Deadly

Sloth: Heat

That summer had high temperatures that went down the record books.

It was the kind of heavy, sweltering heat that made a person feel like they were slogging their way through warm molasses. Everything and everyone moved in slow motion, under the false impression that if they expended less energy the heat would somehow become less unbearable.

Fortunately, Draco didn't have to deal with such unpleasantness. He was quite comfortable in Malfoy Manor thanks to the cooling charms placed on nearly every room in the sprawling mansion. He was barely even aware of the near-Hellish conditions outdoors.

That is, until the Zabinis came to visit for a few weeks, and brought their son, Blaise, with them.

It was then that Draco was uncomfortably aware of a heat so intense that he felt his blood start on a slow burn and he couldn't quite seem to catch his breath.

Pride: Chase

He'd gotten used to the feel of Draco watching him during the past summer. So much so that it was almost a shock to his system when he arrived at Hogwarts for his sixth year and no longer felt the familiar lingering slide of eyes on his body.

As they sat through Dumbledore's usual welcoming ramble, he sought Draco's gaze for the first time.

Silver eyes met gold for a brief moment. Then Draco looked pointedly away.

So that's how it was.

He knew. And Draco knew he knew.

He smiled to himself. How refreshing.

He'd never had to chase his prey before.

Avarice: Concession

...head thrown back, exposing snow-white throat, smooth and strong as finely worked marble...

He imagined it tasted of warm cream and winter. And copper after a well-placed bite.

...a lock of hair straying over brow, strands so bright they almost blinded, like sunlight-spun-silk...

His fingers itched to tangle in the pale blond hair and twist until his knuckles went white.

...lashes lowering, reducing silver eyes as hard and callous as Judas's thirty coins to slits...

He knew silver melted at 961.78° Celsius. He also knew that he could make this silver burn. He knew--

"What the devil are you staring at, Zabini?"

He smiled at Draco from across the library table and said simply, "You."

Envy: Trophy

"I saw you, you know. The two of you. In the hall."

A lift of brow and quirk of lips.

"Did you now? And just what did you see?"

Clenched fists and clenched jaw.

"You were...He was..."

Shoulders shift, too elegant to be called a shrug.

"Sucking my cock? Yes, he was. And quite well at that. He's got a mouth like--"

"Shut up! Haven't you got any decency? It's disgusting, doing...that where anyone could see!"

A pointed look and knowing smirk.

"Not just anyone."

Eyes widen with shock then narrow to slits.

"What are you saying?"

Tiger-smile, telling all yet nothing.

"Jealous, Potter?"

Violent green, flustered red, then the shuffle of a hasty retreat.

"You should be."

Lust: Mounting

It took Blaise four months, one week, and two days to actually get Draco into his bed.

It took 14 minutes of hungry mouths and grasping hands, popped buttons and ripped seams for Blaise to realize that Draco was, despite boasts to the contrary, a virgin.

There was one moment of surprise, two of annoyance, before both were stifled by wry amusement.

Blaise used three fingers to prepare him for seven inches.

It took ten slow, deep thrusts to turn Draco's "Please! Stop! It hurts!" into "Please don't stop! Don't ever stop!"

Nine hard, pounding strokes reduced him to loud whimpers. Another eight and he was screaming, writhing beneath Blaise like a sacrifice trying to escape the flames of a funeral pyre as they burned higher...hotter...

"Faster!"

Blaise obliged.

Draco came in seven seconds flat and Blaise savoured the sound of his name bursting forth from his lips six times.

Later, as he licked five sticky fingers clean, eyes sliding over four cherry-red scratches, three purpling bruises, and two candy-pink bite marks on vanilla skin, Blaise smiled.

There were a lot of things for a virgin to learn. And he would be the one to teach Draco all of them.

Gluttony: Spoiled

Blaise lay on the mussed sheets, staring up at the black velvet canopy with an almost vacant expression on his face.

His body was still save for his fingers as they worried an ebony button that had been torn from his shirt.

He lay there, silent as a corpse, his thoughts louder than his own breath.

"Don't act like you don't want this."

Maybe he should have argued more against visiting with the Malfoys again this summer.

"What? Not good enough for you? I'll show you good enough..."

Maybe it was his own fault. He was tempting; he knew it, he used it...maybe he shouldn't have...

"You can't rape the willing, you know."

And he was always willing...Except...

He saw movement out of the corner of his eye.

"Blaise..." Draco called softly creeping into the guest bedroom as he'd done every night since the Zabinis had arrived.

Blaise took one look at the younger, finely featured version of the man who had just left him minutes before...and he turned on his side and retched

Wrath: Miser

When it was Draco's turn to go up and pay his last respects, everyone thought how kind it was of that Zabini boy to go with him and lend his support. Merlin knew he was so very devastated by the death of his father.

As both boys stared down at the lacquered black surface of the coffin, their silent ghost-pale reflections staring back at them.

Blaise spoke first, his voice soft and fittingly somber. "My condolences for your loss."

"Thank you."

"They never did find all of him, did they."

"No. That's why we decided on a closed casket service."

"Is the investigation going well?"

"No. The Ministry doesn't know how to deal with Muggle-type murders."

"So the killer will likely never be caught?"

"No, not likely."

Blaise didn't say anything for a long time. And then he asked, "Why?"

To anyone who overheard, he could have been asking about the injustice of it all, the unfairness of a murder gone unpunished. But Draco knew what he meant.

His gaze sought Blaise's in their reflection and he smiled, saying simply, "Malfoys don't share."