mother could not see.
  There were no flowers in Sloth, there was no grass, all life struggled to survive here. Instead Ronald Billius Weasley's grave was marked by a single stone, round and about the size of a small football. Though not particularly significant in any way, it meant the world to Bill and his mother.
There were good reasons nobody marked graves with crosses anymore. Some did it in fear of the body snatchers, those black-nailed, bloody-fisted few who dug the graves from the earth in hope of finding valuables to sell; be it gold, teeth or the shoes from their dead feet.
And some did it to spite the God they no longer believed in. The memories of their loved ones would die with them, and in some sick way, Seven found a kind of poetic beauty in the notion. We would return from whence we came; nothingness. In the end, nothing would matter.

  Though in that same vein of thought, it gave Seven's actions all the more weight. Every second of every moment in her life had been meaningless, until now. Killing the Sins was the only thing that gave her life worth. Their killing would mean a better life for not just her, but also every aching soul she'd ever met.

  Though even with the Sins dead, the heartbreak they'd cause could never be erased.

  "What do you want with her?" Bill grumbled, though beneath his harsh exterior, Seven saw a glint of genuine curiosity.

  She gave a shallow breath, "I'm not even sure myself."

  All this time she'd been looking for Navy in hope she could help Seven find Ron. Though now that had fallen through, Seven was holding on to the last threads of hope that somehow, Navy knew where she could find Sloth.

  "Be careful around her." Bill said. "She might seem like an ally, but trust me, the only person Navy cares about is herself."

Seven nodded, absentmindedly mumbling the phrase that came to mind. She didn't know where she'd heard it before, but somehow it seemed to fit with this moment. "If you play with fire, don't come crying when you get burnt."

Bill looked at her. It was a strange look, one she couldn't quite decipher. The light was beginning to die, the sun finally falling, partially hidden behind the skyline of a broken city. It cast his violently red hair an even deeper shade of scarlet. Three honeysuckle scars ran across his face, across the curve of his cheek and over the bridge of his nose, cutting through his smatter of golden freckles. The scars were slight and tinted pink, yet thick and with a promise of pain. "Where did you hear that?"

She shrugged, "Probably from a book or something."

His brows knit together as if frustrated. "Are you going to tell me your name?"

Seven frowned right back at him, "Are you going to ask?"

Then he cocked his head, a wry smile curving at the corner of his lips. "Only if you want me too."

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QOTD- What is your favourite fallout quote so far?:) - TFOA