Snape and Albus continued on to the fourth floor. When Snape reached for the door directly to their right, a form popped out of the cleaning cupboard next to the elevator. Albus screamed in terror; for looming in front of him was an enormous faceless figure in a hooded black cloak: a Dementor. The Dementor approached, and Albus felt the blood drain from his face.
Quickly, Snape sidestepped in front of Albus. The Dementor disappeared, and in its place was a life-size scene of a lone figure in an empty room, weeping to himself. Snape waved his wand and the whole scene disappeared, leaving the two travelers alone once more.
“It was a boggart the whole time?”
“Of course, Potter! It was set there as a demon to guard the floor. I would have expected you to know the signs of a boggart better than this, especially given your parents’ experiences with the Dark Arts.”
Albus felt anger starting to well up inside him, but determined to maintain a cool and respectful exterior, he only said, “Well, I don’t exactly run into boggarts every day.” Then, in a moment of curiosity and guts, he added, “What was that scene?”
A flash of pain crossed Snape’s face, but it was quickly swallowed by anger. “That does not concern you, Potter!” he shouted furiously.
Albus looked down, slightly hurt, but also embarrassed. “I’m sorry Professor. I did not mean to be too forward.”
Snape looked over at the boy’s face in surprise. “Not all fears are tangible, Potter,” he said quietly. He opened the door.
All the inhabitants of this room were in some kind of fight with the others: the whole room was filled with chaos as people bickered and dueled. The pair closest to Albus was a ghastly-looking house-elf and a tall man with whitish blonde hair.
“. . . disgrace to the name of Kreacher’s Mistress to associate with someone so careless with their things and money.” He went on to mutter, “Oh yes, if Mistress could only see the way her own relatives throw around Dark Objects, trading them for luxury goods . . .”
“How dare you speak to me in such a fashion, House Elf! I am a wizard, and one of high standing at that! Don’t think that your few cheap secrets about the Order have elevated you from your inferior birth. Anyway, I know how you take care of possessions. You don’t. You collect them in your disgusting house, stealing from your masters, hoarding them in your nasty little cupboard. Oh yes! I have ways of finding out the workings of the most ancient house of Black.”
“Sir shall not slander the name of Black!” The house-elf muttered an incantation, and both he and the wizard slid across the floor.
The man then turned to Snape. “See the gall of this rabble, Severus?”
“You have brought this on yourself, Lucius,” replied Snape coldly. He and Albus watched as the wizard turned on the house-elf.
“Sectumsempra!” Both wizard and house-elf began bleeding from every orifice, as well as from new slashes all over their bodies.
With no attempt to quiet his voice, Snape told Albus, “Those of this room have lived lives of either obsessive hoarding or careless squandering of many resources: money, possessions, magical skills, or even time. They constantly battle one another because each believes the others to be more at fault. But the fools are really just two sides of the same coin: agents of misuse. Their pride prevents them from seeing their error, but their spells here can only work two ways, punishing both parties equally.”
Albus watched the misusers fight, a feeling of contempt forming inside him. “They deserve this fate.” For a moment, the boy thought he saw something like approval on Snape’s face, but he couldn’t be sure. Together, they left the room of the fighters and returned to the elevator.
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