For months, Ginevra Weasley, known to her friends and family as Ginny, had sunk into darkness, and now she was drowning in it. It had been a slow sinking, so slowly that at first she had thought its’ closeness comforting, but now she could feel the stranglehold it had on her right into her bones. And that was worse, feeling it, knowing how deeply embedded it was into the fibres of her being and somehow, being unable to let it go.

All of this occurred to Ginny from within the darkness itself, trapped in the deepest recesses of her own body as something – someone – else puppeted it, steering it through the mazelike corridors of Hogwarts castle. She dared not even think his name, lest he somehow know and mock her – how foolish she’d been to trust him, to pour out her secrets, she’d been so weak – so fragile and hurt that her family had seemed to pull away from her after she’d been placed in Slytherin House. And why shouldn’t she have been placed there? Why shouldn’t she have a thirst to prove herself? Wouldn’t any youngest child – and worse, a girl – want the same?

Dimly, Ginny realised that the Darkness had begun to mutter, hissing and grumbling to itself in a way that intruded on her own thoughts. It wasn’t like they shared a head, exactly – they were two separate entities with their own thoughts, but he had more power, he had control of this body even when dormant, and he was very, very loud. Stop, quiet, you’re hurting – she wanted to cry aloud, put her hands to her head – but she barely even knew where her own head was. Where she was... wait, there was cold stone, wet underfoot. Why wasn’t she wearing shoes?

Perhaps I chose the wrong monster, a cold voice whispered in her mind, maliciously amused by something she could not yet see. He never shouted, he never so much as swore – he just coldly, viciously chipped away at her self esteem. She was the Slytherin, but he was the snake.

And with that curious remark, the Darkness relinquished its’ hold on Ginny – never gone, it was always clear that he let her back into her body as a courtesy – he still had control. But with her senses back, Ginny now had to reorient herself, take stock of where he’d left her. Stone underfoot, damp, cold – that didn’t help, they were in a bloody castle, everywhere was damp, stone and cold. She took in a deep breath, and immediately recoiled – whatever that smell was, it wasn’t anything she was used to, and she opened her eyes instinctively.

What Ginny Weasley saw before her was, as best she could describe it, a monster. Not the kind that her mum told her stories about, the kind you locked your door and tucked your toes in to keep from being eaten by. This was more, the sort of monster you read about in fairytales, the kind that was secretly a cursed princess or a witch’s experiment – the kind you felt sorry for. Ginny backed up slowly, thinking perhaps she could escape, figure out where she even was, and get help – but her back hit a wall and her heart sank as she caught sight of the door standing half-open a good three metres to her right. She was trapped, and she could feel her traitorous heart quickening its’ pace in her chest. You control my whole fucking body, can’t you settle my damn heart? She thought angrily, but the Darkness’ only response was a malicious snicker.

Her hands balled into fists at her sides as she stared at the thing that stood – if that was even the right word – in the centre of what Ginny could now recognise as a bathroom, its’ yellowish gaze flicking from Ginny’s own to the open door. She hadn’t noticed at first, but the creature wasn’t the only thing in the bathroom with her – there was another person, one she recognised from class. “Dudley? Dudley Dursley? What the hell?” Ginny hissed, gesturing at the creature that crouched between them. She’d been right to think curse – this wasn’t a monster at all. Her eye caught on the tangled fabric the creature wore, that hung tattered around its limbs... this was a student. It was impossible to tell who, its features curiously blurred and twisted as if two separate people had become fused with a wolf, its mane of hair an odd mix of straight flaxen strands and unruly raven curls hanging around the face that was elongated into a sort of muzzle, but improperly, like someone had taken it and wrenched it to one side. “Who is this?”

Dudley had no time to answer, as Ginny, irrespective of the terrified creature before her, pitched her voice too loud to carry across the stone room. The creature whined and shook its’ head as if pained, and then all at once it was moving, terrifyingly fast for something so misshapen – moving at her. Ginny didn’t even have time to scream, breath stolen from her throat as the wolfish creature tripped and bowled squarely into her, its’ shoulder striking her in the chest hard enough to wind, and then they were both tumbling together to the stone floor.

Ginny’s head struck the stone with a sickening thud and she groaned, too dizzy to move now as she lay on her back, staring up at the creature that stood over her. Its’ hair was long enough to hang into her face, and there was something familiar about the yellow-green cast to its’ eyes... Dudley Dursley wouldn’t be hanging out in a bathroom with just anyone, he was shy... which made this... “Rhiannon?” Ginny whispered, slurring the name a little in her dazed state. Rhiannon, a werewolf – or something like it. “Hey – hey, you know me, sort’ve, I’m Ron’s stupid little sister, remember?”

“Stop talking,” Dudley hissed, but Ginny barely heard him. This wasn’t a monster, it was Rhiannon - just a scared, animal Rhiannon Potter. The girl she’d had a crush on since she was six, who she’d written letters to that she suspected her mother had never delivered, her hero – was a werewolf. No pressure – she just had to talk her hero into not ripping her throat out.

