The day was wonderfully abysmal, the rain thundering down in torrents, and I couldn't help but smile. It's always been a source of amusement that weather that would make the toes of any normal person curl has forever been the most enjoyable for me; I would be outside in the roar of thunder, magnificent lightning and rain, smiling and laughing in delight. Nobody ever saw this side of me though; I am a secretive man who prides himself on being seen as somewhat of an enigma, always questioned, always the impenetrable fortress, always ridiculed out of fear. Damn, that pisses me off.
When days start as today, the purest form of perfection, you instinctively know it is the calm before the storm, the beauty before everything crashes down, burns to a crisp and dies an ugly death. I, who desires nothing more than peace and glorious solitude, must always deal with such fate being a teacher and, more so, being a threat.
It began around noon, a busy time in the Great Hall, and I was sat eating without suspecting anything. I surveyed the room briefly, reaching for my goblet and raising it to my lips. I took a slow sip, setting the glass down onto the table once more, and resumed eating. Suddenly, I felt an odd twitch in my hand. I immediately dropped the knife I was holding and looked upon my hand in wonder. To my horror, my veins were not only pulsating vulgarly, but appeared to be twisting and writhing of their own free will. Not knowing what else to do, I watched as my very hand seemed to morph into something entirely different; thick, pink hairs began to sprout from all over, quickly and fully covering every inch of flesh, and the bones were contracting and twisting manically.
Suddenly, the entire hall erupted with laughter and all eyes were on me, every last tear-filled one of them. I got up, looked over myself, and twitched, storming out through the nearest door. Upon the sight of my back end, the laughter doubled in volume, a feat that I believed near impossible before it occurred. I looked in a mirror in the vicinity at my far shorter self and realized, to my dismay, just what had caused the hilarity. It seemed that one of my dear students had taken it upon themselves to try turning me into a fluffy pink rabbit. I spun around to stare at my backside, already knowing what I would find yet hoping, hoping that by some marvelous stroke of luck that I would find nothing. No, of course, I just have to be blessed with the luck of having a bloody great powder puff of a tail attached to my arseInstinctively, I yanked on it, instantly feeling the corresponding twang of pain that I would were I attempting to rip off my tongue. Just as I began to actually ponder what to do, I heard the door creak and thump back into its frame, a set of heels clacking against the marble tile. 'Severus,' a voice called out. I failed to suppress a groan of indignation. He was right behind me, I could sense his presence, the sound of footsteps had ceased. 'Albus, I am more than capable of handling this situation on my own.' He remained silent, something I feared more than any curse, hex or sherbet lemon he could have thrown my way. 'It is nearing Easter, he commented, smiling, 'and I would say you'd make quite a fine mascot to spread the cheer throughout the school.'
I did manage to be turned back; the process was less than pleasant but I was more than happy to deal with some discomfort in order to be normal again. Still, the memory is far more painful than any procedure could generate.