The next morning, I woke up with a small pain in my collarbone. I looked down at it and saw the bite. I remembered last night and sighed. I knew that there was nothing I could do.

I went into the kitchen of my roommate's and I's house, a small cottage on the outskirts of Ottery St. Catchpole. I grabbed some Owl O's and poured them into a bowl.

I kept on expecting something to happen. For me to go crazy, for me to turn into a rampaging beast. It didn't happen.

My friend, Dan, came into the kitchen half an hour later. He looked half dead, close to collapsing from exhaustion.

"Why did you stay up all night?" I asked.

"Researching some," he paused as he yawned, "werewolves. Want to make sure you're prepared for your first night. The next full moon is in like a week or two."

"Thanks," I replied, feeling a little ashamed. I had spent all the time before I fell asleep feeling bad for myself. I have a bunch of books on magical creatures in my room, and even more around the house.

"Yeah," Dan replied, sitting down.