Draco fled to the first place he could think of, The Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley. He stumbled out of the fireplace, covered in ash and disgusted by his appearance. Rapidly, he brushed off any ash that covered his robes, for a Malfoy wouldn't be seen looking so dirty even if they were now a disgrace. The reason Draco didn't go to his home from there was because he knew that his father would quickly find out about his 'condition' and Draco would be possibles beaten and disowned or worse. His father had always been loving, but it was well known that he wouldn't be alright with his son being a dirty half-breed.

Draco heard the fire turn back to normal behind him and walked calmly towards the owner of the place. "I'd like a room, ple—" Draco began to thank him, but stopped himself with the disgusting realization that the Weasleys were running off on him. For the past couple of days he'd forgotten all about his roots, but now that there was no Harry to distract him he attempted to be the child Lucius wanted, not because he hoped this would gain his father's approval of him, but because he wished to appear the same as he was before.

The man, Tom, showed him to his room which was not the nicest, but had the necessities. Draco took the key, walked in and slammed the door in the man's face. He pressed his back up against the wall and let out every emotion he'd been holding back while yelling at Harry. Fear, pity, even guilt coarsed through him and he cried until he realized the low chirp of a bird. He raised his head, struggling to see with tears filling his eyes, but realized that a small raven was perched on top of the bed frame. Now a new feeling coarser through him, hunger. He pulled out his wand, so that he could easily capture his prey. "Petrificus Totalus!" He cried out and the beautifully black bird toppled over, completely stiff, and feel onto the floor. Draco moved from the door, leaned down to grip the small bird in his hand and allowed his fangs to extend. The room disappeared as he raised the bird to his lips, sunk his teeth in and sucked ever last drop that the bird could supply.

Guilt coursed through him, once again, as he stared down at the limp, dead raven in his hand that reminded him of Harry's silky, raven black hair. His thirst disintegrated, but now he experienced a new type of thirst. A thirst for knowledge on how Harry was doing. Just thinking about the words he'd spoken to Harry made him agitated with himself and out of pure anger he chucked the dead raven out of the open window that was across from him.

Disposing of the bird don't seem to help his agitation much, but then he began to pace around the small room, from the bed to the dresser and tried to convince himself to not care about his enemy's wellbeing. Draco wished to go back, no, he needed to go back and tried to convince himself it was so he could see the look on his enemy's face, but it was really because deep down in the part of his heart that he tries to keep hidden from even himself, he knew that he loved Harry in a way he'd never experienced.

At that moment, an owl he recognized as his flew into the window, landing gracefully on the dresser with a neat green envelope he recognized. He furrowed his brow and approached the bird cautiously, afraid that what the bird was carrying contained his father's wrath, but nothing happened as he approached, untied the red ribbon from the bird's leathery-feeling leg and opened the envelope to reveal the letter. The handwriting was soothingly familiar to him, as it was the writing of his father, but at the same time made every bone in his body tense.

Arrive home at 12:00 sharp. A Malfoy shan't be late.

Was all it read. It was much less formal and than he ever remembered his father's writing, but that could be summed up to the fact that his father might've written quickly. Despite it feeling like it had been a year since he left the Burrow, it had been an hour, so he had some time before he needed to leave. He realized that if he was to see his father, he must look half-decent and decided to take the time to comb out and gel his hair with what small bit of products he had tucked away in his robes pocket. He walked into the bathroom, saw himself in the mirror and was disgusted by how disheveled his fringe was. As he combed it out, he thought about the letter, but as he gelled it into its proper form, his mind wandered to Harry's condition.

He stared at his reflection for a moment, pondering how the person staring back at him could be such a monster. No, this wasn't even because of Harry, but that he'd gotten himself in this situation at all. That he'd been bitten, that he'd accepted Mrs. Weasley's invitation, that he simply touched the skin of the werewolf. Something had snapped and Draco's only way of dealing with the pains in his chest or the increase of pulse rate around the boy, was to deny anything and everything.

He stared for a moment longer, into his cool gray eyes that he knew now hid anyone's worst nightmare behind them. He pushed himself to turn his eyes to a crimson, gripping the side of the sink in front of him with such a force that it cracked. Then he opened his mouth to reveal the fangs he so despised. It was the first time he'd really looked at them, how white and dangerously sharp they were. They could pierce someone's skin without Draco even trying and this didn't help with his overwhelming feeling of disgust at the sight of himself. The blood-red color of his eyes scared himself and the fact that he couldn't control himself anymore made him want to lock himself away, never to be seen again. He felt like a dangerous animal that needed a cage.