I think you'll be pleased with this chapter. It's the moment you've all been waiting for. I can't believe the number of reviews I've gotten! Thirteen, the unlucky, and also my favorite, number. Here are my answers:

lovemehatemejustdon'tfearme: Here it is. The chapter you've been craving. I hope you like it! (Ron is silly, isn't he?)

Rumpleteaze: I'm really glad you love the story! I never got an E-mail about being a staff member, though... I don't get computers sometimes. Oo

Wolfcursed: Thanks! I hope you keep reading. Werewolves forever!

Magnolia Lane: Yeah, I can't wait to write the transformation scene! And the 'secret' thing gets taken care of in this chappie. Oops, maybe I shouldn't have said that.

OOO

The days flew by. Ron started noticing his senses perk up about six days before the full moon. At that time it was the only symptom he felt. He was pretty cocky for a day or two. This werewolf deal was more fun than Lupin had always let on. It was terribly entertaining being able to hear what some of the Slytherins discussed during meals in the Great Hall. Or what teachers actually said to kids getting yelled in the hall. And he could use his sense of smell to track down whoever farted during class or in the dorms. It never failed.

But good things never last, and soon the foresaken night was only three days away. By now his senses had heightened to the point where it wasn't fun anymore. Now it was just annoying. He started feeling a little under the weather as well. His skin had gone tight and palid, his eyes sunken in and dark.

Ever since the night he was bitten he could feel the presence of the wolf, but now it seemed like it was screaming for escape. He felt as if he let his guard down for even a second the monster growing inside him would explode, and consume him. Which, technically, wasn't all wrong according to the books he read. Because of this he tried especially hard to keep his emotions in check. He knew he could have a bit of temper as it was, and this werewolf thing only added fuel to the fire. The book was right about everything. Earlier today in Charms his quill broke during a test and he nearly cried. Afterwards he couldn't believe it. He felt like an idiot. Then later in potions he stirred his stupid project the wrong way and Snape made him start all over again. It took every ounce of clear thinking left in him to stop himself from gouging out the asshole's eyes. By now he was really embarrassed. Harry and Hermione didn't seem to take notice, thank God. He supposed they were used to him acting weird by now.

The last few days were like slow-motion compared to the rest of the month. By the day of the full moon Ron couldn't stand it anymore. He wanted to just get the whole thing over with. Though, as much as he tried to push it out of his mind, he was almost exited for that night. Curiousity killed the wolf.

Breakfast was awful. As he walked into the large room he had to put his hands in his pockets to keep from clapping them to his ears. The noise was unbearable! And oh, the smells. The aromas of food he couldn't bring himself to eat and over a thousand other people filled his nose. It was making his already pounding head worse.

One thing he had never noticed before this ordeal was the different scents of people. It wasn't like perfume, or makeup, this was the real scent of people. Harry was almost like cinnamon, kind of spicy and strong. Hermione was kind of sweet and musty. Then there was some, like malfoy, who were down-right sour. Like young grapes. Neville was fruity, like peaches almost. Crabbe and Goyle were probably the most intriging. He thought they stunk before this, but now he couldn't stand being around them! Have they heard of showers?

"Are you okay Ron? You haven't touched your food, it's not like you. You don't look well either." Worry was clear in Hermione's voice.

"Yeah, it's just a flu or something," He lied. Hermione was sure she could see his eyes twitch.

The rest of the day went about as smoothly as breakfast. During morning classes he couldn't concentrate on anything; his mind was racing, though his body was as sluggish as could be.

However, quidditch was the lowest point by far. The match against Ravenclaw was a complete wash. 310 to 170 was the final score. Gryffindor had scored so high only because Harry caught the snitch. Ron didn't make a single save during the entire game. Loud belts of "Weasley is Our King" had rung throughout the pitch.

After the game he tried as hard as he could to be civil to the disgruntled Gryffindors greeting the team on the ground. Hermione was going on and on about scientific ways of viewing the game, and what they should have done different to beat Ravenclaw. Harry kept on saying things like "Hermione it's a game, not a school subject. Don't look at it like that." Ron tuned out most of what was going on around him. The sun starting set, thus he was feeling increasingly worse.

Finally everyone started heading back to the castle, and the team went to the locker rooms. Harry and Ron changed without speaking.

"You coming Ron?" Harry called as he started heading back to the Common Room.

"No, I think I'm going to stick around here for awhile." By 'stick around here' he meant 'find a way to transform without hurting anyone or getting found out'.

"Okay." He seemed to disapointed to care about anything.

OOO

Dumbledore was in office, thinking. Tonight was the full moon. Somewhere in his school was a young werewolf. They were going to transform. What if they didn't take precautions? How could they even? It's not like they have any clue what it would like. They wouldn't know that their mind would be consumed by the wolf. They had no idea about what the pain would be like. Sure, they were most likely feeling the symptoms of the waxing moon, but tonight would be so different than that. A wolfsbane potion was out of question. Most students didn't know suck a thing existed, mush less how to concoct one. And they would have to be quite skilled thieves to steal ingredients for it from Snape. He couldn't let a wolf run wild in his school. These were touchy times as it was. If a child was killed, or bitten, he would never hear the end of it.

He was toying with the blood soaked pant leg in his hands. It was starting to smell quite rank. He decided to wash it off.

In the bathroom he ran it under warm water and soaped it up. The water turned red as it ran down the drain. As he turned it over, to what would have been the inside of the pant leg, something caught his eye. Just above the cuff 'R. W.' was embroidered. He had never noticed it before; the blood was caked on to thick.

He nearly ran back to his office and dug his class list out of his desk. The pages were on the verge of ripping as flipped to the 'W' page. A bony finger rested, shaking upon the only name that fit the initials.

"Ron..." Why hadn't he noticed it earlier?