Harry gazed at the back of his hand.  Nothing. No changes. No claw, no hair, just normal human hands.  He glanced up at the full round face of the moon.  It was evil, taunting him, as it did last month, and the month before that.  Next month was the Werewolf convention.  He’d be the laughing-stock.  The young ones already made jokes about Wolfagra.  What will they do with someone who it didn’t even work on?

No, best stay put, make his excuses.  Hopefully he can still get a refund on his Transylvanian tickets. He’ll go to somewhere bright and sunny instead – then he can really feel sorry for himself.


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