Severus Snape threw open one of the heavy doors to the teacher's lounge, his robes swirling severely about him. The door rebounded off of the wall and closed itself with a distinct thud. He gave a cursory glance around the room before he crossed it with long measured strides. He found himself facing the window overlooking the grounds. He stared intently out of it, even though he knew it to be futile. No amount of solitude and pretty scenery would assuage his temper at this point. As though to prove his point, it began to rain, and the rain obscured the window. He cast a wandless silencing charm, even though it was unnecessary. This particular room was heavily warded to prevent persons outside the room from being privy to conversations that they should not.
He closed his eyes in concentration and balled his hands into fists; his knuckles became a frightening shade of white, highlighting some of the thin scars on his hands. The floor beneath his feet was hot, but was not bothersome to his dragon-hide boots.
He was losing his composure, and he hated it. He also hated the psychopathic madman that made his life one continuous, unceasing hell, and he especially hated the Hogwarts High Inquisitor. Even as he thought it, he wondered if hate was a strong enough word. If given the choice between gruesomely murdering Voldemort and slowly choking the life out of Dolores Umbridge, on some days he might, just might choose the latter.
His internal monologue did nothing for his state of mind, if anything, it made it worse. All of a sudden, the air became very dense and started to crack and spark, as though hundreds of invisible fireworks were going off. The door he had previously slammed seemed to lock itself of its own accord, and then unholy hell was unleashed on the tiny room.
The resolute, ancient dining table that stood in the center of the room snapped into its constituent wood splinters and bombarded the adjacent wall. Pieces of silverware began bending themselves into unnatural shapes; mismatched chairs went skidding across the room. The massive wardrobe in the corner toppled over and china plates rattled ominously before becoming piles of chalky dust. Something made of glass shattered behind him, but Snape payed it not the slightest attention. In all of the chaos, he did not move. The only illusion of movement was the unintentional billowing of his robes.
In his initial preoccupation, the Potions Master failed to notice that a lone tabby cat with distinct markings on its face was sitting on a desk behind him. The desk had miraculously not been affected by the turmoil around it. In the feline's place, the formidable figure of professor Minerva McGonagall appeared. She was wearing her emerald green teaching robes. If she made any sound in her transformation, it could not have been heard above the din. Once most of the breakable objects in the room had been reduced to smithereens, she decided to cautiously approach him.
"Severus,'' she breathed. She had every intention of placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, but before she could do so, Snape had already pivoted on the spot and had his wand directed at her throat. In any other setting, the look of suprise on his face would have been priceless. He schooled his expression as best as he could and briefly met her gaze before stowing his wand away. It was one of the rare times in his life where he did not have anything to say. The words would not come.
McGonagall's spectacles were slightly further down on her nose than they would normally sit. It very well could have been a result of her Animagus transformation, but it gave the distinct impression that she was seeing something for the very first time and wanted to see it with her own eyes, rather than through a thin piece of glass.
With her scrutiny becoming unbearable, he turned to leave, but McGonagall halted his progress. "Umbridge?," she questioned. He turned half-way around and nodded almost imperceptibly.
"I understand completely, dear boy," she said softly. He inclined his head slightly to her, and with a flick of his wand, the room set itself to rights. McGonagall moved to the newly restored table and sat down with her hands folded in front of her. Before he could open the door to leave, he heard a sentence so quiet that he almost missed it. "Nothing would make me happier than to see you or Albus Dumbledore hex that toad into the next century."
The corners of Snape's mouth twitched slightly. He made a complex gesture as he swept from the room, and a steaming mug of chamomile tea and a plate of biscuits appeared on the table in front of Professor McGonagall. The door closed with much less force than it had previously.