antebellum [t. riddle]

lxxx.

april 1945
brief depiction of violence 

sicaria felt no relief at the sight of albus dumbledore. in fact, she had not seen him at all— she heard an apparition, and then the hiss of several of the acolytes surrounding them.

"hello gellert."

his voice rang out, reverberating almost magically off of the walls. 

"albus." he drew out the 's' in the wizards name— a sign of either excitement or affection.

sicaria forced herself to peek through tear stained eyes, squinting across the room to where he stood. he was about twenty feet from her, and grindelwald moved himself to be between the two of them. dumbledore surveyed the room and locked eyes with the bruised, bleeding sicaria on the floor behind grindelwald. his pallid face twisted into an ugly expression of realization and understanding. 

please. her lips formed the word, but no sound escaped her. sicaria was not entirely sure what she was asking him for, or if he was even the target of her plea. she felt herself right on the edge— so close to death she could taste it. her body felt strained under the continued weight of keeping her alive. she was malnourished, in withdrawal, dependent on potions, and poisoned by dark magic. the fact she was still alive felt somewhat divine, like it was the will of the gods that she survive.

until now.

she could feel life dripping from her, like a glass with a crack in the base.

her ears were ringing, and her breathing was slow and painful. the air burned as it entered, and the expansion of her chest to accommodate the air felt like she had torn her ribcage open.

dumbledore's eyes left her and returned to grindelwald. "have you proven your point, gellert?" he questioned calmly, attempting to mask his concern. 

grindelwald looked down at sicaria, arms clasped behind his back and began to pace thoughtfully, as if genuinely considering his old friend's question. he seemed to settle on a non-answer. "i'm not sure. i have, unfortunately, been unable to turn my wand upon her, as you certainly know."

albus seemed to bristle at this. "you must know i would not come here unprotected."

"oh?" grindelwald appeared both amused and surprised by this revelation. "you've taken the pact back? of course, i knew you were fond of taking back your gifts, but..." 

he trailed off, spinning the elder wand in his fingers, gaze turning back to sicaria. a familiar look of bloodlust painted his expression— one dumbledore recognized— but before he could speak to distract gellert, his attention had already gone. 

"let's test," grindelwald said, aiming his wand at sicaria who lay limp on the ground. she knew that expelliarmus was not going to fall from his lips. "crucio!"

she could hardly scream anymore. her voice was hoarse, and the scream came out more as a series of pained whines. she could taste blood in her throat. she had stopped trying to preserve her dignity now. in the beginning, she tightened her muscles so as not to jerk wildly on the ground, but she had no strength for that now. her bladder had gone. her mind was not far behind. it all felt pointless. the pain he caused was a mocking one. it was triumphant in how it tortured her, practically gloating, which stung less than anger but burned far more passionately.

sicaria had never been so close to death. the resignation began to bloom in her mind as it seemed to be no longer able to process the pain. it started to feel happy almost— the moment when all the pain she had carried, practically since birth, would soon stop.

it would all stop.

he did not hold the spell for long. whether for mercy or boredom, sicaria did not deign to guess.