Valencia grew up like all children of Death eaters did; she was quiet and obedient and supported the Dark Lord. Her auntie and uncle showed more affection to her as she grew up and became useful.

By the age of 5, Narcissa took an interest in every aspect of her life. Valencia learnt to read using books about pureblood supremacy, she learnt arithmetic using examples with pureblood ideology, she learnt to play piano and sing like every pureblooded girl, she danced and was learning to be the perfect wife.

Valencia watched her family and the Dark Lord tortured men, women and children from doorways. She  would sometimes take her by the hand and show her how to cause the most pain; Lyra was used to being handed a knife and told where to cut. She was sure it wasn't right but it pleased her family.    

She read books about princes and princesses who loved each other madly but when she looked at her auntie and uncle she saw nothing. They barely spoke or smiled at each other, she had never even seen them kiss, hug or even hold hands.

Her 7th birthday was the happiest day she could remember. Her Aunt gave her a necklace of a snake entwined round a wand, her Uncle even smiled at her. Her auntie kissed and hugged her and gave her beautiful toys, her cousin played with her. The ballroom had been decorated with balloons and streamers and lots of pureblood children invited. Her mother had house elves bring out a cake with 7 silver candles floating above it. But in 3 years her life would fall apart.

                                                              .     .      .

Most ten year olds spend summer meeting up with friends and watching movies before getting ready to start Hogwarts. However, that is not the case for Valencia Elara Lestrange. She was caught on a disastrous scene. Five muggles had been savagely murdered and tortured. 

Valencia was put in magic- suppressing handcuffs and placed in a cell at the ministry. She was questioned under the Veritaserum potion,  and confessed to the murders. She was instantly listed as a top criminal and was sentenced to Azkaban for fifteen years.

She was sent to Azkaban on an old, tattered boat, without being able to say goodbye to her family, the Malfoy's as they had looked after since her birth because her mother and father were imprisoned in Azkaban.

She was thrown hastily into a cell. She scurried to the back of the cell, and leaned against it with a loud sigh. "Welcome to Azkaban," a muffled voice from the cell to the left of her whispered. "At least I get a welcoming party," she laughed slightly. "What are you in for?" "Supposedly killing twelve muggles, and one wizard and for being a supporter of You-Know-Who," he stated, and slunk over to the cell bars. "What sent you here?" He was about twenty-five, with long black hair and an unshaven face. His eyes were slightly sunken in from the lack of proper food. He looked almost like he had lost his soul with his eyes a dull black and it sent shivers down her spine. 

"For being a supporter of Voldemort," she stated, "and I killed five mudbloods." She sneered, making the other man laugh.

Time ticked away slowly, slow enough to wonder if time actually existed. She was alone in her misery, her dark thoughts crowding in her mind shouting to be heard. She didn't feel the slightest bit of regret, she hated muggle-borns she was raised to. Her lawyer was useless, she had not once stepped in once the prosecution drilled her and the court onlookers sneered and jeered at her when she was dragged out of the courtroom, her chains weighing heavily on her body.

Valencia rubbed at the permanent brand on her arm. The ink brand of Azkaban forever carved on her sickly pale skin. Her unique serial numbers ran the inside of her right arm with the Azkaban emblem,  the one thing that she had and but many of her inmates had carved on their arm was the rune that duelled her magic. She was told by her prison governor that her magic would eventually disappear over the years.  

But Valencia didn't care, she was very good at escaping from places and had already started planning her escape, which was deeming difficult. She liked the idea of people fearing her when she was set free.

                                                                             .     .      .

The echoing of the insane screams, the deep, sticky feeling of sweat sticking to their skin was a constant every day for a prisoner of Azkaban. The small cramped cells and the blistering skin from chains tied too tight—the eerie chill of the Dementor's passing by. The tormented dreams and continuous depressing thoughts are all that fill the minds of the damned prisoners. The atrocious crimes they committed deemed them to get horrible treatment.

Only the worst of wizards and witches were sent here. So, of course, only the worst treatment was expected. And those that we're not there were fatally kissed by the Dementor's so that they were no more. The prison has been here for over 500 years, housing some of the worst and most atrocious criminals in all wizard kind.

