Minerva
19 years.
19 years spent working all day, every day.
19 years is a long damn time.
The few people Minerva knew (or used to know) were most likely dead from starvation or sickness by now, but she had no way of knowing. She hadn’t seen anything outside these towering walls and her cell in nearly two decades. The only thing that could be noted about her current living situation was the too-stale bread and constant dampness from the ocean spray that could make even the strongest people go mad.
She had seen many of her previous companions lose it after a few years and get moved to another prison. Some said it was even worse than The Bagne of Toulon, where she was currently placed, and she didn’t want to risk it. She couldn’t imagine what the conditions had to be like to be worse than where they were right now, but she didn’t much fancy finding out.
Throughout the years, she had come up with a couple rules to follow. They were created for the sole purpose of not getting the shit beat out of you each day in the cells. They were as follows:
1. Look down, don’t look guards in the eyes unless specifically told to do so. Even then, be cautious.
2. Don’t hold out hope for anything. Everyone outside has forgotten you, no one hears your pleas or prayers, you’re there until you die.
3. Don’t try to plead your case, it only makes the guards annoyed and rougher when handling you.
4. Don’t bother praying to Jesus, or any deity for that matter. They don’t care and you’re on your own.
Of course there were more self-made surviving prison rules she gave herself, but those were all she really felt like repeating to herself every day. They were the most important, so at least they were worth knowing.
She continued repeating these rules to herself as she tugged on the rope, the shackles at her wrists and ankles matching the hundreds of inmates around her. If she looked up, which she wouldn’t, she knew she would be able to see Albus pacing the top of the wall monitoring their work, per usual. The man infuriated her like no other, looking down on the prisoners as if they were a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe. He was in charge here, and was most likely to blame for the nearly inhabitable living conditions.
She also knew that if she looked up, which again, she wouldn’t, she would see many other guards watching them as well, so there was no chance of escaping even if she wanted to.
The rope she was pulling on was thick and heavy, soaked with ocean water. Even though there were countless people pulling together, it was incredibly grueling work. Pulling a boat onto shore with only human labor is a feat for anyone, no matter how many people you have or how strong they are.
The boat itself had three masts and about 16 long, coarse ropes attached to it. Each rope was manned by 50 inmates (give or take a few) pulling in tandem. Some were high up on the different levels of the wall, steps if you will, while others, Minerva included, were waist deep in ocean water and consistently being sprayed in the face.
Once the boat was a respectable distance out of the water, the guards called them off and they began walking back towards their cells in a single file line. When Minerva got there, however, Albus blocked her path with a nightstick, and she looked him in the eyes. He was the one person she would look at, and at that point she was so tired and didn’t care about the repercussions.
“Retrieve the flag.” She turned around and looked at the French flag that had fallen off the ship in its journey out of the sea. It looked to be the size of a tree, and was soaking wet, which definitely added to its weight. With a quiet sigh, she walked over towards it. She was the strongest person here, male or female, she knew it, and she knew that he knew it too.
She shuffled over to the fallen flag and crouched down, sliding her arm under it. With an immense effort, she rolled it onto her shoulder and began to stand. It was extremely heavy, but 19 years of hard work had given her a strength that she didn’t have before. With a grunt, she stood up and hauled the flag over to Albus, who was standing around 30 feet away.
It took a bit, but she got the flag over to him and dropped it onto the floor near his feet. He hardly even acknowledged this feat and launched immediately into speech.
“Now, prisoner 24601, your time is up. Your parole has begun. You know what that means.” He handed her a piece of paper. Minerva tried not to laugh with glee, and only a small, breathless chuckle came out.
“Yes, it means I’m free.”
“No.” No? He had to be joking. She didn’t quite understand, but whatever he meant it was pissing her off. She opened the letter. It read:
“In the Name of the King:
It is ordered to Minerva McGonagall, convict released from ring of this port. Age of 40 years, height of 1 meter 651 millimeters, hair and eyebrows brown, face light, eyes green, daughter of Robert McGonogall and of Isobel McGonogall to go Hogsmeade department upon her arrival, to the Mayor of the said link, to whom her leave will be addressed.
The administrative bodies civil and military officers, responsible for maintaining the public order, and all others that may belong, are requested and required to freely and surely release the said McGonogall to surrender to them these papers to give them nor to be concerned that it will be given to them. McGonogall shall give no trouble or impediment, but, on the contrary, to grant him, in case of need, all aid, relief and assistance.
This road map will be stealable until November 18, 1815.”
“Follow to the letter your itenary. This badge will shame your soul until you die. It warns you’re a dangerous woman.” How dare he call her dangerous?
“I stole a loaf of bread!” He gave her an unimpressed look, but she continued anyways. “My sister’s child was close to death. We were starving-“
“You will starve again, unless you learn the meaning of the law.” Minerva huffed.
“I know the meaning of those 19 years. A slave of the damn law.”
“Five years for what you did,” he yelled, and Minerva personally thought it was insane to get five years of borderline torture for simply trying to eat, “the rest because you tried to run. Yes 24601.”
“My name is Minerva McGonagall.” He seemed to want to roll his eyes at her, but refrained.
“And I’m Albus, do not forget my name. Do not forget me, 24601.” He then moved out of her way to let her pass, and she brushed past him. Before she began walking up the stairs she turned over her shoulder and saw him watching her, and, after glaring at him for a moment or two, she turned around to walk up the stairs.
She could finally leave this place behind her, along with all the stupid rules that came with it.
Lookdownlookdownlookdownlookdown.
She held her head up high as she ascended the steps and saw the sunset for the first time in 19 years.