Tiring, that's what this is. I haven't slept since the day. That time period has consisted of two full moons. This amount of time without sleep with two transformations has taken its toll on me. But I digress. Ah, a cathedral is up ahead. How I miss the cathedral; the pews, the priest presenting his sermon at mass, and the atmosphere. Everyone was always convinced that God and the Blessed Virgin would heal them of their afflictions. Never once did I pray to God to take away my Lycanthropy. If God had wanted me to be acceptable, he would have spared me the wrath of Fenrir Greyback's claws. Again, I look at the cathedral illuminated by the light shining out of the tower. As I continue to make my way to my destination, the steeple continues to approach in distance. I involuntarily pull my robes tighter around me to block out the cold, the tattered ends billowing in the wind, flying along with the gentle snow flakes.

I enter the cathedral, the people in line for confession surveying me with a look of distrust. This is fine, nothing I am not used to. My appearance makes some of the younger women blush, as they are obviously under the impression that I am a lonely traveler, young in years. No, I know this village. Primarily a muggle village, though it does a quite nice amount of wizarding population, this is the village my father met my mother in. He moved here, married my mother, and, following this, brought me up here.

My eyes drift towards the alter, the Blessed Virgin holding the infant Christ sculpted before it. I walk slowly before the alter and my knees give way, my eyes never leaving Mother Mary. My hands come together in prayer. I close my eyes and I feel a tear fall down each cheek. These tears are not for me and my damned soul. No, they are for my friends, who can not weep for themselves. My friend Peter, who was so devastatingly killed. Lily, her kind heart and smiles, always there for me and so heartlessly handed over. James, the brother I never had, the one out of the three that first discovered my Lycanthropy, and the one who was betrayed by his son's Godfather, the man he called brother.

I feel a hand softly placed upon my shoulder and I look up. An old priest is standing beside me, his face compassionate.

"My child," he says, "do you wish to come to confession?"

"No, father" I reply, my gaze downcast. "It is too late for me."

"It is never too late, my troubled one," says the priest helping me stand. Only now do I notice that the cathedral has now completely cleared out. "Our Lord, in his mercy, absolves all."

"Very well, father" I say, stepping into the confessional. I notice his silhouette in the next box.

I take a breath and move my hand over my chest in the sign of the cross. "Bless me father for I have sinned." I pause. "It has been three years since my last confession. Three miserable years since I had turned eighteen. I do not know how to tell God what I have done."

"Tell him to the best of your abilities."

"Very well," I say. "You should know a few details." I stop. This is going against the secrecy decrees. This priest is a muggle. Yet, he is a man of God; this is a test of faith. I should have none to worry. "I am a wizard."

The priest stirs. "Yes, I know of your kind. There are a few in this village who come to me for confession. Continue, my child."

I breathe. "This is not all; I am a werewolf."

Again, the priest stirs, but not from recognition. "That does not matter," I hear him say. "God loves all his creations the same, my son."

"Thank you, Father," I say. "My confession starts with the ending of my schooling, and the engagement of my best friends."

A/N: I hope you like it. I would appreciate a review... it would be nice. I'll get the next part up quicker if you do...