Hours blurred into days; at least, Eric was fairly sure they were days. He couldn't tell how long he had spent in the darkness waiting for the doors to open, wondering if the next time would bring suffering or sustenance. Finally, something different happened when the door opened. The figures charged in, drawing a heavy hood over his head. They dragged him out of the room to another place. "The doctor says you need air." There were many steps winding upward further and further until he was drawn through a trapdoor. Wind blew cold upon his skin and he could hear the crashing of waves in the distance.
The sound of a heavy lock told him that he was still trapped. However, when he pulled the hood off of his head, the air never smelled so clean. He found that he was on the top of a tower, about three stories high. There were no city lights or any other signs of civilization; wizard or otherwise.
It was night: a clear, cloudless night. Eric felt that he could see a million stars in the sky, and he felt a million more hidden in an all-encompassing glare. Everything was bathed in the clearest blue light imaginable, with only one source possible. The moon hung above him. It was rich and full, so much so he could taste the light bathing him, calling to the deepest reaches of his soul.
As he looked about, he began searching for a means of escape. The tower was a smooth brick, not flagstone, so it couldn't be scaled. Looking at the trapdoor, he could see mountings for the locks that made it clear there would be no removing them. Looking about, he could see a few hay bales about the tower, but they were too far to jump to with his injuries. However, he did have one option; a bright, clear, and obvious one.
As desire began to burn in him, he struggled against the madness that had been growing inside him. A voice of reason screamed in his head: this was no accident. His captors weren't muggles, and they weren't puritan fanatics. Eric had no idea who or what they were, but he knew this was a trap. They had captured him, prepared him carefully, and set him on a course that left him only one option to pursue.
It was a dark path, one that none of the people he cared for would approve of. Even if they understood, it would be unlikely that they'd ever look at him the same again. It was dangerous, and would very likely lead to some kind of disaster. The problem was that it was the only path he had. Regardless of whether or not it was treacherous, tragic, or even exactly what his captors wanted, he had to follow it.
Eric looked to the moon, allowing it to call him. He strained to listen as it whispered of freedom, the absolute joy of strength, and the thrill of the hunt. He let the thought fill his mind and strengthen his limbs. Then he dug deep into his own soul to find a part of himself that he didn't even begin to understand. It was a wild, primitive part that had the strength, endurance, and ferocious will to overcome any obstacle, to defeat or even kill any that would be foolish enough to stand in his way.
He began to feel himself change. Intense pain washed over him as his bones twisted, his muscles contorted, and everything inside him began to shift about. Bizarre forces pulled and shaped him like putty. It was sheer agony, a kind of pain that could drive him beyond the brink of madness. However; he knew he had to endure, and he had to keep his mind with him. It was the only way that he would survive this night and escape his kidnappers.
Suddenly it stopped. All the pain and agony ceased as he felt a rush of energy fill his limbs. He knew he was transformed: he could feel it in the way he moved, but it all felt completely natural. It was as if he was born into this body. A wave of relief filled him, for he greatly feared that he wouldn't be able to handle a changed body effectively.
His senses thrilled him as never before. Everything was far clearer than he could imagine. He could hear moths fly about the tower he was on. Far beyond in a field, he could see a small rabbit that knew it was being watched, for it had become as still as a stone. That wouldn't save it from him – he could smell the blood coursing through it's body. Even from this distance, he could take it as easily as picking an apple. The hunt would be a formality.
He shook his head violently. This was not why he became what he now was. He was trapped, and he needed to escape. Looking at his surroundings again, the hay bales were no longer out of reach, but they would slow him down. There was, however, another way. Letting his hindquarters droop over the tower's edge, he let himself slide against the tower's wall for about half it's length before kicking away, diverting his direction into a tuck and roll. He was on the ground and on his feet in an instant.
He could hear voices shouting. "He's gotten off the tower; get the master!" The fear in their voices was unmistakable, and oh – so satisfying! It wouldn't delay him too long to return the kindness his hosts had shown him. To let them know for themselves what it would be like to live in fear. To make each and every one of them know what it's like to have their flesh torn again and again – oh, and darkness. Take their eyes out, so that they would never see light ever again!
No! A small but firm voice cried inside him, pulling him away from vengeance. He had to escape, to find his bearings, and to return to Diagon Alley, or at least to find some friendly home to regain his bearings. Whoever these people were, they drove him to this point, so they have to be prepared for him to attack. The only thing they wouldn't expect a werewolf to do is run.
So run he did, faster than he could ever dream possible. The shouts from his kidnappers quickly melted into the night as he tore through the woods, seeking as many hard paths and streams as he could find to mask his scent and trail. They would be following him; probably using dogs to track him. He'd need to find a place to hide until morning. Hopefully, the transformation would end and he'd be able to speak with someone. True, the absence of clothing would be a drawback, but it was one he'd simply have to work around.
Finding a culvert to walk in, he traced it back to a drainage pipe. It was dark and deep, and there would be no tracks leading into it or any way for a dog to follow his scent with so many other smells coming from within – most of them foul.