Theme # 37: Animagus


It was raining, and thunder broke through the patter of droplets, loud in its roar, and dazzling in its blinding flash of light.

"Rotten luck," the woman with the jewelled glasses muttered darkly. "Nobody predicted a storm." It was nowhere near a storm, to be honest, but what did she care? Her plan to squeeze out a juicy story out of this night had failed. Miserably.

She muttered again, and then she was gone, in the scuttle of tiny steps over wet grass. The little bug that she was, now, sneaked into the library, and waited the bad weather out.