Life in prison was a harsh reality. Much harsher than she thought. Wake at at five am, each day, be escorted to the dining hall for breakfast, where the inmates would line up with their tray  and slowly move down the line to get their sloppy porridge and watery tea.

Showers twice a week and dressed in the prison clothes of washed out grey made things more miserable. Counting the number of bricks in her cell wall was the only thing keeping her sane, as someone would when they have to isolate from everyone for twenty hours a day.

Lunch was the same then back to their cells for more vigorous boredom. Dinner was the only time when they were allowed to socialise after their meal for an hour before being escorted back to their cells. Four years of imprisonment had slowly brought her once talented mind to a still. She swore she could already feel her magic slowly disappearing. 

"Lestrange! Looks like prison life isn't agreeing with you." Valencia looked up and heard someone say, quietly. She turned around and saw Dolohov, a Death Eater, he worked with her parents, that she had never met. Valencia did the signature Lestrange smirk just like her mother. "You too" She smirked. 

"Visiting's open" One prison guard yelled, over the loud voices of your inmates. "When I say your name, come here" Another yelled as Valencia looked over to where he was pointing.

"What you do?" Doholov asked. "Murdered some mudbloods" She said, showing no remorse, still looking over at the guard who was calling out names. "What about you?" "I overpowered wizards Gideon and Fabian Prewett and murdered them." He replied.

"Lestrange, Valencia" One guard yelled out, everyone looked at her, I bet they've never seen a fourteen year old in Azkaban she thought to herself. Probably not, as she was none as the 'Deadliest child' by the Ministry. 

Once you reached the guard, he grabbed you and pushed you along until you were standing outside a door. You entered the door and saw your Auntie.

"Valencia... " Narcissa said sternly as she saw her enter the room. "I have someone who can help you escape Azkaban." Narcissa declared. Valencia just stared at her. "Of course.." Valencia muttered. "Everyone who has tried has failed, except for Uncle Sirius." She said quietly with her hands now pressed firmly against her head. 

"I just want to go home, and I want to see my parents... and the Dark Lord. How am I meant to become a Death Eater when I'm in Azkaban!" The truth was Valencia had been training her whole life for that moment and it was all going down the drain.

All of a sudden Narcissa grabbed Valencia's arm, as her long nails dug into Valencia's arm where she had her Azkaban tattoo. The blondes eyes focused on Valencia's rune. 

"What fool did this?" Narcissa hissed. 

Valencia grimaced at the pain lacing through her arm.  "The ministry allows it to happen to people who won't be leaving for a long time." "No one has the right to interfere with another's magical core." The venom from her words weren't directed at Valencia but at the Ministry. 

"There's nothing that can be done.. I'm so sorry Valencia. While I can give you back your freedom," Narcissa gently dragged her thumb over Valencia's rune, "I can't undo the damage that you will suffer."

Yanking her arm out of her Auntie's grip. 

One of the main reasons why nobody ever complained was the unbreakable track record of no escapees.

No, the one on everyone's mind is of Sirius Black. A horrid murderer and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named sympathizer, after betraying friends and murdering some more Muggles and wizards, he was thrown into Azkaban without trial. But most people felt like he didn't need a trial considering the horrible atrocities that he committed. When he broke out, it flashed on the news for days on end. 'Sirius Black Sighted' outlined the newspaper the Daily Prophet, for months.  

But they never did catch that dastardly villain. He vanished without a trace. Nobody knew how he escaped. And nobody knew where he went. He was gone, just like that. And the world moved on, people forgot that Sirius Black was a threat. Harry Potter, the boy who lived, the one who everyone thought was the most in jeopardy, was still alive, as good as ever. And the commotion died down. Sirius Black was her uncle, but Valencia never met him as her mother's family shut him out, early in his adult life.

But the news of his escape spread far and wide—all the way to the other prisoners rotting away in their cells at Azkaban. The old prisoners strike up conversations with new prisoners, and the chain of information spread throughout Azkaban. The escape of Sirius Black sparked the catalyst of events to follow.