Disclaimer: JKR... thanks very much.

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“Why is it in a wardrobe?”

Lupin shrugged. “It just is.”

Parr looked at the carved wooden doors.

“Why not in a matchbox or a shoe?”

“A shoe? What on earth would it be doing in a shoe?!”

“What the hell’s it doing in a wardrobe?”

Lupin sighed. “There aren’t that many caves in London, so boggarts go for the next best thing, like wardrobes or trunks.”

“All right, that makes sense,” Parr relented and scribbled some notes down in her book.

There was a pendulous silence. Parr could feel Lupin’s eyes on her. She scribbled harder and tried to ignore it, but it was like an itch between the shoulder blades.

Please don’t ask me to do it, she pleaded mentally. Please don’t?

“Chara.”

Shit!

“Yes?”

“Are you trying to avoid this?”

“No, I just need to write some things down while I remember.”

“It’s just delaying the inevitable.”

Parr dropped her pen and covered her face with her hands. She took a couple of deep, steadying breaths, scrubbed her face with her palms and stood up.

“I still think that this is a bad idea,” she repeated for what seemed like the tenth time in the past hour.

With an impeccable sense of timing, the boggart chose that moment to make the wardrobe rock on its clawed feet. Parr let out a shameful squeak before she could stop herself. Hell, she could smack Lupin for putting her through this!

“Come on,” Lupin pressed, indicating a spot a few feet in front of the wardrobe doors. “Anyone would think you were scared.”

Parr shot him a dark look and a fistful of swear words. Lupin let them slide right past.

“Save the pillow talk for the boggart,” he replied and gestured her over again.

Parr stumped around the table and glowered at the wardrobe, nostrils flared and brows heavy.

“Now,” Lupin began, standing close behind her. “As you can’t use magic, you can’t repel the boggart the way magic-folk can.”

Parr’s gut started churning, throwing splashes of digestive acid up her throat and making her swallow convulsively.

“You’ll need to rely on a calm, clear head and rational thinking in order to overcome the boggart’s weapon of choice: fear.”

Parr wondered distantly if the smell of her own steadily-increasing terror was noticeable to Lupin. She tried breathing shallowly. Another thought occurred to her.

“Have you ever tried this out?”

“What?”

“Have you ever taught a non-magical how to combat a boggart before?” Her voice sounded shrill in her own ears. This shallow breathing seemed to be making things worse.

“Ah, no,” Lupin replied honestly.

Sweet Jesus tapdancing Christ!

“Then how do you know it’ll work?” Parr started to gulp lung-fulls of air as if to make up for lost time.

“Chara, it’ll be fine,” Lupin tried soothing her. “The boggart’s not going to eat you.”

Parr swallowed awkwardly around her now-dry throat. “I mean, I can’t think of a situation where I’d need to get into a wardrobe so badly that I’d need to take on a boggart. It can have the wardrobe—I don’t care!” Her palms started to sweat.

The wooden doors shuddered briefly.

“Boggarts aren’t exclusive to wardrobes, Chara,” Lupin pointed out patiently. “They could pop up and out of anywhere.”

Oh, hell.

“What if someone from the other side drove one towards you?”

Oh, damn.

“What if you got stuck in a room with one?”

Oh, crap!

The wardrobe rocked with a hollow boom.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

“Now, relax. Take a deep breath–”

“Did I mention that I hate you? You’re a boil on the arse of humanity. Have I mentioned that?”

Lupin rolled his gaze up to the ceiling. “Several times, but thanks for reminding me once again.”

Parr blotted her hands against the sides of her trousers. The sweat from her palms had soaked through the bandages around her hands, making them damp and chill. Just inside the limits of her vision, she could see the tips of her hair quivering. She struggled to find some form of rhythm to her breathing and flexed the wrist of her left arm. A sullen ache had sprung up in her forearm.

Lupin bent forward slightly to whisper in her ear. “Remember, I’m right behind you.”

“In front would be better, but okay.”

“Close your eyes.”

“Do I have to?”

“It’s just for a moment.”

“Okay.”

“Just visualise a time when you were calm, in control, relaxed.”

“Like that time I stuffed that dead bird in your mouth while you were asleep?”

“Yes, just like that.”

“Okay.”

“Can you see it?”

“Yes.”

“Can you feel it?”

“Yes… sort of.”

“It’s important that you focus. Remember when we talked about Dementors? About how you need to fix a positive memory and feeling inside?”

“Yes.”

“That’s what you need to do here.”

One of Parr’s eyes popped open, and she peered over her shoulder at Lupin. “Can I tackle one of those instead?” she asked hopefully, fidgeting as a small river of perspiration flowed down the channel of her back. She surreptitiously rubbed at her forearm in an effort to quell the ache there.

