LEAH

You know how you're always told to be yourself? Yes, it's a lovely phrase, isn't it? Just be yourself! I guess it's simple enough.

Holding back anger can be really bad for you, because then you'll have pent up anger and other emotions weighing on your back and you never know when you're going to snap it all comes bursting out. I suppose that gives credit to the statement that you should express your emotions and not tie them up and cast them into the deepest parts of your already crumbling soul, hoping they will sink into one of the cracks and disappear.

I cannot do that.

I can't be myself when I'm angry.

When you're being yourself and being angry, maybe your face goes red or your eyes become just a shade darker and you manage a perfect I'm-going-to-whip-your-arse look.

When I'm being myself and being angry, it's a whole other look. Black veins start to show vividly against my pale skin, and I start to growl, and my eyes turn bright yellow.

I suppose your immediate thought after reading this is: She's a werewolf!

I'm afraid you're horribly wrong.

People often think werewolf and wolfblood are the same thing, but they are actually really different. For starters, there is no such thing as being bitten by a wolfblood and being turned into one. You can only be born a wolfblood, to wolfblood parents. Besides, if you were bitten by a wolfblood it'd probably be the last thing that happened to you while still alive.

Second, wolfbloods can wolf out (transform) at will, after their first transformation of course. However, werewolves only become... well, werewolves at the full moon. Wolfbloods change at the full moon too, but from what I've heard ours is a gentle, happy transformation compared to a werewolf's transformation.

Third, you can tell a wolfblood just by looking at it in human form. I doubt whether the same can be said about werewolves. The way I see it, being a werewolf is kind of like having the Wolf latch onto you, but being a wolfblood is completely different.

We are one with the Wolf. We are one with nature. Our hearing, sight and sense of smell is unnaturally better than humans'. We can run for miles and miles with hardly any breaks in between, and I don't mean cross-country jogging, I mean sprinting running.

I really don't want to sound like I'm bragging so I'll stop here. My point is 'werewolf' and 'wolfblood' are two completely different things.

Or at least that's what I believe.

* * *

I think my best friend, Mollie, fits the description of 'born and raised in the wild' better, which is saying something because she's a city wolfblood. Her hair is red and curly and falls into her face menacingly just before she's about to explode with anger or pounce on somebody. When I say red, I don't mean auburn red; I mean deeper than red red. She mostly wears jeans and leather jackets and just basically knows where she's going in life. She has a really strong Welsh accent, so when she says something like, 'stop doing that' it sounds a bit like, 'stohp doin' that'.  I think her accent is really pretty.

And I'm just a normal Scottish-bred sort of wolfblood. Most wolfbloods I meet always comment that I look like a wild wolfblood - which I am - but the way they say it makes me think they don't mean it positively.

Wild wolfbloods don't exactly have the best reputation. I mean, it's in the name: wild. Some wild wolfbloods have been known to kill animals and steal from farms but honestly, what do you want from us?

I think what worries me most is the fact that it's so easy for one of us to accidentally expose the whole lot of us, after which we'd be caged up and shipped off to zoos where people would stand and take pictures as though we were created for entertainment.

That's another thing with wild wolfbloods: they think all humans are evil. In my family this same stereotype runs through our prejudiced blood, but I believe some humans, some really nice people, aren't out to get us. Of course, it's not easy to propose such an idea to people who have had this hard-wired into them for a few hundred years. When I left home I was still quarrelling with my father about it, but at least we agreed on one thing: all wolfbloods hate cages.

My father is the alpha in our pack. I don't just live with my mother and father - I live with my cousins and aunts and uncles. We are a pack. Because I am an only child, I am going to be the next alpha, assuming one of my power-hungry uncles doesn't steal the position. I am dreading the day I will become an alpha, however, because I can't even keep one quill for more than a week, two weeks if I'm lucky. Imagine keeping an entire pack.

* * *

The compartment door slid open, and Zach walked in. He had his dress robes on and his blue and bronze tie tied neatly at his collar. Mollie and I were in Hufflepuff - weird, right? - but neither of us had changed.

"So," began Zach, "how were your summers?"

Mollie looked up from the little potted chrysanthemum she was tending to and glared at Zach. "Fine, thanks," she said finally. She's been slightly distant towards him ever since he made the mistake of nicking some chicken from her plate but I knew deep down it didn't bother her much.

"Not bad," I said, extending my legs so that they rested on the opposite seat from mine.

"What about yours, Thomas?" asked Mollie, not looking up from her chrysanthemum. The two of them have been on a last name basis ever since the chicken.

"Rather pleasant actually, Flynn," said Zach, putting extra emphasis on the 'Flynn.' I stifled a laugh. Mine was just to sit there and wait for them to kiss and make up.

"We went to the Caribbean for a bit, got a bit sunburned, had lots of coconut food. It was great though," continued Zach.

"That's nice," said Mollie blandly. Zach rolled his eyes.

"You OK?" he asked me.

"Yeah." A one word answer was fine; Zach already knew about the father versus humans versus me thing so I didn't need to elaborate.

After a while he left to go do whatever prefects do and Mollie and I were left in the compartment. Mollie had her eyes closed and her face scrunched up in concentration. She had her hand over the chrysanthemum as though she was blessing it. Not long passed before she opened her eyes and sighed.

