february 1945
fleamont potter was nothing if not a gryffindor.
he seemed to take it personally that he was not a better duelist in their pair, constantly working to better himself. sicaria had hexed a group of boys who continued to call potter the 'weak link'. he got his revenge by disarming both boys in their next duel in class.
sicaria and potter won their second and third duel in only a matter of minutes. the two pairs they dueled seemed not to put any effort in, considering that one did not even raise their wand once merrythought allowed them to begin.
sicaria did eventually get around to interviewing julian murdoch, but like many of the children who attended this school, none of his information was substantial. he was just a pureblood supremacist who came from a long lineage of pureblood supremacists. naturally, he'd fall in line with grindelwald's ideologies, though murdoch seemed to think that his methods were too tame.
this information did not satisfy vota.
the woman had begun to grow impatient with sicaria, seemingly not realizing that there were a limited number of students in the school, and even fewer of them actually had information on a world-renowned terrorist. there was nothing for sicaria to do except research and yet, they still did not want to take her out of hogwarts.
eileen seemed to be entering lost cause protocol with sicaria, realizing that the girl was far too stubborn and far too wronged to even consider staying with macusa once the vow expired. with that fact in mind, vota decided that she'd try to get as much use out of sicaria as possible while she still could.
they'd be sending her on missions now.
eileen circled around sicaria like a vulture with her talons out— looking for anything to grab on to. sicaria had been the life jacket that eileen's career clung to, and she needed sicaria in order to continue climbing within her department.
as of right now, all sicaria did, day after day, was research. she continued to come up short, and boredom quickly consumed every aspect of her life. she went to her classes, did all her work, and sat in her dorm alone every single day. it had been a full month of this lifestyle and it was wearing sicaria down. she glanced at herself in the mirror once and was almost surprised by the state of herself.
she felt hollow— empty almost. it was a familiar sensation, one that felt like the dull ache of a knife carving out her arteries. it was slow, and she pleaded for the invisible hand holding the blade to cut faster, because the sooner the organs were gone, the sooner she'd stop bleeding.
sicaria was losing what made her human. anger and passion and love and fight and fear all made her feel alive. she no longer created chaos— only living in a world surrounded by other people's madness. it was supposed to hurt, but it didn't. it should have been overwhelming, but it wasn't.
she couldn't feel those so much anymore.
she was a walking corpse.
the feeling itself was muted and bearable and she was somewhat numb to it, but when she thought about what she was losing—
it was excruciating.
she had never felt pain like this— pain as beautiful as having the only thing she had ever desired at her fingertips and having to rip it away from herself.
she could feel nothing anymore; nothing except the desire to feel something.
and eventually, she did, though it had taken an almost frightening amount of time.
the fourth of february 1945 cemented itself on the list of dates that sicaria would never forget. from the moment she stepped out of her dorm room, she knew that this day was different from the bleak monotony that she had been persevering through for the past month.
confusion washed over the entire student body as the daily prophet began to get delivered to the students who subscribed. everyone could feel the slight shift in the air when something crazy happened to the outside world. sicaria took one glanced t the front page before folding it back up.
she had seen enough to know that this was not something she wanted to view in front of people.
mass distribution of his message. sicaria left the great hall before reading it. crouching in the last stall of the ladies bathroom, she looked at the words on the page— the only news story of the day.
three large pictures, reminiscent of mugshots sat at the top of the page, just below the daily prophet logo.
