A/N: So this story idea just came to me last night really late, and so this morning I had to write it. I just see so many similarities between Ginny and Lupin, and I imagine that the Chamber of Secrets would have affected Ginny a lot more than was shown in the books.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

Her boggart was blood dripping off the walls in the shining shapes of words, changing fluidly into a snake with bulbous yellow eyes; a basilisk. Then the basilisk split off and became several images, which rotated in a terrible circle: dead roosters, petrified children, rat bones, a handsome sixteen year old boy. They swirled around her, condemning her. She couldn't fight them off. Her knees gave away and she sunk to the floor, her hands covering her ears in a vain attempt to protect herself. I had to step in. I shielded her, and the images disappeared. The boggart took the shape of the full moon instead. I forced it away.

The rest of the class left as soon as I dismissed them. She tried to get up, but her legs still seemed unable to support her. Her flaming hair covered her face, but I could tell that she was crying. I touched her lightly on the shoulder.

"Boggarts are a hard topic for second-years. Don't be ashamed," I told her. But I knew that she wasn't worried that she couldn't tackle the boggart. Her fear was too intense, and it was killing her to see it again. "Was it a memory? Those are often more difficult to handle, because you don't know how they will present themselves." I wanted to reassure her, show her that she was not alone in anything she had seen today. Boggarts are sometimes surprising to us. Its amazing how many wizards don't know what they fear the most.

"It wasn't a memory," she said softly. Her voice was a tiny squeak. Her head was down, shielding her face, but as she said it, she lifted her eyes to look at me. They glistened with tears. "It wasn't a memory. That's what scares me. I don't remember it at all."

She told me the story. She told me everything that had happened last year, everything she had done without realizing that she was doing it. She told me about finding herself in a corridor with blood on her hands, unaware of what had happened, but knowing that it was her fault. She told me how she became suspicious of her only friend, her diary. She told me how she tried to get rid of it, how she saw Harry Potter with it, how she feared that he would find out. It was her greatest fear, that someone would find out. But then everyone did find out, and they forgave her, because she didn't do it on purpose. Her greatest fear changed; became a reminder of the acts she had unknowingly committed. She couldn't control herself, and rationally she knew that. But she couldn't forgive herself either. Her boggart was the constant reminder of the most shameful thing she had ever done.

"I know how it feels," I told her, when she was done with her story. I wished I could tell her exactly how I knew. The truth was, everything she had told me felt like an echo of my own life. It was a different situation, but it was ultimately the same thing: she feared hurting someone, and yet had no control over whether or not she did hurt someone. I felt the same way every month. I had worked so hard my entire life to prevent from hurting someone while transformed, willingly biting and scratching myself to prevent from injuring someone else. It was an almost uncontrollable urge while I was a wolf, an urge that frightened my human side. It made me feel less than human, it made me feel like a monster.

I've never met someone with the same boggart as I have. I suppose most werewolves probably have the same one. But today, Ginny Weasley's boggart showed itself to be the same fear that I have lived with since the age of six. It came from a different source, but ultimately we both fear the same thing. We fear the loss of our sense of humanity, and know exactly what it is like to lose it.