CHAPTER TWO

With a hand pulling his travelling bag behind him, Harold began walking to where the male's hostel were located.

He knew where it was and it was just midday hence, he didn't have to bother about arriving there late.

He brought out his phone and texted Wilkes Milton. The both of them, with Trisha, had met at Francis and Professor Ericson's funeral. It was quite a sad one and surprisingly, a lot of people who called themselves the family of the duo, were around.

‘In school already?’ Harold typed on his phone and hit the ‘send’ button.

He kept on walking, still, under the scorching sun, not allowing thoughts of how Max was fairing disturb him.

Deep down, he knew Max was going to survive. Max was a fine wolf — a replica of both their father, who had been trained from an early age to take over the position of being the Alpha when him and Harold's father was gone by Sarah his mother.

If Harold had survived last year, of course, Max will. Easily.

His phone jingled once and he immediately looked at his screen. 

‘Yes, I'm in school. I came about an hour ago and guess what? We are in the same room although different than the one were in last semester!’

Harold smiled as he walked faster to where the hostels were.

From where he was, he could see faintly see the buildings, standing side by side like guardsmen protecting a courtyard.

‘Which hostel is ours?’ Harold texted back with one hand. The other was pulling his travelling bag along. Behind him.

There were students to his left and right but he wasn't bothered at all by them. Neither were they by him. Everyone was going about his own business.

Harold walked even faster. The closer he got to the buildings, the more students he saw. They were all around the building like a swarm of bees around honey.

‘The third,’ Wilkes texted back. ‘But there are some paperwork you'll have to feel before gaining entrance. Ones were didn't have to fill last year.’

Harold pushed his phone into his pocket, sighed, and walked even faster. The tires of his travelling back hummed louder as he walked even faster on a sidewalk. The sound caused his ears to itch but that wasn't enough reason for him to reduce his pace.

When he got to the buildings, he slowed down. 

Things had changed. It wasn't much but it still was something.

A new gate had been put to prevent just anyone from getting access to the male hostel. The gate was black, and tall — almost thrice as tall as Harold, and looked like it was crowned with prongs. Harold wondered if any of the changes was because of what had happened last semester. He didn't let that bother him.

He reached the gate. Right before he got in, to his right, a young man with a permanent scowl on his face sat under the sun. He had a desk before him and a lot of paperwork sprawled all around. 

On the other side of the desk were students. Nothing less than fifteen, on a queue, waiting for reasons Harold didn't know.

Harold Girard walked to the last person on the line. An athletic guy with a face like a football that looked like he could squeeze Harold to pulp.

“Excuse me,” Harold started politely. He caught his attention. “What is this line for?”

“I don't know exactly what it is for,” the student rumbled, “but without getting I think a pass from that man,” he was referring to the man without a scowl, “you won't be allowed into your room.” He paused for a while and his eyes thinned to half their normal size. “I feel they are trying to keep tabs on either a student or a group of students, though. It's just a feeling. Nothing more.”

The student shrugged and like Harold didn't exist, he shifted his attention back to the man. He hungrily took one step closer when the student at the forefront got his pass. 

Harold stepped right behind him before someone else did. His mind, though, was in some other places. Trying to verify what he had been told.

If it was true that they were trying to keep tabs on a student or a group of students, it was more likely than not to be him, Wilkes, Trisha and perhaps, Brie.

He had barely spent an hour in the school and he was already tired of the environment. He sighed.

After what seemed like ages, it got to his turn.

Without turning to look at him, the man began talking like a programmed robot.

“Name?” 

“Harold. Harold Girard.”

The man looked up at him instantly, straight into his eyes but the next second he was staring at a blank form. He filled in Harold's name.

“Kind?”

“Huh?” Harold asked.

The man looked up at him again.

“I mean specie. What's your specie?”

“Oh,” Harold replied with a faked smile. “Werewolf.”

“Interesting,” the man mouthed whilst nodding his head slowly as he wrote some more things on the form. Harold felt uncomfortable. He was having a bad feeling about all of these.

“Grade,” the man asked next. It seemed more like he was making a statement than asking for Harold's grade.

“Second year,” Harold managed to say. “I got in last year.”

The man wrote some more things for about ten seconds after.

Still without looking up, the man handed him a pass.

“You may proceed to your room. You'll have to find it yourself the same way you did last year.”

“Not a problem,” Harold said quickly as he gently snatched his pass from the man.

As he began walking to the hostels arranged side by side, he brought out his phone to text Wilkes.