The classroom was dimly lit, and had it not been for the clock ticking steadily at the front of the room, the time would not have been possible to ascertain. The reason for this was simple, as the dungeon classroom that Severus Snape taught in, like many others in the school, did not have any windows. It was therefore up to the job of sputtering candles in brackets on the walls to light the dark spaces, all the while fighting off the dampness of the room, and the occasional drop of water seeping in through the stones above. The droplets of water were coming down a little more frequently than usual that day in the classroom, at seven-o-clock in the evening. This likely had something to do with the fact that it was spring, and the rain came often. Professor Snape, of course, was quite obviously ignoring the random hisses when water met flame , and instead went on cleaning out cupboards with a slight peace about him. Despite the messiness of going through the cupboards, he looked content. Perhaps this was because it was quiet, and working in a school such as Hogwarts, which had a population mainly of students, silence was not found often. Silence, in Snape’s case, seemed to be an opportunity for productivity; there was a bin filled with expired potion ingredients, dust bunnies, and various other things deemed no longer useful. Professor Snape frowned as he flicked his wand and sent a damp, mouldering textbook to the dustbin. He looked rather dismayed to find yet another. There were quite a few old textbooks in the bin, covered in slime and mould, and wet all the way to the spine. Professor Snape muttered a few water repelling charms on the other textbooks, which were still capable of being used. Some, however, did not appear to hold the charm well, most likely due to age.

With another swish of his wrist - looking as though his mind was hardly on what he was doing - Professor Snape sent a scrub brush skating through the empty cupboard. The brush spread suds with more enthusiasm than one would expect from an inanimate object. With a splash, it dove back into the bucket of soapy water, and Professor Snape lifted the stack of remaining, usable textbooks into the cupboard. He dusted his hands off lightly, and shut the door before standing up.

Glancing at the clock, Professor Snape ran his hand through his hair with the manner of someone who had been working too hard, and getting too little sleep. He sighed slightly, and moved across the room to tackle another cupboard.

It took a good twenty minutes (and a few very good cleaning spells) to get two of the three remaining cupboards clean. This unfortunately had to do with a very large container of pickled rat brains having been spilled on the wood. Rubbing his back and wincing, Professor Snape stretched a little, the hissing candles flickering feebly and throwing strange shadows across the room. His back gave a good loud crack, and when he had unclenched his teeth, he let out a soft sigh of relief.

 “Last one,” he muttered to himself, the deep shadows under his eyes still very noticeable despite the relief written upon his face.

Professor Snape bent down and attempted to open the cupboard door. It seemed quite firmly shut. Snape sneered at the cupboard. He adjusted his position, got a firm footing, and gave the door a good yank. Sure enough the cupboard opened. Wasting no time, Snape turned around and strode across the room, grabbing the bucket of soapy water to move it closer. Pausing after noticing the water was quite dirty, he vanished the contents of the bucket. Bending down slightly, he swished his wand and a stream of hot, soapy water poured out from the tip. He stood up again, lifting the full bucket. Professor Snape was about to turn around, and then he paused, for a soft creaking noise had sounded from across the room. A look of worry crossed Snape’s face when a sudden warm breeze fluttered the tips of his hair. Looking wary, he turned around. The bucket fell with a clatter, and it rattled across the floor noisily as Snape froze with horror. A huge wolf was staring him down, feet away, teeth bared, its nostrils the source of the sudden draft. This was no ordinary wolf, despite its great similarities. It was a werewolf.  With a strange noise coming from the back of his throat, Snape remained stiff as a board. Then, with its eyes gleaming sickeningly, a loud rumbling growl began from deep within the werewolf’s chest.  Such a sound seemed to have electrified Snape’s senses, and he stumbled away from the beast. He moved backward with remarkable pace, but the werewolf moved with him. Professor Snape’s breathing was irregular, and his face had become the colour of flour. He tried to shout, but it only came out as a strangled yelp. Snape tripped on the hem of his robe and fell onto his back, scrambling as far from the beast as possible, but the werewolf was between him and the door.

His hand tried to do something with his wand, but he was shaking too badly. As he tried to stutter out a curse, the werewolf let out a bone shaking growl. It lunged, and with his arm over his head and his back in a corner Snape finally got the curse out.

“SECTUMSEMPRA!” he shouted, with his wand pointing directly at the throat of the animal. The werewolf let out a yelp and backed away, for there was a great gash in the fur. Despite this, no blood flowed from the wound.

Snape sat, dumbstruck for a second, staring at the werewolf. Then, quite suddenly, a look of revelation crossed his face.

“R-Riddikulus!” he cried. There was light crackling noise and the form of the werewolf flickered. “Riddikulus! Riddikulus!”

Finally, with the loudest crack of all, the boggart vanished in a puff of smoke.

Professor Snape did not move, but his wand fell from his limp, and shaking hand. Pale and wide-eyed, his breaths came in ragged gasps as he leaned up against the wall. He surveyed the room as his breathing slowly calmed, all the while staring at the open cupboard door.

“You idiot, Snape,” he spat at himself before snatching up his wand and making the cupboard shut with a bang.

***

Harry slammed his quill to the table in the Gryffindor Common room, frustrated with an essay. It was almost nine and he had yet to reach the halfway mark.

“Need some help Harry?” inquired Hermione, with her nose in a book.

“No, I’m fine,” he sighed. “I just wish that cat would quit acting so crazy.”

Hermione glanced over to where a tabby was pacing back and forth by the wall furthest from the windows, right in front of the portrait hole.

“If it would just stop yowling, maybe I could get something done,” Harry complained.

“I’m really sorry Harry,” apologized Katie Bell from where she had just finished pushing open the portrait hole for the cat, which had been scratching and meowing. Now, the cat skittered away from the open portrait hole, and was pacing again. She shut it once more, frustrated. “I just don’t know what’s gotten into him. He’s never done this before.”

“Maybe it’s going to storm,” Ron suggested to Harry as he dealt out exploding snap cards to Dean and Seamus. “The ghoul in the attic sometimes pounds on the pipes harder before we get a storm.”

“Er … you have a ghoul in your attic?” Harry asked hesitantly, his attention diverted from the cat, which Katie was desperately trying to distract with a toy mouse.

Ron shrugged and assured Harry that it was perfectly normal.

Harry shook his head, and then picked up his quill again with a sigh. The cat started scratching again, and then let out a loud meow, and this time someone else’s cat joined it. With an exasperated look upon his face, Harry set down his quill again and rolled up the paper.

“I’m never going to finish it tonight with all this racket,” he told Hermione, who was looking at him as though he was committing a crime. “Besides Hermione, I’ve still got all of tomorrow to finish it. I’ve already done my research anyway.”

“Still further ahead than me mate,” Ron said as one of the exploding snap cards exploded in Dean’s face. “I still haven’t gotten over how unfair it is. Why punish us for what Malfoy tossed in our cauldron?”

 “Well you have to do the essay whether you like it or not, even if you don’t like the reason for it being assigned.”

   “Aw, go lecture the cat Hermione,” Ron said, rolling his eyes. “I’m not in the mood.”

Katie’s cat, which had finally started to settle down at her feet, jumped badly at the noise of more exploding cards, and clawed his way up Katie’s leg.

“Ow, ow, ouch!” she cried as he hissed, tears prickling at the edges of her eyes.

“I’m going to bed,” Harry announced. “I’ve had it.”

Wearily he gathered up his things and began his way upstairs, despite the early hour. He was not the only one to do so.