It wasn't until after his sixth handful of Weetabix that his stomach began twisting and he ran toward the sink, retching into the metal basin until the disgusting mix of food left his system.
He collected his breath for a moment, wiping his lips with the back of his hand before turning on the tap and drinking water straight from the faucet. He quickly shoved the food back into the cupboards and collapsed in the middle of the quiet kitchen, stretching his fingers methodically as though he'd forgotten how to use them.
Of all the people he'd been taken in by, it just had to be Granger.
The insufferable little know-it-all was the reason he was in this mess to begin with - the night his aunt had tortured her at Malfoy Manor was the night which had shaken him to his core.
All the Pureblood elitism, all the self-righteous dogma that he'd been fed since infancy came shattering down around him like shards of broken glass while she screamed for help. His insides burned with each of her shrieks, setting his soul on fire hotter than the flames of Hell he knew he was condemned to.
Because all of sudden it wasn't just some nameless, faceless stranger they were preparing to sacrifice in the name of Voldemort's cause - it was her.
It was them.
The annoying trio of righteous do-gooders whom he'd sworn to fight against. He thought he'd hated them, yet somewhere along the way he'd come to care for them apparently - in his own perverse, twisted way.
Clearly all the caneings and beatings did nothing to steel his heart against such foolish acts of weakness.
And of course the cherry on the cake of his misfortune had been the rumours which centred around his mother. That Voldemort was planning an abhorrent punishment designed for his and Lucius' failures that involved mutilating Narcissa.
He thought of her now, desperately wishing she was somewhere safe; as happy as circumstances would allow and far, far away from here.
He recalled the look of shock and confusion on his mother's face when she realized he'd drugged her before shipping her off to who knows where in the arms of that idiot Werewolf, Lupin.
He had no idea the whereabouts of his father, of whether or not he was even still alive. His goal for the past year had been merely to survive by whatever means necessary. Survive so that he might live to see his parents again some day. To see his mother and father happy and alive.
Draco put his head of matted, filthy hair in his hands, rocking himself back and forth on the cold tile floor as he thought of them for a moment. He thought of how many things he'd taken for granted now that he was sitting naked in a mudblood's kitchen while being hunted by whoever was left amongst the most depraved of Voldemort's followers. Knowing that if he was ever caught, The Reaper would skin him alive and use his entrails to hang him from what was left of Malfoy Manor.
He began shaking violently, his entire body wracked with chills as nearly a year of starvation, fatigue, stress and anxiety caught up with him. His bones were ice and his teeth clacked together loudly as he keeled over, curling into a ball in a futile attempt to stay warm.
No one but a handful of the Dark Lord's most trusted knew The Reaper's true identity, appearing to the rest fully masked and garbed head to toe in black; the only distinguishing characteristic about him was the overbearing shroud of mandarin which he doused himself in to cover the reek of rotting flesh.
The media only knew about a fraction of the awful, disgusting things that man did to prisoners in Malfoy Manor - things that still made Draco's skin crawl.
The door to Hermione's bedroom flew open and Draco fought with everything in his power to transform back into a cat; a convulsing ball of white fur when she found him.
"Oh no, you poor thing!" Granger gasped, dropping to her knees and scooping him up in her arms. She cradled him, wrapping his bruised and tired body in her pyjamas while she stroked him softly.
Draco closed his eyes, pretending he was adrift on a cloud somewhere far away from reality, hoping and praying that he could hang onto his feline form as the world began to swim in circles, his vision slowly turning black.