LETTER TO THE EDITOR
good morning to my fellow magical brethren.
i come to you today in different spirits than usual. you see, i am not often given the opportunity to relay my message without the twist your leaders put on my words, but today, i feel it is time we speak directly.
i want this to be clear, on no uncertain terms.
a great misdeed is being done to wizards across the globe, one that many are not even aware of. you have been wronged, my friends, and i am here to bring it to your attention.
the statute that the 'leaders' of our free world hide behind call crimes against muggles the highest level of treachery that one can commit.
i disagree.
crimes against wizardkind— against our neighbors and friends and allies are far more unforgivable. because these nations are too busy lying to their citizens to enforce the laws that they themselves put into place, my acolytes and i have decided to see to some of their issues.
these three are caelius panza, nicolai varela, and aria malinovo.
these men and woman have been guilty of crimes committed against wizard kind. these crimes are the ones that even the most brutish and barbaric of muggles punish each other over. crimes of war.
there are spies, ladies and gentlemen, in your midst. they may be roaming inside your very home.
caelius panza is a spanish citizen, working for their ministry. he has killed british citizens on british soil— a crime that your minister himself has begged and pleaded to get written into the international code. you, minister, were part of the coalition that decided that foreign dignitaries were not permitted to murder in the name of justice on sovereign soil.
i ask you, minister medinacelli, were you aware of such transgressions? or did you perhaps authorize them yourself?
no matter. by the time you have read this, panza's body will have been delivered to his family in preparation for burial.
nicolai varela, a british born agent, spying on his own nation for the americans. have you no shame? no sense of betrayal? no— you confessed to me that you did not. you are proud of the crimes and the treachery.
minister kensington, what a horrid stain on your rule— your predecessor left a very low bar for you, and you still have yet managed to meet it. how very disappointing.
aria malinovo, a slovenian-american immigrant, desperately looking to prove herself. how long has she been pretending to be someone she is not? malinovo has been under polyjuice potion for several months, disguised as a member of my closest council.
i ask you, president picquery— seraphina, perhaps there is no need to ask, really, for you have committed some of the most egregious crimes by sending your spies all across this continent. you have time and time again claimed to be independent, but you have never once left england. your presence lingers here eternally, and i want it gone.
i myself am english, and i feel particularly nationalist when i think that there are spies, some from nations who previously claimed not to be involved, roaming around my home and stirring up things that have long been settled.
so for all the agents and spies that find themselves wandering my home in search of me, leave.
if you refuse— i will find you, and you will meet the same fate as your colleagues. i will make an example of you.
spilling magical blood has never and will never be my goal, but as is everything i do, this is for the greater good.
sicaria turned around and threw up into the toilet, eyes shut tightly to avoid looking at the photos.
the eyes of the man in the photo stared up at her, soulless and blank. nicolai varela, or as sicaria knew him, agent 6593.
he was braindead. there was no light— no life behind his eyes. the only flicker of humanity left was when the second agent flinched at the bright green light as caelius panza was killed. the agent recognized that his death was soon to come.
and it looked like a comfort.
"incendio," she casted, lighting the paper on fire before she could see the photo replay the death of a man she had once known.
this was widespread public execution accompanied with a threat.
he's going to kill me.
grindelwald is looking for me.
he is going to kill me.
sicaria didn't even know that the newspapers were allowed to publish photos like this. it wasn't gory or gruesome, but it was haunting. perhaps what was allowed did not really matter, seeing as athanasius volant, the editor-in-chief of the prophet, was found stunned in his office with several patches of hair missing. there was no telling how long someone had been polyjuice disguised as him. the entire daily prophet staff was also found at their desks, half stunned, the other half under a simple sleeping draught.
sicaria's stomach turned.
for one, grindelwald was far less whimsical in his addresses to the public. there were still tidbits of dark humor that would be funny to only people who were not affected by this entire ordeal. in his letter to dumbledore, he was more playful and poetic— the way that friends would talk to each other.
the grindelwald that had written that letter— he was grindelwald the prophet, the visionary, the leader, not the madman who the public detested.
gellert grindelwald was human before anything else. his capacity for creating chaos just happened to be greater than any other person before.
she felt sick to her stomach, but only her body had that reaction. her mind, however, could hardly process this.
fear and apprehension were reactions that were intended to keep humans safe from harm, but sicaria couldn't feel that. she wanted to be afraid and knew that she should be, but she couldn't even fake it.
this was just another bad thing to happen to her. another inconvenience to pile onto the long list of disservices that the universe had given sicaria.
she was going to die, and she didn't care. that was not how humans were supposed to react.