Lupin reached around to grasp her chin and turned her head back to face the wardrobe. “Close your eyes and concentrate,” he chided. “Now, I’m going to count to three, and then open the doors.”

Shit.

“Okay.”

“Are you ready?”

Stop asking that!

“Yes.”

“Relaxed?”

No.

“Yes.”

“Confident?”

No!

“Yes.”

“Severus?”

What?

“What?” Parr’s eyes flew open.

“Is there something I can do for you?” Lupin asked politely.

Parr twisted her neck towards the black-shrouded figure standing in the doorway.

“Dumbledore wants to see you in the kitchen. Now. That is, if you’ve finished playing teacher,” came the surly response.

Parr’s knees sagged in relief, and she crouched on the floor with one hand to her slippery forehead. “Thank Christ!”

Lupin bent to whisper in her ear. “Well, there’s your Dementor. Be careful it doesn’t suck your soul out, now.” He wrapped one of her long hair locks about his index finger and gave it a gentle tug. “Remember, think happy thoughts.” With that, he straightened and made his way to the door. Snape made no move to make the exit any easier, so Lupin had to squash past him awkwardly. “Thank you, Severus. Courteous as always,” he muttered with only the faintest blush of sarcasm in his voice. The taller man sneered at him with the studied and fluid ease of years of practice.

Parr started to rock back and forth on the balls of her feet, fixated on the way her heart was clenching and relaxing like a rhythmic punishment in her chest. Narrowly escaping having to deal with the boggart had actually made her muscles shake even more than before, so it felt like her body was going through a kind of fleshquake.

The boggart, as if smelling the acrid aftermath of her fear, made the wardrobe jump up and down like a box with a frog in it.

Parr leapt up out of her crouch and scuttled backwards until her behind hit the table. She squawked and spun around, nearly tripping over her own feet. Damn it, she was going to throttle Lupin! Let’s see how he liked having a dead bird stuffed in his mouth while he was awake.

Placing her hands flat on the table, she leant her weight on the palms, head bowed forward. This was ridiculous. She was becoming undone by a wardrobe. A wardrobe! Quite frankly, it was humiliating, especially since Lupin had been there to witness her turning into some pathetically whining child. It was a wardrobe, for Christ’s sake! Well, it wasn’t the wardrobe, really. Parr sucked in a deep breath that made her ribs creak and the inside of her throat complain. It wasn’t the wardrobe that frightened her. It wasn’t even the boggart… not really. She released the captured air in a loud gust from her mouth and screwed her eyes shut. It was what she knew the boggart would become that would unravel her in the most complete and embarrassing way, rather like a woman standing on a chair screaming at a mouse as it cavorted about on the floor.

Parr shifted her weight to one foot and tapped a finger on the table. She had to find some way of avoiding this exercise. Lupin would laugh in her face as if she were a spineless dog if she had to go through with it, and that would utterly mortify her.

Once again, on cue, the wardrobe rattled and slid half a foot across the threadbare carpet. Parr yelped and almost scrambled over the top of the table. Pens and books went flying everywhere with a clatter as she scuttled around and into her seat, the table a pathetically small barrier to the enormity of her panic.

What’s wrong with you? You’re acting like some kind of hysteric?!

Parr’s face twisted, and she held her head in her hands, heels of the palms lodged under her brows, elbows on the table and shoulders hunched around her ears. She shook her head slowly, feeling so utterly ashamed of herself. It just couldn’t get any worse unless she lost control of her bladder like a scared puppy.

She lolled her head to one side, resting its weight in one hand, and sighed. She plucked at her collar with the fingers of her other hand, trying to ignore the pain in her forearm. Her fingers froze. Ah, yes, she had forgotten about that. She slumped forward onto the table, pillowing her head on her folded arms and hiding her face before the stain of embarrassment became too noticeable.

It appeared that the situation could get worse.

“Go away,” said Parr mournfully, her voice muffled by her sleeves.

“Why?

“Because I’m telling you to.”

“Does fear always make you this rude?”

Parr tipped her head up so that one eye could fix Snape with a baleful stare. “I am not at school at this moment, therefore I am not constrained to tamp down what I think. Go away.” She let her head fall back, certain that her forehead was just as red as her cheeks felt.

“Lucky for you you’re not,” Snape replied, the distaste evident in his voice. “I can only imagine what your classmates would think of such a weak-kneed display.”

Shut up and go away.

“Perhaps it’s best that Professor Moody doesn’t teach you Defence Against the Dark Arts,” Snape rolled on relentlessly like a boulder just starting its spectacular descent down a steep incline. “He tends not to be as indulgent as Lupin. Did I say indulgent? I meant ‘understanding’, of course.”

Shut up and go away!

