There once was a child named Seven. He was born into a rich family and lived in a manor. His father was almost never home due to his work, and his mother had died years ago from a tragic accident. This left Seven home alone almost all the time, although he chose to spend that free time inside rather than out. He was a strange boy, much different from the other kids his age. While other ruffians would snatch bread from the delicious-smelling bakery or pickpocket unsuspecting rich folk, Seven would only be seen with his black cat, staring out the window of the manor at the forest very near to the house, or extremely rarely outside doing some errand his absent father assigned him. Father would invite guests over to his home occasionally, usually to gain political favors or make connections with high ranking officials. The sound of tinkling champagne glasses and silverware would float up to Seven's cozy little room in the attic, but he would only join in if his father wanted to introduce him to others. Father didn't like introducing him to others much anymore, since frankly, he was so quiet and different that he was an embarrassment to his father. He didn't mind keeping to himself anyways, making his situation of isolation a good thing for him rather than bad. On the day this story takes place, it was Seven's birthday. He would turn thirteen late that evening, although he wouldn't be having a party or celebrating. It was early midday, the sun shining brilliantly on the trees colored in the beautiful autumn range of colors. However, Seven wasn't outside enjoying it like the others; instead, he lay on his bed and read a book while stroking his cat. The cat's name was Septimus, and he was quite a smart feline. He always followed Seven around, and treated him like a partner. Septimus would know if Seven was hungry, possibly by hearing his stomach growling or just plain knowing the boy. He would sneak into the kitchen, past the overweight chef who usually lay napping in an armchair near the stove, and into the pantry to snatch a roll of bread. He'd bring it back to Seven, earning a smile from him that he gave to no one else, not even father. Septimus was one of those cats that the silly townspeople considered 'unlucky'. He was completely black, and had shining green eyes. Superstition had spread around a lot lately, such as the stories of witches and their familiars. Now, no one was pointing any fingers but late at night when some drunkard had a bit too much to drink a rumor might pop out like "aye, I heard Seven is a witch... It all makes sense, huh?" These were usually hatched from enemies of Seven's father, getting at the poor boy to try to bring down his fathers reputation. Seven heard none of it since he spent most of his time inside, but if he had, he wouldn't mind much. In fact, the book he was reading was on witchcraft and black magic. He didn't believe in all of that nonsense, but it was entertaining to read. Seven didn't have much else to do anyways. The time slowly passed as he read, Septimus asleep by his side. The sun started to dip behind the forest, illuminating the already golden-red leaves with fading sunlight. At around 7, with dusk approaching, Seven yawned and closed the book. Looking at the cover of that old book, he smiled to himself and stroked Septimus. "The things people believe in, huh Seppie?" The cat looked up at him with his green eyes and tilted his head. Seven laughed softly and said, "You don't understand me anyways. Sometimes I wish you did." He hesitated, then stood up and put on a coat. "Father is still out, so what do you say about going into the town for my birthday? Just for an hour, enough time for me to maybe get some more books or a biscuit from the bakery." Septimus meowed in response. "I'll take that as a yes," the boy said with a smile. He opened the door to his room and padded out, down the two flights of stairs and past the old ticking grandfather clock to the main floor. Seven cracked open the front door and slipped out, closing it behind him after Septimus had come out as well. Once outside, he took a deep breath. Autumn was such a brilliant season, especially in the evening. The soon-to-be thirteen year old took a deep breath of the refreshing air and set off down the road, into the town with his cat following behind.
