So the story you've just read was meant to be full length novel, as I'm sure you can tell so much went on and to me, it has so much potential. However, I simply don't have time to write it. Maybe one day, eh? This though, I did write. It's the final epilogue. Sirius and Rachelle in Azkaban. I had to share as I'm so proud of the way this is written and would love the whole tale to be written to this level one day. Let me know what you think
Epilogue: Azkaban
The room was bare, apart from dust. The stone floor was ice cold and the wrought iron door sat tantalisingly within the forbidding thick stone walls. The small barred window within the door let in a small potion of firelight from the torches in the corridor, without that we would have been in darkness. Having never seen a glimpse of sunlight in here the only way of noting time was during the full moon; but I'd even lost track of how many times Rachelle had been a werewolf. The whole room has been constantly bitter cold and slightly damp; though the horrid conditions only spurred the feeling of being sick to the stomach that even Moony didn't spare me the few seconds it would have taken to prove my innocence. The only friend I had left in the world thought me a murderer; in his eyes Rachelle had corrupted me, when in fact I know that it was I who changed her; changed her for the good.
Everything I ever owned, ever loved, had been taken away from me. My family, though of course I'd lost them when I was I was but a child. My freedom, it's now gone forever or so it does seem. My reputation, now scorned for eternity as a cold-blooded killer. My friends, mixed with a stab of death, betrayal and dishonour. And now as if the cruel fates hadn't taken quite enough they'd gotten hold of Rachelle. The dementors are like leeches, feeding off any fraction of human soul that's around them. I can escape; in my four-legged canine form they can't touch me. But Rachelle's werewolf body is a slave to a moon; all she has left is her soul. The dementors feed off her ferociously and she's quickly getting weaker and weaker with each passing moment. Her shining glistening long auburn hair was now dull knotted and frayed, the big puppy dog brown eyes I used to love staring into, now blank, lifeless and hollowed back within their sockets. The dark prison robe now drowned her within its cheap itching fabric due to the drastic amount of weight she'd lost. It's like my worst nightmare had come true. After all I had been through; I was now forced to watch the life drain out of the woman I loved much faster than I could ever comprehend.
I curled my furry body around her in a desperate attempt to keep her warm. I didn't care that she was so spaced out that she didn't even know I was there; I'd do anything to just be by her side. I licked her hand just like a pet, but it did nothing other than fill my taste-buds with the taste of her bone-dry dirty skin. The last time I'd seen her conscious was just after the last full moon, once her wolf-form had transfigured back she'd managed to hold a brief conversation, but she didn't even stay in focus long enough for the moment to truly be worth remembering. Even as a werewolf she was scarily timid, instead of the ferocious killing beast that a wolf should be she simply cowered in the corner swaying and shaking with confusion.
The dementors were lurking outside in the corridor like vultures. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't deny that death was imminent. I looked at Rachelle, watched her chest rise and fall as I listened to her wheezy breaths, wondering which one would be her very last.
"Pads?" I heard her croak in a whisper so quiet my human ears would never have picked it up.
"Rachelle!" I gasped full of hope, leaving my canine form behind.
I couldn't believe she was awake, that she could see me just as I could see her; even if it was for just one last time. Rachelle's head was now rested on my lap as I ran my grubby fingers through her greasy hair. A tear trickled softly down my cheek as I managed to utter the words 'I love you', but as her chest failed to rise again I realised she'd never get the chance to say it back. She was gone. Of course I'd seen it coming, I'd be truly blind if I hadn't; but that did nothing to soften the blow of this moment. How could I possibly begin to say goodbye to her? I'd said goodbye to so much already. I lay her head gently on the floor and went to cower in the corner, tears falling thick and fast, my furry four-legged body shaking with grief. Just as I knew they would dementors swarmed in and ungraciously snatched her away from me.
Trying to compose myself was not an easy feat. Wallowed in my own misery I had no idea how to cope. All I knew is that I was going to keep my promise to Prongs and Lily. Even though Rachelle was no longer at my side I'd be there for Harry just as they'd asked us to be. My godson, the one precious thing still left in this world I swore to protect. I'd show him right from wrong guide him through this life or I shall die trying. That little baby boy has lost just as much as I so it's only right we'd stick together. I'd tell him all about his parents and how much they loved him, but I could never tell him about his aunt. No just thinking about Rachelle hurts too much; I could never speak her name out loud again. She'll still live on within my heart and I could never ask for more.
It's cruel how she was taken away from me so soon. Our lives had only just begun, now they're gone; gone so quickly that I should never have blinked. I'll forever wish to hold her hand just one more time, to kiss her lips and hear her sing-song voice. No one knew the real Rachelle, no one other than me. Most saw her as Rachelle Bleaker, the cruel conniving death eater. Lily, heaven bless her; refused to see her as anything other than Rose Evans, her beloved precious older sister. I knew who she really was even though she never really knew herself. I saw the rose petals amongst the darkness, yet the thorns amongst the rose. She wasn't perfect, yet she was far from imperfection. She was the girl who struggled to know who she should be, the girl brought up amongst dictators with a heart full off gold. Her tombstone shall not read Rose Evans, yet nor shall it read Rachelle Bleaker; mark my words I'll make sure of that. For in death she'll finally come to realise who she truly is. Rachelle Black. My Rachelle.