“If you can’t master even a boggart, I can’t see you passing the subject at all, let alone dealing with such things in a real life situation away from the coddling of your tutor.” Snape managed to make the last word sound like a heinous insult.

Snide bastard!

Parr sat up as if she had been jabbed in the back with a cattle prod, causing a couple of pens to go flying.

“How fortunate, then, for everyone involved that you will not be making the decision on whether I pass or fail in this subject,” she barked at him, the red in her face now representing a rather nasty flash of temper. “I’m sure you spend your lessons nearly popping a seam hoping that some poor student will go to pieces so you could fail them and satisfy that strangled beast of perverted salacity you harbour!”

Hmm. Rather more than I intended to say.

Parr had to give Snape credit. He remained in that gallingly languid pose, one shoulder against the door-jamb, arms folded, looking down at her with amused disdain. She could smell the contempt coming from him from where she sat. Her embarrassment had been relegated further down the line of her emotions as anger elbowed its way swiftly and rudely to the front. That insufferable shit was enjoying her humiliation! Her accusation had obviously hit a lot closer to the truth than she had thought, and she regretted thinking that she might have overstepped the boundary.

“Well, I seriously doubt Lupin will fail you,” Snape pointed out, the words sliding across the room on a slick of scornful derision. “He’s notoriously soft-hearted, especially when the payment for his tutelage comes in something other than coin.”

Parr wrinkled her forehead. What was he talking about? The cogs of her brain jammed around his statement, trying to grind the words into a digestible powder. She saw the edge of his mouth curl into a sneer.

Shock rammed its foot into the back of anger’s knees and moved to the head of the queue.

He was accusing her of sleeping with Remus?

Amusement punched shock in the kidneys and assumed its rightful place at the start of the line.

Parr threw back her head and laughed until her eyes leaked. She drummed her feet on the floor in glee.

“You think Remus and I are sleeping together?” she guffawed at Snape, a hand pressed to her chest. The look on his face set her off again. This was the funniest joke she’d heard in a while. Parr started to run out of breath so she wrestled amusement back a few steps to give her room to suck in some air. She was becoming quite light-headed with all this laughing. She looked back up at Snape, and confusion started to scuffle with amusement.

“Oh, you were being serious?” Parr asked him, eyes wide at the irritation in his face. She held out for a few seconds before laughing even harder than before. This was turning out to be a fantastic antidote to the shambles the lesson had been.

“You seem to find the notion disproportionately amusing, Miss Parr,” Snape spat out waspishly.

“Because the notion is ridiculous,” Parr responded, still laughing, the red in her cheeks now a badge of her mirth.

“Why? Are you celibate?”

“No.”

“Are you a lesbian?”

“No.”

“Are you married?”

That sent Parr off into gales of laughter again. “Parr seevy don’t marry!”

Shit!

It was out of her mouth before she realised it had been anywhere close.

Snape’s awareness pounced on it like a starving cat. “What was that?”

Parr sobered up as if he’d thrown a bucket of iced water on her. “I said I can’t see me being married.”

Why didn’t you shut up and go away?

A thump sounded from inside the wardrobe.

Parr and Snape stared at each other across the room. The tension that had been blown away by her laughter returned with an acidic vengeance, wrenching at her insides and startling her sweat glands into overdrive. Right at this moment, Parr could have easily crawled under the table like a child hiding from a misdeed; however, she was going to be damned if she looked away from those black eyes in guilt. Instead, she squinted at him, trying to figure out if he had manipulated her into making that slip. He just stared back flatly, nostrils slightly flared, obviously on the scent of something he found interesting.

The wooden doors of the wardrobe jiggled.

Parr wondered how long it would be before–

There it is.

It was like an errant strand of hair that kept brushing against her face, a strand she couldn’t see or find—the kind that tickled your nose or worried at the corner of your mouth whenever your hands were occupied. She went to brush it away, but it had gone before she’d even made the attempt. Parr tilted her head. It looked like he was going to start that game again. She needed to distract him, and quickly.

“Is it your belief that a woman is incapable of achieving anything without using her gender, Professor?”

“Where do you get that blatantly erroneous assessment from?” Snape replied, slipping the words to her as if pushing a plate of unappetising food back to its giver.

“From you,” Parr parried, pushing the plate back under his nose. “You assume that if I’m not shagging Remus, I must be celibate, lesbian, or married! Not that the last one stops many people,” she added scornfully and slouched back in her chair. “And that was after you inferred that in order to pass the subject, I just have to bang the teacher.”

Snape was lucky that Parr had no object in reach to cast into the crooked teeth of the smirk he gave her. There was the table… perhaps she should try flinging that at him.

“Is that why so many of your students fail at Potions, Professor?”

That wiped the smirk off his sallow face as if it had been smacked off.

