On the blackest night, while werewolves prowl the moors, an unnatural wind whistles between the ramshackle huts lining what passed for Main Street. A low thump shakes the earth, sending villagers scattering. The cobbles vibrate with powers unknown, twisting to the will of an unseen force.
Inn walls shake, but the man pays it no mind as he adjusts round-rimmed glasses. Sweat beads across the forehead as a finger traces intricate patterns. The ritual was close, so close.
Ultra arcesse. Ultra arcesse. Ultra arcesse.
The other resident of the room pays him no mind. A young, fair woman, sprawled out across the bed. Dead as a stone, she was. Not less than a day, since she was last seen alive and breathing. Was quite the job, hauling her up the stairs without giving the matron a fright.
The fourth this month. Troubling times.
His spell reaches a crescendo, and another enters the room. Moving slow, uncertain he feels it prowl. That just would not do.
A fierce jab of his finger towards the woman, and the calamity is over. For a long moment, the room is silent.
The dead sits up with a gasp. Frantic, wide eyes search the dim room.
A delicate hand brushes her neck, and cards through a curtain of ethereal blonde strands. Certainly not her own.
"W-where am I? Who, am I?" She asks.
The man smiles, mirthlessly. The long-suffering look of a detective whose case had miles to go.
"My dear, I was hoping you could help me answer that question."
In which:
-
Harry summons a spirit into a dead girl's body to fight werewolves
-
There is ample eldritch horror
-
They most certainly fall in love
-
Full moons get... complicated.