"do not come to class today, ms. edwards," dumbledore said solemnly, stopping her from entering his office for their meeting. he had returned from london without any further explanation of whatever he had been doing, but they only briefly discussed her trip. he seemed to resign to the fact that if he was not able to trust her with his endeavors, she would not trust him. he took her impatience without complaint. "perhaps you should take a break."
focus.
she tried her hardest to study dumbledore in an attempt to see whether or not he was faking this surprise. had he truly not known this was happening? had no one told him of this?
hm. even is reach has limitations.
her throat was dry. "what time does the last astronomy class end?"
"professor cosmos has been ill since christmas. classes are postponed until his return."
she nodded and turned away from him, moving in a direction that she had not yet decided.
"miss edwards, i will intervene in any position where i feel i must. i do not care if it temporarily upsets you. if you continue to walk alone, i will interfere."
she did not respond.
it has started to rain outside, cold enough to be freezing and icy, but not enough to snow. she was walking against traffic as the rest of the school headed to class, yet she was going in the direction of her bedroom.
an idea hit her.
it was reckless, that she knew, but the fear— the fear of getting caught— it was something.
something she'd be able to feel.
merlin, why hadn't she thought of this before?
she ran back to her dorm and pulled all the wards off of the container of drugs that she hadn't opened yet.
she created a long line that wasn't straight nor pretty, and she did not hesitate in inhaling every last particle of it.
she coughed a few times and shook her head, waiting for the rush to hit her.
her vision went blurry and she smiled through her sobs. tears of pure joy.
she had never been so grateful for fear.
•••
"edwards?"
her eyes snapped up and then softened at the familiar white-blonde vision. "abraxas."
she has the sneaking suspicion that dumbledore sent him— one of them to find her.
meddling asshole.
he had only done what he had promised to.
it had been several hours since her original high had worn off, and she was now sitting atop the astronomy tower as she waited for her body to fully calm down. shame and delight and fear were fighting over which got to be the dominant emotion of the day, but neither had a clear advantage. she sat close enough to the railing of the tower that the raindrops flicked her face every few moments. the random book she forgot she had brought with her lay discarded several feet away from her, ink bleeding through the now ruined pages.
at the sound of his voice, she experienced another feeling: temptation.
"i thought i warded the stairs," she mumbled. you did, he almost said, but bit his tongue. he could sense the magic of the ring through the wards, and in addition to that, her two wards were lazily constructed and substantially more weak than her usual standard. he had firsthand knowledge of how powerful her protective magic could be when she actually put the effort into them.
he walked slowly toward her sitting on the floor. she didn't bother to hide her distress; he'd already seen it. "are you alright?"
"you saw the news." she sniffled a little, feeling far more pathetic than she ever had in the past, but at least it was something. she did not look him in the eye; her eyes were focused on the reflection of the storm clouds in the black lake. "they're going to kill me."
sicaria nearly chuckled as she felt his awkwardness at the situation. for several seconds, abraxas stood stock still a few feet away from her, trying to figure out what it was he was supposed to do to console her. he wanted nothing more than to run off and find adonis, or adrien, or thomas, or even tom and let one of them be the one to help her, but the thought of leaving her here while she was so vulnerable— it was perfect timing. he couldn't let this opportunity go to waste.
abraxas malfoy was a slytherin to his very soul.
she didn't turn to him, nor did she say anything further as he watched his silhouette out of the corner of her eye. she hadn't told him to leave yet— maybe that was a good sign.
or a bad one. is she supposed to seem so resigned? he wondered. he was silent in his contemplation, treating the situation as if sicaria was a wild deer who would be scared away by any sudden noises.