The wardrobe shuddered briefly.

“A student’s failure is due solely to their own inadequacy at learning the skills necessary to remain in my subject, Miss Parr, and the failure rate in Potions is no greater than any other subject taught at the school.” Somehow his eyes managed to look five shades blacker than before.

Parr snorted her disbelief gustily at him.

“I also find it fascinating that someone who accuses me of a form of chauvinism is so quick to cast dispersions on my teaching methods by hinting, twice, that I gain sexual gratification by debasing others.” Snape marched over to the wardrobe. “Perhaps I should open the door so you can see what manners look like when they’re not being shredded by your rancour.”

Parr was up out of her chair like a shot. “Go ahead! I’d very much like to see a copy of How To Win Friends and Influence People fly out and hit you in the nose, you supercilious git!”

The table went flying to one side with a crash as Parr bolted for the wardrobe, scrabbling for the handle. Snape dropped his shoulder so it hit her straight between the collarbones and wedged his elbow just under her sternum. The amount of force he had to use to push her back from the doors surprised him, but not nearly as much as her fist clipping him in ribs.

It was pure accident that Snape stamped on Parr’s foot, but she yelped in outrage and grabbed hold of the collar of his coat, twisting the black fabric tight around her fist and trying to drag him away from the wardrobe doors. He kept one hand firmly clamped on the handle and kicked her in the shin, accurately and deliberately.

Parr squawked a swear word right into his ear and pulled with the hand clutched on his coat with such force that his right knee slammed into the floor. The wardrobe rocked forward slightly, pulled by Snape’s hand which was still grasped around the handle.

Parr caught sight of his other hand going for the wand in his pocket. She snatched the wood out of his fingers and pegged it across the room and out of his reach. Without missing a beat, Snape grabbed the wrist of her free hand and twisted her arm sharply, spinning her around so that her trapped arm was bent awkwardly behind her. Parr’s grasp on Snape’s collar was wrenched away by the motion, so she groped for the handle that he had let go of in order to pin her arm against her back. Her fingers grazed the metal as Snape wrapped his right arm around her front and yanked her away from the wardrobe, pivoting on his grounded knee.

Fortunately, Parr didn’t have far to fall forward, otherwise her free arm could’ve snapped in two as she used it to brake her ungraceful descent face-first towards the floor. The downward momentum pulled Snape forward awkwardly, and his weight on her back made one shoulder grind in its socket and the other arm fold at the elbow. Parr got to taste what the carpet was like and how it felt to have the breath smashed out of her.

“What in Hecate’s gusset is going on in here?”

“Remus, this carpet tastes like shit,” said Parr, turning her head to one side with difficulty and spitting out a mouthful of hair, carpet fibres, and God only knew what else.

“I can’t leave you two alone for five minutes without a fight breaking out?” Lupin asked incredulously from the doorway. “Severus, get off her!”

Snape pulled Parr up off the floor, refusing to let go of the arm twisted up behind her. He stumbled slightly as his knee twinged from being rammed into the ground. He spun her around so that they both faced Lupin. Parr continued to spit detritus out of her mouth.

“We were just continuing from where you left off, Lupin,” Snape hissed at him, slightly out of breath from the scuffle.

“I don’t recall brawling with students being part of the syllabus concerning boggarts, Severus,” Lupin pointed out testily. “Nor do I recall asking you to substitute for me whilst I was out of the room.” He looked at where Snape’s right hand was clamped. “I’m sure Chara would appreciate you letting her go.”

Snape looked down at his hand, noticing for the first time that it had a rather impressive grasp on Parr’s left breast. He let go of her with both hands and sidled away from her.

“She punched me in the ribs,” he said stupidly, flustered at being caught groping her. He straightened his coat from the twisted mess Parr had turned it into and flicked his head to get his hair out of his eyes. Lupin stared at him flatly.

Snape stalked past him to retrieve his wand from under the radiator over by the window.

“Chara, you shouldn’t fight with Severus. You’ll hurt him,” Lupin admonished Parr sternly as she picked a hair that wasn’t hers out of her mouth.

Snape spun on his heel, back ramrod straight. “Excuse me, but I wasn’t the one eating carpet!” he spat.

Lupin closed his eyes and shook his head at Snape’s uncharacteristically poor choice of words. “No, fortunately that’ll be for another time when, hopefully, Chara and I won’t see it.” It took a phenomenal strength of will for Lupin not to laugh at the look of indignation Snape’s face. “Dumbledore wants to speak to all of us.” With that, he shepherded Parr out of the room, leaving Snape fussing angrily at his clothes.

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A/N: Thanks to froggie-becky for being such an enthusiastic beta, to lunafish for weeding out the errors, and the readers for sticking with it.