The unpopping of Lucius Malfoy ((closed RP: Snape & Narcissa))
((Unpopping Lucius after the proper procedures. =) He doesn't remember his previous time at HH Hogwarts, and will be a very canon characterization. Closed because Lucius is in no state for socializing with strangers.))
It was past midnight, and a butter-sodden man was sitting hunched outside the popcorn room, eyes open, but unmoving and seemingly unaware of his surroundings. He could see them just fine in the dim moonlight streaming through a window, but the solidity of his environs failed to register. The quiet hall seemed a strange mirage within the interminable prison of his own skull, in which he'd been effectively trapped for what seemed countless years.
No human mind could resist the influence of the Azkaban dementors, and Lucius Malfoy had now spent nearly a year in the confines of the hellish place. He'd lost track of time within a week of his incarceration, and the first month may as well have been a lifetime. There were not so many dementors at Azkaban as there once were, but there were more than enough of them remaining to have their dreaded effect. He couldn't even try to think encouraging thoughts, for the dementor's influence twisted everything, allowing only the worst possibilities to seethe to the forefront of the nightmare chaos.
And always, his instinct was to clutch at thoughts of his family- but it was this instinct which perhaps punished him the worst. For the most frequent fears which manifest themselves during his imprisonment were visions of his wife and son suffering as Voldemort punished them for his failure at the Ministry. But still, it was his family that provided him with the source of his strength through the ordeal, the anchor for his sanity. There were those rare occasions in the timeless stretch of horrors where a golden shaft pierced the gloom, and for a short while, held the misery at bay. She never brought Draco on these visits, but he was grateful for this- Lucius had no desire for his son to be subjected to the place, even for a brief time. He did not desire this for Narcissa either, had asked her not to come for this reason, but when she did appear, he was grateful. Although Narcissa often appeared delicate, Lucius knew the truth of her strength- she proved it beyond doubt at times like this. The reassurances she left him with lent him the strength to resist the decline into insanity despite the dementors. Even though he couldn't recollect it under their influence, the knowledge that Narcissa and Draco still lived was there, alongside the faintest hope of release.
It was a house-elf scurrying past which first alerted Lucius to the substantial nature of his surroundings. This burst of motion in the quiet, empty hall caused him to note that the quiet was internal as well. Something had changed. He didn't neglect that the change might have been in his own sanity as he felt the carpet with his fingertips and examined a nearby suit of armor. He wasn't sure of his exact location, but it appeared he was in. . .Hogwarts? By a stroke of providence, Lucius was sitting against the wall which held the popcorn plaques, and, thus did not immediately notice he was sitting against one containing his son's name. He did not rush to motion, for so many months of dementor influence didn't break in an instant, and there was something indefinably wrong about the situation.
It was only after he'd sat there for several minutes, without a return to the now-familiar hell of Azkaban, that he stood up, and looked around to find himself facing a wall containing a plaque with his son's name on it, but listed as a Gryffindor. This in no way encouraged him to accept his sudden shift of surroundings- it was impossible, even more impossible than his sudden change of scenery. Impossible and offensive- perhaps it was the onset of the inevitable madness that was the end of most who found themselves in Azkaban, where, surely he still was, if Draco was a Gryffindor. And so, there was no rush to go anywhere- he remained where he was, staring sullenly at the impossible plaque. He'd learned long ago that screaming, pounding on the walls, and other such undignified reactions were futile. There was nothing to do but wait.
It was past midnight, and a butter-sodden man was sitting hunched outside the popcorn room, eyes open, but unmoving and seemingly unaware of his surroundings. He could see them just fine in the dim moonlight streaming through a window, but the solidity of his environs failed to register. The quiet hall seemed a strange mirage within the interminable prison of his own skull, in which he'd been effectively trapped for what seemed countless years.
No human mind could resist the influence of the Azkaban dementors, and Lucius Malfoy had now spent nearly a year in the confines of the hellish place. He'd lost track of time within a week of his incarceration, and the first month may as well have been a lifetime. There were not so many dementors at Azkaban as there once were, but there were more than enough of them remaining to have their dreaded effect. He couldn't even try to think encouraging thoughts, for the dementor's influence twisted everything, allowing only the worst possibilities to seethe to the forefront of the nightmare chaos.
And always, his instinct was to clutch at thoughts of his family- but it was this instinct which perhaps punished him the worst. For the most frequent fears which manifest themselves during his imprisonment were visions of his wife and son suffering as Voldemort punished them for his failure at the Ministry. But still, it was his family that provided him with the source of his strength through the ordeal, the anchor for his sanity. There were those rare occasions in the timeless stretch of horrors where a golden shaft pierced the gloom, and for a short while, held the misery at bay. She never brought Draco on these visits, but he was grateful for this- Lucius had no desire for his son to be subjected to the place, even for a brief time. He did not desire this for Narcissa either, had asked her not to come for this reason, but when she did appear, he was grateful. Although Narcissa often appeared delicate, Lucius knew the truth of her strength- she proved it beyond doubt at times like this. The reassurances she left him with lent him the strength to resist the decline into insanity despite the dementors. Even though he couldn't recollect it under their influence, the knowledge that Narcissa and Draco still lived was there, alongside the faintest hope of release.
It was a house-elf scurrying past which first alerted Lucius to the substantial nature of his surroundings. This burst of motion in the quiet, empty hall caused him to note that the quiet was internal as well. Something had changed. He didn't neglect that the change might have been in his own sanity as he felt the carpet with his fingertips and examined a nearby suit of armor. He wasn't sure of his exact location, but it appeared he was in. . .Hogwarts? By a stroke of providence, Lucius was sitting against the wall which held the popcorn plaques, and, thus did not immediately notice he was sitting against one containing his son's name. He did not rush to motion, for so many months of dementor influence didn't break in an instant, and there was something indefinably wrong about the situation.
It was only after he'd sat there for several minutes, without a return to the now-familiar hell of Azkaban, that he stood up, and looked around to find himself facing a wall containing a plaque with his son's name on it, but listed as a Gryffindor. This in no way encouraged him to accept his sudden shift of surroundings- it was impossible, even more impossible than his sudden change of scenery. Impossible and offensive- perhaps it was the onset of the inevitable madness that was the end of most who found themselves in Azkaban, where, surely he still was, if Draco was a Gryffindor. And so, there was no rush to go anywhere- he remained where he was, staring sullenly at the impossible plaque. He'd learned long ago that screaming, pounding on the walls, and other such undignified reactions were futile. There was nothing to do but wait.