An Unpopping: Draco Malfoy [Open RP]
((After taking all the significant procedures, and with mod permission, I am unpopcorning Draco Malfoy. He'll have no prior knowledge of his time in Hogwarts Hocus; leaving him a fresh slate to be toyed with. He's taken right after the killing of Dumbledore in Half-Blood Prince.))
Hogwarts was ancient enough to have a pipe-work of catacombs weaving under its foundations. A lot of the forgotten passages linked up, including the main chute that connected to the dungeons located near the Slytherin common room. One particularly wide stone passageway lead to a labyrinthine room where once a great snake called home, and terrorised the school nearly half a century ago. The network branched out into another adjoining dwelling that housed a mass of gargantuan butterfly-shaped popped popcorn, strung up to the dingy ceiling with magically re-enforced chains. They throbbed with the teaming life they sustained within their cores, golden sapropel seeped from them not unlike a monsters over-zealous salivation. In the diffused light they were limned flaxen.
One popped popcorn throbbed more feverishly than the others, its core illuminating and showcasing the mature form within. The thick chains holding up the humans synthetic womb rattled, straining with the slight increase of weight from the waking occupant. Then it happened all at once; as if triggered by an imaginary alarm clock the core cracked, a fissure snaking symmetrically up, there was a sickening snap as the popped popcorn gave way to the human within and sprang apart as if an opening mouth. The body fell in a formless sphere of syrupy butter, squelching as it hit the flagstones, dispelling the butter about him. There was silence and then a magnificent metallic snap as the chains gave way, no longer supported by magic. The chain recoiled away from the ceiling and the popcorn fell. With its communion with the floor it broke apart, sending its puffed appendages about the crypt, spitting residue butter against the walls.
In the resulting silence the boy tried to get up, not getting farther than his hands and knees. His entire body quivered, naked and caked in life-sustaining butter. As his nerves woke up he felt the fuzzy prickling on his skin, a reaction from the edible emulsion of fat. His stone grey eyes stared, fixated on his hands that splayed against the syrupy-yellowness and the cold flagstones. His mouth was ajar as his mind jockeyed to make sense of what had happened. His mind pounded.
... Dumbledore ... Bellatrix ... Snape ... The Dark Lord ...
His chest ached and tears sprang to his eyes. A sharp sound echoed in the crypt, his head snapped up and his eyes roamed the emptiness. It was a while before he realised it was his own strangled sob he had heard. The next shiver that rocked his form was more disgust, than confusion and the cold. The feeling of the butter slipping off his body repulsed him. It was all around him, it was a confusing situation, one that curdled in the pit of his stomach. He looked up, fear laced in his expression as he saw the mass of popped popcorn's dangling from the ceiling. They looked like culinary life supports.
What had he been through to get here? He couldn't remember anything. He glared at his fingers, anger and confusion and fear all fighting to be felt at once, but all mingling together. His chest threatened to rip apart. Where was his father? His mother? Someone to explain all ... all, this! He stumbled in the pool of butter encircling him as he tried to stand. It took a moment but he was finally up. He stared down at his exposed skin. He caught sight of his wand, and feeling a short pang of relief at something familiar, he bent down and picked up the hawthorn wand.
There was a rustling and a clanking of iron, or something else metallic, and Draco looked up into the gloom, towards wall shrouded in shadows. After a moment a house-elf came bustling in, he looked ancient, the eldest house-elf he'd seen by far. His ears were bat-like which was normal for a house-elf, but they were that long that the fell in on themselves, white hair fuzzed out of them as if the creature had stuffed them with cotton balls. His skin was so dark, darker than coffee and his like eyes were thick with film, a testament to how long he had been kept down here. Perhaps he was the guardian of the crypt? In his hands were robes and once he got to Draco's side he gestured to the robes, lifting them up for him. He seemed unable to speak.
Slowly, Draco took the robes and stared down at the creature, a stubborn set to his jaw. The house-elf waved his hand and the butter that caked Draco's body evaporated off his skin and from his hair. Once acknowledging his handiwork for another individual released from this room, the house-elf nodded firmly and then bustled away.
Draco dressed himself and stowed away his wand. He started walking to where the house-elf had disappeared. His mind was whirling, his eyes still stung and prickled with tears, and his body itched even though the butter had been washed from his body. Doing what Draco did best, his compartmentalised all that had happened, and everything that hadn't, and made his way out of the Popcorn Crypt, passing the busy house-elf, scaling staircase that seemed to stem for years, and emerged from a hidden door into a bright corridor of Hogwarts. He raised his hand to shield his eyes from the brilliance of the sun and took in a deep breath of fresh air.
