Wednesday 20th November

Ron sighed and put down his potions book.
There was no way he was going to get this essay done tonight- it was too late and he was too tired
... Harry and Hermione had already finished it, and they were both at the Gryffindor common room, hopefully staying up waiting for him. He could probably copy off Hermione, or if she wouldn't let him he could see what Harry had got.

Ron speed-walked back to Gryffindor tower.
The curfew to be back in dormitories was getting earlier and earlier, what with the ominous threat of Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

As Ron rounded the corner to the bottom of the stair case which led up to the Fat Lady, he heard a scuffle behind him.

Turning, he stared around the portraited walls. The shadows pressed in from the corners of the walls where the light struggled to reach it's comforting fingers.

Ron strained his ears and stared hard.

Nothing.

Then, as quickly and silently as an owl swooping from the clouds upon it's prey, a shadow detached itself from the swirling darkness, condensed and flitted like a bad dream towards Ron. It latched onto him much too quickly for him to react, and with a surprising force; it knocked him backwards upon impact.

Ron stumbled and lost his footing, the smoky form grasping its tendril fingers around his neck. He fell back and hit the wall behind him. The old witch in the portrait he hit said,
"Watch it Weasley!"

Ron tried to shout, but a swooning, overpowering tiredness suddenly washed over him like a wave of nausea.

He wasn't aware of himself falling unconscious, but he knew that when he stood up he wasn't himself. He was... still Ron, he was Ronald Weasley! But no... There was... Someone else, deep inside him, someone using his body: speaking with his mouth, forcing his eyes to stare with a scarlet glint that wasn't his own.

Lord Voldemort twisted Ron's mouth into a grin.