Prologue

She was almost five when it happened.

Her father was a ministry worker, working alongside Lyall Lupin on the trial of Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf who most workers believed was falsely accused. Both Lyall and her father Kenneth believed otherwise, knowing full well that he was a vicious creature.

"Deserve death," Kenneth spoke gruffly, his hands folded across his chest as he talked with Lyall, who nodded in agreement.

"Vicious," Lyall huffed, shaking his head whilst eyeing the man in front of him, unaware that he was fully listening, "s'all he'll ever be."

That's all it took for Mr Greyback to seek out revenge, he climbed through her window, targeting the very thing that Kenneth Durnan loved more than his work, his daughter.

The bite woke her, but even at the young age of four did she know that she would rather be dead than endure the pain she felt seeping through her body. Her scream woke up her parents, wide eyed and frantic as a chill shivered their spine, and with his wand in hand, Kenneth rushed to her room, his eyes catching the sight in front of him with hatred for the werewolf.

But he knew it was his fault that his daughter was now one of them.

None of those in the Durnan household knew that the very same thing happened to young Remus Lupin because neither Kenneth nor Lyall would ever tell a soul of what happened that very same night when their young became what they believed were vicious.

She was eleven

Scars littered her body, ones so small that they were merely just a line, and ones trailing along her back in long, thick slits that she didn't know it was even possible for her own hands to reach the spot. Her face littered with scars, all of which were highly noticeable, and it didn't take a genius to know that she was insecure.

Her mother introduced her to make up at such a young age, at eleven years old it was a routine for her to cover the scars littering her face and neck, and she would cover so much more but her robes hid the scars underneath.

She never had a good relationship with her father, and whilst neither of them spoke of the dreadful night, the tension in the air, whenever the two were in the room, was enough for her to relive the pain.

She hated herself.

She was twelve

It took until she was twelve until she finally told her two best friends of what went on with her, what she endured every full moon, concealed in a hut hidden away in the forbidden forest that the gatekeeper Hagrid built for her.

They were shocked, scared even, but they didn't treat her any differently from how they always did and in due time they finally came to accept that their best friend was a werewolf, and she was still always going to be their best friend.

She was thirteen

She couldn't help but feel distant from everyone, she couldn't take the pain every full moon and her friends had no true understanding of what really happened. They didn't realise that her body was transforming, that every crack, every break of her bones were morphing into something so much bigger than her and she was only a soul inside, looking at the walls of a small hut through eyes filled with rage, and hands dipped in blood.

"I bet it's not that bad," Nolan would scoff, rolling his eyes whilst she would attempt to confide in the two of them, but it was bad, it was so bad that the thought of ending it all had crept into her mind one too many times.

She was fourteen

She had returned to Hogwarts after the winter break with a bottle of pills stuffed in her bag which she had managed to steal from the medicine cabinet in her parent's bathroom.

Her vision was blurred and her scars were fully visible as she walked down the hallways of the castle, ignoring the patter of feet echoing behind her she didn't care whether she got caught or not, she would just try again.

It felt only right to go to the place that had concealed her for her four years at Hogwarts, the night was one before the full moon and she could only wish she didn't need to endure it for one last time. The bottle was gripped so tightly that her hands stung but she felt nothing but numbness, nothing but the pounding of her heart thumping so aggressively in her chest that the sound it made was the only thing ringing in her ears.

She reached the edge of the forest when she heard voices around her, students, familiar voices but she just couldn't quite make out who, "Oi Birdie!"

She turned, her eyes blinking the tears falling down her cheeks to see the four boys, she had been the brunt of their pranks many times and would be at peace to never see them again, "taking a night stroll?" asked James Potter, a cheeky smirk on his lips until the four came closer.

James noticed the tears.

Remus noticed the scars.

They stopped in front of her, she concealed the bottle in the pocket of her cardigan, and with a silent nod, she stepped into the forest. They shouted their protests, trying to bring her back but they were all aware of the eyes following the girl, blinking in the night as they left her be.

She wouldn't stop even if they begged her, she was twisting through the trees on her route she knew by heart, with every step she took the boy's voices faded until the faint sound of a hooting owl was heard between the trees.

The hut was dark like usual, and she turned on the dull light that brightened the place only slightly. Her hands trailed the décor, but there wasn't much there. Hagrid attempted to make it homey, adding a dent of wood for a seat but she chose the floor instead, placing the medicine in front of her.

Her hands traced the scars that only ever hurt near the full moon, just like her mood that dampened and her feelings where wild whenever the moon appeared in the sky.

She would never be beautiful, she would never have the soft skin of the pretty girls that walked into her class, never would she have boys fawning over her, tripping over their words just to talk to her. Her skin would never be smooth, or soft, or appealing, but instead littered with scars that trailed all over her body in a mass of pain she could never run from.

But she didn't need to run anymore, she was tired and sick, and she didn't want to run, she was too exhausted to run.

So, the first pill dropped onto her tongue.

Followed by the second.

The third burned her throat.

The fourth made her parched.

The fifth was a lot more forced.

The sixth blurred her vision.

Her head was pounding by the seventh.

She was sobbing by the eighth, her mother appeared in her mind.

The ninth took her back to when she was almost five, her sight of Fenrir Greyback evident as though he was in the small hut with her. And he was, every full moon he was lurking in the back of her mind, reminding her that he was the one that did this to her.

She wasn't numb anymore, she was in pain, so much pain that her eyes stung with tears that fell freely, and a violent scream left her mouth.

Her fists banged on the wood with so much frustration, as nausea rose in her stomach, threatening to spill her guts she closed her eyes.

The tenth calmed her down.

She looked up to the ceiling where a small hole in the roof gave her a perfect view of the sky, allowing the pain to engulf her, she lay on her back.

And she waited.

And waited.

And waited.

She is fifteen

She had survived.