Trigger Warning: Suicide Reference
After that first day, Fecca hardened herself from the outside in and focused on her work. She pulled up her hood to hide her face on the Lestranges' wing. No other prisoners spoke to her. No one requested letters sent to spouses that may or may not be alive.
The work, and the dementors' constant presence, was draining, but her living quarters in Azkaban away from all that was tolerable. She became used to the crashing of waves against the stone below, the salty taste that came in the air through her window. And she worked to keep it.
And for that work, she was rewarded. The owl arrived at her windowsill with a letter from the Ministry in its talons. They had produced a new incentive for jobs like hers. Six months of good work, and Azkaban employees like herself would be promoted to jobs at the Ministry. The letter assured her the position needed no magical ability, just a dedicated work ethic, as she had proven.
"Do you know anything about this?" she asked the caretaker.
"New policy," he nodded. "After the accident, they don't want people working here too long. Liability. Bad press for the Ministry. UETS was all over their case, saying they're forcing squibs to take death jobs."
UETS was the Union for Equal Treatment of Squibs. And the "accident" he referenced had to do with another cell cleaner and a fall from a window. At least, they called ita fall in the official statement from the Ministry. Jump was, like the caretaker said, bad press.
She had been at Azkaban for five months by that point. One more, and she could get out.
Fecca's official job title at the Ministry was Accompanying Messenger for Important Documents. She had a name tag with the title engraved. With circulating rumors about You-Know-Who being alive and an increase in reported Death Eater activity, the Ministry was tightening security. Certain documents containing classified information were no longer being sent by owl, for fear of interception. Instead, they were being handed over in person, by two people for extra security. Her job was to accompany the messenger, a wizard or witch who would do all the magical work. She just needed to be there, to keep an eye out, to report any suspicious activity, including that of her companion.
"It's hard to trust anyone these days," her boss said, "but we're taking all the necessary precautions."
Her screening process included a witch taking a look inside her mind. It was uncomfortable, it felt like steam seeping into her ears, then turning sharp and scraping the inside of her head. But the witch must not have found anything of interest, because it landed her the job.
She slept in a flat where the air was warm and didn't taste like salt. Only the occasional car horn disturbed her sleep, instead of a looming ocean storm. It was, undeniably, a step up in her life.
There was heavy rain that January morning, one that reminded Fecca so much of that which poured over her previous residence. She arrived at her department damp from the walk, a steaming cup of tea in her hand. All her coworkers were crowded in one corner of the room, looking something over. The few other squibs she worked with were noticeable by the rain spots dotting their cloaks. The wizards were all dry. Apparated straight from their doorways, no doubt.
She approached Maureen, the wizard she had accompanied the previous afternoon, who was standing on the outer edge of the circle.
"What is it?" Fecca asked.
"Mass prison break late last night from Azkaban."
Fecca shook her head.
"That's impossible. Azkaban is impenetrable."
"It's the work of You-Know-Who!" another squib said. Kevin was his name, and he had a habit of irritating the wizards with his conspiracy theories.
"There is absolutely no evidence of that, Kevin!" Maureen snapped. "The Ministry has no reason to suspect anything of that sort."
"But no one escapes Azkaban." Fecca repeated. I would know, she wanted to say, but she had purposefully kept her employment history quiet around her co-workers. They didn't need to know she lived in the prison.
"See for yourself," Kevin said, passing her a copy of The Daily Prophet. Fecca realized this was what everyone had been crowding over.
"Just printed half an hour ago," he continued. "Hasn't even gone out yet. Janet—her husband works at The Prophet—brought it to us."
Fecca looked down at the paper, where mug shots of prisoners scowled back at her. Her eyes were drawn to the cackling woman with black curls in the middle. Then to the two men on either side of her.
The Lestranges had escaped from Azkaban.
That night, tucked into the bed of her small flat, Fecca laid in the dark with her eyes open. Lights flitted across the ceiling from passing cars. The official announcement by Fudge had come out around noon. It was true, ten high-security prisoners escaped the supposedly impenetrable Azkaban. Fudge wouldn't give any details on who or what had aided their escape, but Fecca knew no one could escape that hellhole on their own. They undoubtedly had outside help.
And that's what many others suspected. Nerves were running high all day in her office. Witches, wizards, and squibs alike looking over their shoulders when a door would open, jumping at the slightest sound. What would these prisoners do, now that they were free?
Most nights thereafter, as Fecca laid in bed and drifted hazily in and out of consciousness before succumbing to a continuous sleep, the Lestranges' faces appeared behind her eyelids. Something that pulled them continually back into her head. She didn't know if it was their striking features—the desperation in his eyes, the power in hers—or perhaps her tie to them, however brief, given what she had done. But they appeared again and again in her memory, drawn to the surface of her mind by some unknown force. The image of the woman sizing her up, expression dangerous, the relief that flooded the man's face when Fecca told him his wife and brother were still alive.
So when Fecca, half asleep a month after the escape, blinked her eyes and saw Bellatrix Lestrange looking back at her, she closed them again, thinking the woman had been drawn into her half-conscious mind once more.
But this time, the smell of perfume stung her nose. Strange, her dreams were always scentless.
"Wake up, child!" Bellatrix whispered sharply into her ear.
Fecca bolted up in her bed, heart taking a sickening leap. Bellatrix, there and in the flesh, was inches from her face. The woman's skin was no longer streaked with grime, and the top layer of her hair was pulled back out of her face, curls silky and washed but still wild. Her green eyes, however, were still the dangerous, powerful eyes she remembered from that first day in Azkaban.
Fecca's tried to gasp, but she could barely take in air.
Bellatrix cackled, seeing the young woman's fear.
"Do you reckon she remembers us?" Rodolphus said. He was standing in the shadow behind his wife. He, too, was cleaned up. Shaven, hair trimmed, skin free of dirt.
"Of course she remembers us!" Bellatrix laughed. "Don't you, Alphecca?"
Goosebumps ran down her arms as the woman stroked her cheek. She had never told them her name. She swallowed and nodded.
"Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange," she said. Her voice was barely a whisper.
"Very good," Bellatrix said, now moving to tuck a piece of hair behind Fecca's hair. "And we remember you too, the squib from Azkaban who passed words between us." Here she clicked her tongue. "What would the guard have had to say about that?"
In spite of her fear, Fecca felt the heat of anger creeping up her spine. The old, blinding heat that warned one of her moods was approaching.
"I did you a favor," Fecca snapped at Bellatrix, leaning even closer to her face. "And the guard could have had my ass for it. You think anyone else would have delivered that letter to you?" Fecca lunged and tried to snatch the wand Bellatrix held in her other hand. Bellatrix pulled back, and she missed, but still managed to scratch the woman's hand.
Fecca steadied herself for Bellatrix's retaliation, but instead, Bellatrix just laughed again.
"Not so soft after all, are we?" she said. She turned back to her husband, her lips pulling into a smile. "Rodolphus, she's perfect!"
"Perfect for what?" Fecca said. Her voice still had an edge, but the burst of anger was quickly fading, and her fear bubbling back up to the surface.
"For having the absolute honor of being the Dark Lord's test subject. Let's go."
Bellatrix grabbed her arm, and Fecca felt the air squeezed from her lungs as she was dragged along on an apparition ride.