"And I want you to watch over my mommy and my daddy and my—."

"Would you just bloody shut up!" interrupted the voice of a very annoyed, sixteen year old.

The voice belonged to Rachael. She would be in school at the moment, a Slytherin at Hogwarts, but she was accused of a crime and was in Azkaban, the wizard prison. She had been for about a year. The long stay at the hell, hadn't really affected her. Not on the inside anyway.

The year she'd arrived, her hair had been to her shoulders, maybe a little shorter. She'd been wearing comfortable pants and a T-shirt that could have belonged to a guy. Her brown eyes had been full of tears, her mouth opened in screams.

Now, however, her brown hair was down to her mid-back, her pants were baggy and she really needed a belt, her T-shirt was so baggy it was almost a blanket, her eyes were filled with anger or boredom, and the only thing that came out of her mouth were insults.

When the person who had stopped praying (some idiot who'd lost his mind about five months back), Rachael sighed. It was quiet, all except for the screams of those prisoners who were so guilty, that their crimes constantly haunted them. Since she didn't feel as if she'd done any crime, she didn't feel guilt, nor was she haunted.

Her life in the cell was a hell of a lot better than it had been. Before, she'd stayed with this idiot, but could never remember his name. Witflick…Fattwarck…Flitwick! A small smirk appeared on her thin, yet still beautiful, face. She'd remembered. Finally.

Flitwick had been the Charms professor at Hogwarts. Hell, he probably still was. She didn't know and she didn't care. It wasn't her fault that the idiot, Malfoy, had pissed her off enough that she'd used the Cruciatus Curse. He'd fully deserved it. Nor was it her fault that he'd ducked and it had hit Longbottom. She hadn't cared, as long as someone was in pain.

Rolling her eyes, she pictured the wand being snapped, the phoenix feather being burned to a crisp, and the empty, split wood stick being thrown out of the boat.

That wasn't even her wand. She'd found that one on the ground, near a tree. She knew whose it was, Weasley's. Rachael's wand wasn't even a phoenix feather. It was a 7 in., mahogany wand, with a dragon heartstring in the center. The idiots at the Ministry hadn't even done their jobs in making sure it was her wand.

Oh well, their loss. As soon as she got out of the bloody prison, she was going to get her wand back, and Avada Kedavra Drao Malfoy till he went through Tartarus and back. Until then, she would simply let herself be bored.

Suddenly she heard footsteps coming down the hall. She tilted her head and frowned. It wasn't feeding time, the prisoners were never let out for a walk, and there were no screams or sobbing ruling out a newbie. A visitor? Surely not…She got up from where she'd been sitting in the corner. She walked towards the bars and froze.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the huge blood stain on the wall. Her blood stain. She smirked and sat back down in her spot. It wasn't going to be a visitor for her, since she had no friends, so there wasn't a reason to go see who it was.

Suddenly she heard voices, as if someone was talking to them self. It was definitely a male. She heard what he was saying:

"I hate this place. I was here three years ago, when Black escaped. You'd think that I, Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, could get someone to come here and do this for me. But no. I have to."

'Black?' Rachael mouthed silently to herself. 'Fudge?'

Shaking her head, she watched as the figure stopped in front of her cell. She crossed her arms and glared.

"Rachael Monroe?"

"Fudge," she said, knowing she was insulting him without really…saying anything.

So did he. The Minister puffed out his chest, "You are to come with me."

"Bloody hell. What for? What if I don't want to go with a muggle-lover like you?" she said, the same tone in her voice.

"Don't use those words, young lady. What for? For another trial, of course. And you have no choice. Now just come," he insisted.

Rachael frowned. There was something in his voice, something…different. He sounded nervous. He didn't know how to be nervous. The real Fudge anyway.

Still suspicious, she took a step towards him. Sighing in defeat, she muttered, "Fine, c'mon you bloody imbecile. I'm just dying to come back to this cell."

He just nodded. Again unlike himself. He opened the door and she walked out. She was weak, the lack of eating and darkness of the cells had made her thinner, yet stronger in other ways. She crossed her arms over her blanket-like shirt and followed as Fudge led her down the halls. She didn't flinch when she passed the dementors, but for some reason, Fudge did. What could ickle-perfect-fanatic-Fudge have done that the dementors remind him of? she thought to herself. An evil smirk at the possibilities her warped mind could think of appeared on her face.

When they stepped outside, Rachael flinched. She hadn't seen, or been, in the sun for a year. It was quite a shock. She just stood there, blinking rapidly for a few minutes.

Finally Fudge appeared back in front of her. Was it just her, or did he appear, thinner? Younger, even? She frowned at him.

"A-are you coming or not? We don't have a long time…" he said, glancing around nervously.

She frowned harder, but nodded, "Yeah, yeah. I'm coming."

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When they reached land, Rachael looked at Fudge and felt her jaw drop. As the man got out of the boat, he changed. Not attitude, but like…appearance.

As she watched, the man's hair lengthened. It grew thicker (covering the bald spot) and darker. It turned black. Then the man's face changed.

Suddenly she was staring at a man a lot younger. As she stared, she suddenly realized who it was.

Rachael, the newly escaped criminal from Azkaban, the second one in the history of the world, also the youngest person to ever be sent there, was staring straight into the face of…

Sirius Black.