"Show me again, please?" she asked.

She was trying to do Eolas. Eolas is an ancient wolfblood skill, almost like an art even, that allows you to see what's happening somewhere else. Wild packs run on Eolas because well... We don't exactly own telephones. Needless to say, all wild wolfbloods can do Eolas, but city wolfbloods find it a lot harder.

She handed me the plant and I placed my hand on it, just as she had done. It's much easier to do Eolas when you're in contact with soil or plants – the Earth – but I suppose I'd done it so many times it was now second nature.

I closed my eyes and held the clump of petals slightly firmer. Eolas is all about feeling, and all about being. I let myself be filled with the Earth and let myself get lost in it. It felt like I was floating, floating above the sky but somehow still under it.

I never hold back Eolas unless I want to see something specific, which I did not right at that moment, so I let my thoughts roam and lo and behold, my pack appeared before my eyes.

Only, there was something wrong. Instead of seeing a bunch of children running around I saw my father being helped by a good number of pack members to walk. Actually, the more I looked at it the more it made sense but at the same time the less it made sense. It looked like my father was trying to get up but he wouldn't be allowed. He looked frail and his face was drained of its colour.

I let go of the plant immediately.

"What? What's wrong, Leah?" asked Mollie, shaking me by the shoulders.

I shook my head. "Nothing, I... I just saw my father, that's all."

"Oh." said Mollie. You'd half expect her to start teasing you about being so freaked by your own father but Mollie was better than that.

"Anyways," I said, shaking myself and trying to steady my heartbeat. "The thing is to be-"

"-one with the Earth. To feel. I know. But that's enough Eolas practice for one day." Mollie cut me off. She placed the plant on the windowsill and tried to spruce up the petals I had crushed.

"Sorry," I mumbled lamely.

"No harm done." said Mollie. She tapped the chrysanthemum with the tip of her wand and immediately they sprung up.

I couldn't stop thinking about my father the whole train ride. A horrid uneasiness stirred in the pit of my stomach. I didn't talk much because I was too busy blaming myself for the sudden weakness of my father. I felt like it was my fault he was now unwell. Maybe all our arguing had made him weak. Maybe he was worried for me and I shouldn't have left home. A few thousand thoughts raced through my mind all at once.

Usually I am over delighted to see Hogwarts, with its many windows and turrets and stone brick walls, but as we approached it this time, I wondered if it was a mistake coming back this year.

The Great Feast wasn't as 'great' as it used to be, and I still didn't feel at peace even in my dorm room which had a few vines creeping across the ceiling and along the walls. Mollie told me not to worry, after which she fell dead asleep. I had a harder time doing so.

A week and a half later, the moon hung as a great silvery orb in the sky, full and radiant.

* * *

"That was awesome!" said Mollie from somewhere beside me.

I was lying on my back, a bed of dead leaves underneath me. The early morning air was cool and crisp, and the rising sun made everything look golden but yet tinted with pink. I cannot explain to you how much I loved these kinds of mornings, when a fresh breeze blew from the blue cloudless sky and everything looked - and smelled - so fresh.

Everything except me.

I was still trying to bring myself to remember what had happened.

"What're you talking about?" asked Zach. "It was horrible."

I remember seeing a larger than normal creature, but I don't know if I was imagining or not. Normally I could remember everything about transformations, but today was weird. Maybe I'd bashed my head against a tree or something.

"Wasn't there... Another creature here - last night?" I asked, pushing myself up to a sitting position.

"It was probably just another animal." said Mollie coolly.

"But none of the animals we've ever ran into were that big." Zach pointed out. For a few moments we stared at each other before rising and making our way back to the castle.

The entire morning the thought of another animal, bigger and perhaps more fierce than the three of us combined really bothered me. I knew perfectly well that there were indeed bigger and maybe stronger animals that us wolfbloods, like centaurs and unicorns, but what pestered me the most was that the thing we had run into didn't seem very keen on sparing our skins.

At least I had one thing: I had its scent. I spent the morning casually sniffing around in case I managed to get a match. Lunchtime came and I still had nothing. A good number of people were loitering around the courtyard, and that made it slightly harder to pick out a single scent, but my determination never fell. Needless to say, Mollie and Zach were trying to talk me out of it.

"Listen, Leah, if something really was out there it was probably just some mutated mountain bear or something. You really shouldn't waste your day searching for something you'll probably never see again." reasoned Zach.

"I know it wasn't anything like that," I said.

"You know I won't even try to talk to you about it because I know how stubborn you are," said Mollie, "but could you please just listen to Zach?"

I glared at them. "Whatever was in those woods wasn't supposed to be there and I can't just let it-"

At that moment a gust of wind blew towards us and I got a match.

"Gotcha," I said. I began making my way through the crowd, pushing a few people aside until I caught sight of a boy who looked around my age, maybe a bit older, but seeming much older than just sixteen. He had lightish golden brown hair that looked slightly ruffled and a bunch of scars on his face.

Ignoring Mollie's and Zach's protests I walked right up to him, looked him in his honey eyes and gave him a good push on the chest.

"You." I said. "What do you think you're doing?"