finally making up his mind, he hesitantly took a few more cautious steps while removing the outer layer of his robes, sat down on the floor behind her, and pressed his back to hers. she felt the warmth of him, and let her head lull to the side slightly, relaxing into the contact. this was probably the closest to hugging that she'd ever get from abraxas, but it was appreciated nonetheless. he straightened his posture against her, allowing her to lean against him like a wall. "no, they aren't."
he felt her shake her head. "you don't understand."
abraxas was conflicted. no amount of malfoy generational overconfidence would fool him into believing that he could take down a terrorist organization by the sheer force of how much he cared for her. he now understood why she was so volatile, because the amount of pressure that came with her occupation was unimaginable to him.
on the other hand, there was tom. abraxas had never seen tom not get what he wanted. yes, he was eighteen, but there was no doubt in abraxas' mind that riddle would burn cities for her. he had seen what riddle had done to parkinson and leonov and every other person who had dared to cross her. it didn't take much imagination to determine what riddle would do to those who threatened her life.
tom would kill for her, abraxas was sure of it.
"maybe i don't," he said, glancing over his shoulder at her. "edwards, you look terrible. you're falling apart."
it wasn't an insult, just a factual observation. "i know."
"are you ill?"
"probably," she said truthfully. she chuckled dryly, glad that he'd chosen not to look at her. she barely managed to keep her voice steady at she spoke next. "i'm sorry. this whole idea was a foolish one, and i made a mistake. this— this is just so fucking tiring; having to account for other people's feelings when making decisions. i don't— i just can't keep acting like this isn't killing me, and i'm sorry that i—"
"don't apologize," he interrupted. "i know why you did it. i know why you thought i was best. i understand—"
"no you don't," she said blankly.
"fine, maybe i don't." he was being uncharacteristically patient. she felt the vibrations of his voice against her back. she didn't know if she preferred this, or the abraxas who would laugh and tell her to pull herself together. it was hard to reconcile with the fact that people were multi-faceted, and both of those 'versions' of abraxas were actually all the same boy. "does that mean you're done avoiding us?"
she laughed behind a sob. "i don't think i could anymore if i wanted to."
he wanted to— did feel triumphant, but if the cost of it was seeing her this miserable—
it was a price he was willing to pay, but he didn't enjoy seeing her broken down and vulnerable like this. it had disturbed him enough to see unnerved: when rosier was near-death, when she thought she was going to die in his home, and now, while she was convinced that she was going to die at the hands of a terrorist.
abraxas only then realized how close he had come to witnessing the very gruesome death of one of his friends. a spy caught in a building of those whose sole purpose was to hunt her. if she had been caught, she'd surely be tortured to death in his home, and it would likely haunt him for the rest of his life.
he smiled despite his internal conflict. he liked the ends, but not necessarily the means by which they achieved them.
he sighed and ran his hand through his hair in contemplation, trying to figure out what specific moment it was that he had started to regard her as one of his closest friends. perhaps there was some parallel dimension in which they had known each other for much longer, because it was almost unsettling how quickly he had grown to care for her. he bent his morals, held his tongue, and physically attacked people he had once called his friends for her.
even after knowing she was a spy, he had never really doubted that she cared for him. perhaps the thought crossed his mind, but there was no version, no concatenation of their friendship that could lead him to believe that any of it was not genuine.
"where is tom?"
her blurted question broke him out of his reverie. he smirked though she couldn't see it at how she rushed out the words.
"looking for you."
"why?" her body stiffened, like she didn't believe him.
"i swear, edwards, sometimes it's like you don't think." they chuckled at the same time. "we read the news obviously and then— well, you didn't go to any classes. we didn't know what to think."
"i'm sorry." it wasn't meant to be a real apology, she just didn't know what else to say.
the thought of someone worrying over her never even crossed her mind.
he shushed her, and made an indignant noise at her apology, not even giving it a verbal response.
"we thought you might have left, but the ring—" his explanation halted abruptly.