There truly was ... no rest for the wicked.
Hogwarts was ancient enough to have a pipe-work of catacombs weaving under its foundations. A lot of the forgotten passages linked up, including the main chute that connected to the dungeons located near the Slytherin common room. One particularly wide stone passageway lead to a labyrinthine room where once a great snake called home, and terrorised the school nearly half a century ago. The network branched out into another adjoining dwelling that housed a mass of gargantuan butterfly-shaped popped popcorn, strung up to the dingy ceiling with magically re-enforced chains. They throbbed with the teaming life they sustained within their cores, golden sapropel seeped from them not unlike a monsters over-zealous salivation. In the diffused light they were limned flaxen.
One popped popcorn throbbed more feverishly than the others, its core illuminating and showcasing the mature form within. The thick chains holding up the humans synthetic womb rattled, straining with the slight increase of weight from the waking occupant. Then it happened all at once; as if triggered by an imaginary alarm clock the core cracked, a fissure snaking symmetrically up, there was a sickening snap as the popped popcorn gave way to the human within and sprang apart as if an opening mouth. The body fell in a formless sphere of syrupy butter, squelching as it hit the flagstones, dispelling the butter about him. There was silence and then a magnificent metallic snap as the chains gave way, no longer supported by magic. The chain recoiled away from the ceiling and the popcorn fell. With its communion with the floor it broke apart, sending its puffed appendages about the crypt, spitting residue butter against the walls.
In the resulting silence the boy tried to get up, not getting farther than his hands and knees. His entire body quivered, naked and caked in life-sustaining butter. As his nerves woke up he felt the fuzzy prickling on his skin, a reaction from the edible emulsion of fat. His stone grey eyes stared, fixated on his hands that splayed against the syrupy-yellowness and the cold flagstones. His mouth was ajar as his mind jockeyed to make sense of what had happened. His mind pounded.
... Dumbledore ... Bellatrix ... Snape ... The Dark Lord ...
His chest ached and tears sprang to his eyes. A sharp sound echoed in the crypt, his head snapped up and his eyes roamed the emptiness. It was a while before he realised it was his own strangled sob he had heard. The next shiver that rocked his form was more disgust, than confusion and the cold. The feeling of the butter slipping off his body repulsed him. It was all around him, it was a confusing situation, one that curdled in the pit of his stomach. He looked up, fear laced in his expression as he saw the mass of popped popcorn's dangling from the ceiling. They looked like culinary life supports.
What had he been through to get here? He couldn't remember anything. He glared at his fingers, anger and confusion and fear all fighting to be felt at once, but all mingling together. His chest threatened to rip apart. Where was his father? His mother? Someone to explain all ... all, this! He stumbled in the pool of butter encircling him as he tried to stand. It took a moment but he was finally up. He stared down at his exposed skin. He caught sight of his wand, and feeling a short pang of relief at something familiar, he bent down and picked up the hawthorn wand.
There was a rustling and a clanking of iron, or something else metallic, and Draco looked up into the gloom, towards wall shrouded in shadows. After a moment a house-elf came bustling in, he looked ancient, the eldest house-elf he'd seen by far. His ears were bat-like which was normal for a house-elf, but they were that long that the fell in on themselves, white hair fuzzed out of them as if the creature had stuffed them with cotton balls. His skin was so dark, darker than coffee and his like eyes were thick with film, a testament to how long he had been kept down here. Perhaps he was the guardian of the crypt? In his hands were robes and once he got to Draco's side he gestured to the robes, lifting them up for him. He seemed unable to speak.
Slowly, Draco took the robes and stared down at the creature, a stubborn set to his jaw. The house-elf waved his hand and the butter that caked Draco's body evaporated off his skin and from his hair. Once acknowledging his handiwork for another individual released from this room, the house-elf nodded firmly and then bustled away.
Draco dressed himself and stowed away his wand. He started walking to where the house-elf had disappeared. His mind was whirling, his eyes still stung and prickled with tears, and his body itched even though the butter had been washed from his body. Doing what Draco did best, his compartmentalised all that had happened, and everything that hadn't, and made his way out of the Popcorn Crypt, passing the busy house-elf, scaling staircase that seemed to stem for years, and emerged from a hidden door into a bright corridor of Hogwarts. He raised his hand to shield his eyes from the brilliance of the sun and took in a deep breath of fresh air.
There truly was ... no rest for the wicked.