The Unpopping of Draco Malfoy, locked to Lucius and Narcissa
One moment Draco was running, Professor Snapes hand at his back, pushing him ahead, faster than he wished to go.
The next, he could not see, he could not move. His breath had stopped and he was swelling painfully against his skin. He thought, "They think they are so high and moral and good, yet surely this is Dark Magic, too. The Two-faced, lying, scheming, deceptive, vicious, murdering... murdering... erm... yes... well..."
Oh, it hurt. He feared his stomach will explode from the terrible spell. No, it was his head too. He hurt all over. He hated them. They took his father. He wanted his father. Please, just once more before he died. He wanted: To tell. To confess. "I tried to... I failed to..." Which was worse?
And then he was tossed sprawling into the air, arms and legs thrown randomly from his body, his robes billowing out, then tangling around him in clinging grease. He spat. He fought. This was intolerable.
He spun around quickly, eyes wide., looking for enemies, looking for fools who would be laughing at him. Popcorn. The room was full of popcorn. It was a nightmare. He waded to the door as quickly as he could, jerked it open and stumbled out into the hallway. Hogwarts. He had been trying to run. Hogwarts. Had he been hit with some kind of bizarre Portkey? Nothing could account for it.
Face burning, robes disgusting, he tried to recover some dignity and straighten himself to behave as if he were not... drenched in yellow grease.
The next, he could not see, he could not move. His breath had stopped and he was swelling painfully against his skin. He thought, "They think they are so high and moral and good, yet surely this is Dark Magic, too. The Two-faced, lying, scheming, deceptive, vicious, murdering... murdering... erm... yes... well..."
Oh, it hurt. He feared his stomach will explode from the terrible spell. No, it was his head too. He hurt all over. He hated them. They took his father. He wanted his father. Please, just once more before he died. He wanted: To tell. To confess. "I tried to... I failed to..." Which was worse?
And then he was tossed sprawling into the air, arms and legs thrown randomly from his body, his robes billowing out, then tangling around him in clinging grease. He spat. He fought. This was intolerable.
He spun around quickly, eyes wide., looking for enemies, looking for fools who would be laughing at him. Popcorn. The room was full of popcorn. It was a nightmare. He waded to the door as quickly as he could, jerked it open and stumbled out into the hallway. Hogwarts. He had been trying to run. Hogwarts. Had he been hit with some kind of bizarre Portkey? Nothing could account for it.
Face burning, robes disgusting, he tried to recover some dignity and straighten himself to behave as if he were not... drenched in yellow grease.