The being that wore the face of the Draco Malfoy was frustrated. With his father imprisoned for his existence and the likes of Dumbledore and the Ministry hunting for him, while trying to hush up the entire incident, there were very few options left. He knew that Malfoy Manor was being watched and that it wasn't safe to contact his mother.
Malfoy suppressed a sigh. As much as he'd like to use magic, Draco's trace was still in place and the Ministry would soon know his position. It was completely typical. Not only was he traipsing around the countryside with only his clothes and his wand like some sort of commoner, he was forced to act as though he was a filthy muggle in order to avoid the aurors.
Wrapping his cloak further around his shoulders, Malfoy continued trudging down the beaten track he was walking down. Mud pooled around his once spotless boots and the he gave a small groan as it entered his socks. The night was cold and he had been unable to keep track of the days or the wizarding news. Was anyone still looking for him? Malfoy didn't want to risk it.
A bluster-y breeze swept in, as a gale began to blow in addition to the cold and the mud and the wet. Malfoy hated the outdoors. Apart from Quidditch, there wasn't any reason for him to leave the comfort of the hearth at home and Malfoy wished he was warm in bed. Shivering, he shuddered as another wall of wind slammed into him, chilling him to the bone.
Still, he kept walking. Even though his nose began to run in an extremely undignified way and it felt as if he would never be warm again. Teeth chattering, Malfoy wondered if this was the end. He couldn't survive on his own - he'd always survived because someone more powerful could protect him - now, there was no Crabbe or Goyle and he was outside the influence of his mother and father. Only the thought of what he was walking towards kept him going. If he made it, it would be worth Nature's wrath.
Malfoy was yet to discover whether he would make it though.
His hands were white like bone and he found that he was unable to unfurl his fingers from their tight fist. Quivering from the cold, Malfoy attempted to get some warmth into his fingertips. Teetering back and forth in the wind, he was able to make out a signpost. Malfoy laughed. This was most definitely not the end for him; he was almost there.
The features of Draco Malfoy's face warped themselves into a grin. Another blow from the elements thundered towards him, but Malfoy paid no mind. He was too busy imagining what he hoped would be awaiting him. For this was not the end. This was only the beginning.
Shrieking wildly, the wind knocked the signpost and sent it tumbling down the lane. It was a thousand miles from Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry and the Triwizard Task that would start in less than twelve hours time. And yet, there was more action in the tiny English village than most of Hogwarts would witness at the Black Lake. The signpost twirled like a ballet dancer and landed in a hedgerow.
Little Hangleton: 1 Mile.