antebellum [t. riddle]

lxiii

march 1945
mentions of substance abuse
self-harm

agent, auror, civilian, or whomever you may be,

talented. very, very talented. i applaud you.

yet still, whoever else, including albus, is guiding you is not using you to your full potential. pity, that i will be the one to recognize your power before they do.

i feel as though every day, i gain a bit more knowledge of you. it i perhaps the greatest compliment that you have managed to capture my attention in such a time of chaos though never having met me (or have we? i do not know.). everything about you is a mystery, except there are certain events past, that all have a similar sensation. your touch, i presume, because they also have albus' fingerprints all over them.

why anyone puts their faith in him, i do not know. his message can be seductive, but his means require so much personal suffering, pain that my followers do not go through.

nevertheless, i come to you neutral. i am making you an offer.

many stories have been told of my wicked, unnatural talents, but i confess that the only magic i possess are those given to me by the aether. few of these rumors are based in truth, but one is.

i am a seer. at one moment, you were a nuisance to be annihilated, and the next, you were important enough to appear in my dreams and prophecies. my preferred method is capnomancy, but all the visions i attempt to draw of you are incomplete or hazy.

you see, witch or wizard, i have had vison upon vision. blood and magic crowd your face, but i can see you, with albus hovering just out of reach. he has placed a cloak over you— a mask. i feel the magic of bonds, devotion, and family. i sense reluctance.

i do not know what to make of this yet, but the universe seems to be offering me much information regarding you.

i know not where he is hiding you, but i know you are in europe. i have every resource at my disposal to find you.

you will stop your endeavors. this is not a negotiation. i expect a response of your resignation, or the next letter will be far less polite. you will stop your endeavors, or i will hunt you down and make you watch as i kill everyone you've ever loved. my intrigue is not enough to save you from my wrath.

a pleasure, truly,

gellert grindelwald

sicaria's vision was so unfocused by the end that she couldn't make out a word of what she was reading. she blinked several times, feeling her blood pressure drop and rise entirely too quickly to be healthy.

throughout all of that, she managed to remain perfectly still under dumbledore's scrutinizing, watchful eye. he had likely realized that she was not still reading, and she fished through her mind trying to think of any reaction or response she was supposed to have.

"you read this," sicaria muttered, struggling to focus on it, let alone commit the letter to memory.

"i did." dumbledore had debated with himself for a very long time over whether or not to give sicaria the letter. in the end, it was the final threat that had steered him toward giving it to her. as much as he wanted it to be his choice, it was hers (though he had only decided upon giving it to her after realizing that she'd make his choice— the right choice.)

sicaria gave a short nod, turning over the page in search of anything on the back. it was blank, but with few ink splotches on it, as if grindelwald had paused many times in the writing of this letter. "who was it addressed to?"