My earliest memory is of Pontoof. We got him as a little puppy when I was four years old. Although I don't remember actually getting him, I remember running around and playing with him.

My next memory was when I was bitten, at the age of five.

After dinner one night, I went out to play. It was well after dark when my mother came outside to call me in. I was leaning to look under the cart to get Pontoof, and when she came outside. It was not unusual for me to stay outside long after dark playing with him. But my mother didn't let me stay out that full moon.

I remember her looking scared, and telling me in a quiet, but panicked voice to get inside. When I turned, I saw a huge brown wolf crouching on the ground. I really did try to move. But I was too scared. It jumped at me, tearing at my shoulder. I could hear my mother screaming. The dog that I had previously tried to lure out from under the cart ran out and started tackling the werewolf to the ground. Meanwhile, I was gasping in pain. The feeling of transforming for the first time feels something like having somebody grabbing you and twisting all your limbs. The first time, the pain is so great, you feel like you want to die. Many never do survive the first time.

When I finally came to myself, I was laying face up in the grass, and it was dawn. I looked to the side, and saw a man crouched in a fetal position, naked and crying. In front of him lay a black figure. For the longest time, the man just sat there, staring at me and crying. Finally, he stood, and picked me up, I was being carried next to his body, and he held me as if I was made of glass.

That's when I noticed that his front was streaked in red, and there was dried blood in his hair. That's also when I realized that my arm was still torn and bleeding. I could hear the door creak, and saw my mother walking slowly and carefully to the man holding me.

They put me in my bed. When I was out of him arms, my mother wrapped a cloak around his shoulders to cover him up. He didn't say anything, though, the whole time he was there. He walked to the windows, and covered them up, blocking out most of the light in my room, and then left, closing the door. I could hear my mother talking through it, but I never once heard the voice of the werewolf that bit me.

I don't know what happened to him. I wish I could talk to him now. I would tell him that I forgave him years ago. I know that it wasn't his fault, and I hold no grudges. I hope that no harm befell him after he left out house, by the Ministry's doing, or his own. And I hope that maybe he'll read this and know that I hold no hard feelings toward him, whoever he was.

I didn't know, however, that he left until the next morning. The doctor of our small, muggle village came in to see me. He grumbled momentarily about the lack of light, and as soon as he pulled the drapes open, I knew why the werewolf had closed them. My eyes burned from the light, my sight having improved dramatically, and his voice, speaking loud since I was a small child made my ears ring (a reason now why I don't treat kids like that myself). He looked me over, and didn't say a word to me. However, when he left to room, I heard him confirm that, yes, the wolf bite was yesterday, and then tell my mother that I was healing at a miraculous rate. In fact, it was probably a pure miracle, in and of itself, that I even survived being bitten by a wolf.

And it was thus, that my life, and that of my family's, changed forever.

!!!!!!!!

Notes: Wow. That was a short chapter. I promise the next one will be longer.

This story ties in with some of those on my other penname. However, you don't have to read one to understand the others. And in a way, I feel bad for not updating other stories on that name. For those of you interested, it's Lyra Dogstar. If you like the stories, give me some moral help, and review them. Thank you.

Disclaimer: I wish I owned Harry Potter. But I don't. Sorry.