“Hey, what d’you want?” Ginny whispered, her eyelids fluttering as she fought to stay awake. “I’m not going to hurt you, I’m- ah!” she yelped, as suddenly wolf-Rhiannon’s attention was diverted and she began to sniff determinedly through Ginny’s pockets with her twisted muzzle – clearly looking for something. Suddenly, Ginny felt a pang of fear – and not her own, she knew what the Darkness’ emotions felt like by now. The diary – somehow, Rhiannon smelled the diary or its’ magic. “No, no you can’t, he won’t let – shit, ow!” she swore, as Rhiannon nosed a little too insistently in her pocket and a tooth, sticking out at an angle in a jaw too small, caught on Ginny’s wrist and tore, leaving a gash about an inch long across the side of her arm. That, or perhaps the smell of blood, halted Rhiannon’s investigation and she turned that curious, mistrustful wolfish gaze on Ginny.

Ginny could barely breathe with fear, and she reminded herself over and over in her mind it was a nick, not a bite, she’d be fine, she just had to stay calm for Rhiannon, but it was no use. Something in her, perhaps the Darkness, perhaps her own panic, could only babble fearfully that it’s in me it’s in me it’s in me it’s in me – and yet, still Rhiannon did not move, she only stared at Ginny and tilted her head. Then she whined quietly and nosed the wound – was she apologising? Ginny wasn’t sure how much of Rhiannon was even present in there, but there had to be something, monsters didn’t apologise – even a regular wolf wouldn’t.

Ginny was startled by the sensation of something wet and she twitched, frightening the wolf-Rhiannon away briefly before she returned and flopped down on the floor beside Ginny, insistently licking the wound. Ginny couldn’t help herself, she burst out laughing at the idea of how this all looked, how frightened she’d been. Admittedly, her laugh was more of a wheezing rattle, lying on the floor and winded as she was, but all the same – and she’d thought Rhiannon a monster! “You’re just, a bloody idiot puppy,” Ginny wheezed breathlessly, as wolf-Rhiannon nosed under her chin and around her face, licking everywhere – just like a worried dog, checking to see if her friend was alright. However much of Rhiannon was awake in there, she recognised Ginny as a friend, and she responded in that very Rhiannon way – by mother-hen-ing Ginny as best she could with the equipment she had.

“Jesus, Rhi, get off,” Dudley grumbled, and approached them now that Ginny was out of danger. He knelt beside the two of them and elbowed Rhiannon out of the way, provoking a puppyish whine from his cousin. “You alright, Gin?” he asked, still holding Rhiannon away at arms’ length. Ginny nodded, and winced as her head smacked against the floor, sending it spinning again. Ugh. Honestly, describing herself as ‘alright’ wasn’t entirely true – she felt itchy, sore throughout her whole body like she was a whole five feet of bruise. Which wasn’t an inaccurate way of describing the situation, she supposed, she had been bowled to the flagstone floor by a panicked wolf-girl.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a shit liar,” Dudley retorted wearily, and gave in as Rhiannon shoved her head into his chest and pushed her way back into Ginny’s other side, where she lay down as best as she could manage with such awkwardly misshapen limbs, and rested her head on Ginny’s chest.

“Please tell me we’ve got help coming,” Ginny groaned, as Rhiannon shifted and settled her entire fifty pounds of weight and all her uncomfortable pointy elbows and knees down right on top of Ginny’s bruised torso. “Ah – ow, Rhi, get off!” she complained, and attempted to shove the werewolf aside. That was a mistake, as Rhiannon was sensitive to touch and she leapt aside, snarling, her face wrinkled up angrily as she snapped at Ginny’s offending wrist. Her teeth met in Ginny’s wrist with a flare of pain, enough to draw blood, and both Ginny and Dudley gasped aloud – one with pain, the other horror.

A bite, a werewolf bite. It wasn’t the full moon, but Rhiannon was at least half transformed – Ginny’s stomach sank, her heart began to race as the implications settled her, even as Rhiannon shook her wrist roughly – not unlike a dog with a small animal. “Ah – Rhi, let go, please,” Ginny whimpered – and she hated herself for that whimper but it hurt, she hurt everywhere – there were a lot of nerves going through the wrist, and Rhiannon had hold of them all.

“Yeah – we’ve got Hagrid and the Mac coming,” Dudley replied at last, though his voice sounded distant – and Ginny couldn’t quite tell if it was because he was tired or she was losing her grip on consciousness. Drip, drip, drip, drip – blood onto stone, she’d heard it before, rooster blood on her hands, her blood on her hands. Drip, drip, lap, lap – Rhiannon desperately trying to staunch the bleeding. No, Ginny realised dimly, the distance was hers, and as she let her head fall to the side, she searched for Dudley and couldn’t find him in the darkness that swallowed up her vision.

A vicious cackle echoed in her mind, and as Ginny was towed under into numbness, the Darkness crowed his victory so loudly it sent a searing pain through her skull. Maybe I chose the wrong monster – but it seems I’ve got a new one after all, he taunted her, and tears dripped from Ginny’s unseeing eyes onto the bloodied floor.

Like everything else in her life, this would be just another tool to serve the Darkness.