Seven made his way past vendors on the street selling mouth watering meats and beggars. The streets weren't as busy at this time as the sun was beginning to set, making the walk to the bakery fairly quick. Septimus padded down the road behind the boy, dodging random urchins who tried to snatch him up or pet him. A few people would turn to stare at the duo and whisper, but Seven didn't notice. After several more minutes of walking they arrived in front of a brick bakery, which was crowded inside. Seven stopped by the front door and knelt by his cat, then said, "You won't be able to go in there with me, since those silly people have rules against animals like you. I'm just gonna get a biscuit and a snack for you and I'll be right out, I promise." He rubbed Septimus's head and got up, entering the store. Immediately the warm smell of baking pastries engulfed him and he raised the corner of his mouth in a slight smile. Seven got in the long line in front of the bustling kitchen. The cooks in there looked a bit overwhelmed, trying to satisfy everyone at once. This was normal on a cool autumn evening like this, since warm bread felt nice in your belly before the cold of the night crept in. Seven was almost to the front of the line, his mind so occupied on the thought of what he was buying that he didn't notice the figure in a cloak watching him from nearby. The stranger didn't have the hood over his head, exposing a long, pointed nose and a grimace. He stared at the boy, fidgeting with his hands underneath the cloak. Not once did his eyes look away from Seven as he finally made it to the counter and asked for a biscuit as well as a slice of pumpkin bread. Seven still didn't notice the man while he walked out of the bakery, the stranger now trailing behind. Septimus was sitting on his hind legs where he had been left, licking a paw. "Come on Seppie," Seven said happily as he took a bite out of his biscuit. He tore off a piece of the pumpkin bread and gave it to the cat, who ate it immediately. Before the boy could start walking though, the cloaked man grabbed his arm roughly. Seven let out a squeak and turned to face him, Septimus standing up with his tail puffed up. He let out a low yowl when he saw the stranger's hands on Seven. "Follow me," the man spat out quietly, yanking the boy's arm in the direction of a nearby alley. Seven looked at the man fearfully but followed, his cat repeatedly walking between the man's legs as if to trip him. This only caused him to pinch his lips in annoyance and then slam his metal-toed boot into Septimus, sending him flying down the alley. He dragged Seven after the cat, who got up after a few seconds and limped off. Once the two had gotten deep enough in the alley to be out of sight, he pushed the boy hard into the wall. "You think you can work your black magic in this city, witch?" he said with a demented grin. "Oh I've had enough of all those things they're saying about you... You little freak." He slapped Seven's face, leaving a red handprint. The boy only cowered in fear. "You think we don't know what you do in that old house of yours? Summoning evil spirits and bad luck to plague our town, that's what." The stranger shivered in anticipation and pulled what he'd been fidgeting with under his cloak. It was a long knife, the blade glimmering slightly in the faint light of the alley. At the sight of it, Seven let out a muffled shriek, prompting the man to force his hand over his mouth. "I'm doing this town a favor..." he whispered, licking his thin, dry lips. "I'll be a hero..." Down the alley behind a pile of rubble a small, furry black head watched. Septimus could only watch, since he knew he couldn't stand against a man. He couldn't even meow, his lungs crushed and his breathing like a wheeze. Sadly, the wheeze wasn't loud enough to reach all the way down the street. "Enough is enough, I say!" the stranger cried out and ran the knife through the boy's rib cage. He let get of his grip on Seven's mouth, and unpinned him from the wall. Seven slid down the wall and crumpled at the bottom, blood pooling around him. As he lay dying, the last thing he thought was that it was only a few minutes from his birthday before his last breath rattled from his lips. The cloaked man stood over the boy, starting to feel unsure. It had been too easy to kill the witch, he thought. Running footsteps began to echo from the mouth of the alley and the man panicked. Apparently people had heard him yell. He quickly shrugged off his cloak, exposing the ragged clothes of a poor street merchant underneath. He ran the opposite direction of the footsteps, reaching another exit of the alley. The murderer slipped out into the street, adjusting his pace to a hurried walk and made off into the night.
Septimus made his way back to Seven as fast as he could, through the agony of his crushed chest. Most of his ribs were broken and his lungs were definitely punctured, leaving him to cough out blood every now and then. He made it to the boy, having watched the constabularies pass Seven's body in the pursuit of the killer. They left him there, probably to clean up later after they had either caught the man or chased him for a good while. Septimus nuzzled Seven's arm, sticky blood soaking his paws. He climbed onto his bloody chest, licking Seven's face. But the boy did not stir. The dying cat turned away from the boy, and looked at the cloak. There were several pockets on the inside of it, one with the hilt of the knife sticking out. Septimus dug through the pockets, ripping them open with his paws and spilling the contents. He found a wad of cash, a note he couldn't read, a pack of cigars, and a purple brooch. He had no use for the cash or cigars, but he took the brooch in his mouth and the note clenched tightly in his teeth. He hoped to be able to show someone them and that the note would be related to the murder. Septimus didn't trust the constabularies with the note since they'd probably discard it anyways. One day he'd find someone he could trust to show the note, though. That is, if he lived. The cat's breath was now a really pathetic wheeze and the note started to stain with drops of blood. He limped out of the alley and made his way back to the manor. Almost no one noticed the black cat in the darkness of the night, and those who did payed no mind. There were plenty of strays around anyways. Septimus got into the house through a screen door behind the kitchen he had torn a hole in before. He used it to get out to hunt for rats or to just explore the town when Seven was busy or asleep. Now he used it to let himself into the house he no longer belonged to. Septimus's blood covered paws left faint prints on the cold marble floor, until the rest of it rubbed off. He climbed one flight of stairs in agony but then stopped, unable to make it to Seven's room. The cat knew he was going to die soon, sooner than he'd be able to get any further. So he turned to the grandfather clock nearby and forced his head into the seam between the door of it and the clock itself until the door opened enough for him to slide in. Once inside he dropped the note and brooch, pulling the door closed with his teeth. Above him the pendulum swung, the ticking getting louder and louder to Septimus's ears as he curled up in a ball. Finally, the clock chimed midnight and the day ended, the cat's life ending as well. He stiffened up in death, crinkling the note slightly and covering the now glowing brooch with his body. He had done what he could.