"what about it?" she asked, suspicion lacing her tone.
he sighed, knowing it was too late to backtrack now. "there are enchantments on it, as you know."
"go on."
"one of them is a general proximity charm. we'll all be able to feel it if you left the castle grounds."
"and you didn't tell me this because?" the irritation that was lacing her tone was perfunctory. she had no energy, nor any desire to be angry with them.
"it would have caused an unnecessary argument," he shrugged. "if they make you leave, will you swear not to go without telling us?"
she nodded. "i promise." she felt rather childish when she asked her next question. "is he mad at me?"
abraxas snorted, and she elbowed him in the back, to which he full on laughed. "always is, isn't he? mad at you, for you, because of you. you won't want to hear it, but the things you make him do are unprecedented."
she practically cackled. "you're telling me that he's fragile and sensitive?"
she felt his laugh vibrate around them. "no, far from it. he's— i can't explain it really. he's never had a girlfriend befo—"
"i'm not his girlfriend." she pushed herself away and turned around when he laughed. her tone turned indignant. "abraxas, i'm not!"
he turned around as well, the boyish, mischievous grin nearly making her forget her irritation, and raised his hands in mock surrender. "fine, you're not his girlfriend. but, he has never had one before. as high and mighty as he acts, he was still a boy in some aspects. he lost his virginity in fifth year just like everyone else—"
he halted, waiting for a reaction that she did not give.
"—but he's never really liked anyone— any witch rather. his fixation on you is a bit creepy from an outsiders perspective."
"when he apologized to me-"
"he apologized?" malfoy raised his eyebrows, almost in disbelief. "to you?"
she nodded and spoke again before he could interrupt her. "the night you were in the hospital. he told me that he was 'obsessed' with me because i was so much like him." abraxas laughed so hard that tears came to his eyes. she sat there silently, waiting for him to calm himself. "almost done?"
"sorry, edwards. it's just— that's such a stupid thing for him to say but i have no doubt he said it."
"what you think he was lying?"
abraxas snorted. "no. i just think he had his first infatuation and didn't know what to do except stalk you over it."
though 'infatuation' might have been too tame of a word, in malfoy's opinion. sure, abraxas had a crush on a witch before, but never had he tried to win a war for her.
"what?"
"are you telling me you've never noticed how he begs for your attention? i've seen you seek him out maybe once, but think about it. every other time you interact, wasn't he the one to instigate it?" she opened her mouth to deny it but then closed it. he watched her, amused, as she tried to come up with a rebuttal.
there was a loud crash of thunder.
"i see i've rendered you speechless. you and riddle can sort out your relationship later." he rushed out his next sentence before she had time to respond. "the hell were you doing?" he said, pointing to the side of them where her discarded book laid.
"reading, but then i got distracted by the storm."
he scoffed and then grabbed her arm to bring her to her feet. "the stupidest thing i've ever heard. merlin you must really be bored without us."
"think very highly of yourself, don't you, abraxas?"
"but of course." the smile was evident in his voice. "i'm a malfoy, for merlin's sake. superior to all beings that inhabit the earth."
"so superior that you have a poor in herbology?"
"fuck you, edwards."
her trepidation returned as he guided her down the stairs, not releasing her arm, as if she'd run in the opposite direction if he let her go. "you know, that was the first time you called me a bitch. in herbology."
"and the last time."
"to my face?"
he nodded. "to your face."
she laughed as she used her wand to get rid of the evidence of her meltdown. he was guiding her somewhere, when she felt the ring burn slightly. she glanced over to see his wand at his forearm, summoning everyone to their current location.
"do i get to tell them how i singlehandedly persuaded you?" was she ready to face all of them collectively? perhaps not, but it didn't seem like abraxas was going to give her a say in the matter.
"more like the straw that broke the camels back."
"bitch."
"blood traitor."
he scoffed, but did not deny it. he was too elated to be annoyed.