A/N: So, after an oral presentation today and an exhausting written exam the day before yesterday, I present to you chapter four of my story. This may appear like a filler chapter, but I assure you, it is essential for future chapters. Only three more exams to go within the next four days, and after that I hope I'll be able to dedicate more time to writing. But never fear - I have the updates you're awaiting in the next few weeks covered. :) Now, enjoy and let me know your thoughts!

Monday, September 9th, 1995

As Hermione made her way back to the Gryffindor tower, she pondered Snape's words. If she had been frightened of being tortured before, she now felt bile rise in her throat when she went through the aspects the Potions Master had named.

Physical torture was all she had been thinking about when she had asked him to teach her. How naïve she'd been to think that would be all she might have to face! Psychological torture she might be able to withstand for a little while, but torture of the mind… Her mind was her most valued asset, she could not imagine the things it would do to her if somebody decided to mess with it, not to mention enter and possibly destroy it. To end up as Neville's parents had…

And yet, Hermione thought, what was the value of her mind against Harry's and Ron's lives, against the preservation of the secrets of the Order? Nothing, she decided, the war could be won without her brains if their loss helped keep others safe.

When she got back to the common room, Harry seemed to have come back from his detention earlier, as neither he nor Ron were in their usual seats. It appeared they had gone to bed already, and Hermione followed their example.

In the safety of her four poster bed, the curtains tightly drawn and warded against escaping light, Hermione listened for a few moments to the calm and steady breathing of her roommates. When she was certain that they were fast asleep, she lit her wand to better stare at the canopy of her bed. That last aspect Snape had mentioned…

Sexual torture.

She might be raped.

Hermione wanted to hit herself that she hadn't thought about that before. She was certainly old enough to understand that sex could be used to subdue women, but she had not assumed that this might pertain to her as well. Whether that was merely naïve or outright stupid, she did not want to know.

But how did he intend to teach her how to not give in under sexual torture? Surely he didn't mean to…

She did not come to a conclusion that night. Wild thoughts of possible torture methods tumbling through her brain, she fell asleep. Shortly before the blackness enveloped her, she cast a quick but effective ward to keep her curtains from being opened from the outside.

Better be safe than sorry.

Tuesday, September 10th, 1995

The next day flew by. Umbridge inspected two more subjects. Among them was Transfiguration, and morale lifted visibly among the Gryffindors after Professor McGonagall put the toad in her place. When Umbridge mocked Hagrid during Professor Grubbly-Plank's lesson of Care of Magical Creatures, however, the trio's mood plummeted.

After dinner, Harry went to his detention with Umbridge again, and Ron asked Seamus for a game of wizarding chess. Left to her own devices, Hermione spread out her books and homework across one of the tables in a corner, but did not find it in herself to focus on her work. Her thoughts kept going back to Professor Snape's words of the night prior.

Was she brave enough to learn from him? Strong enough? Persistent enough?

It would be of little use to tear herself up over this in general. Better find out where her potential weaknesses lay, and what they would have to work on during their lessons. Mentally going through the list of torture aspects he had given her, she sought to tick them off one by one.

Torture of the mind – yes, that was her greatest fear. But reminding herself of her earlier conviction, Hermione reassured herself that her mind was of little importance compared to the lives of her best friends, the secrets of the Order, and a chance at winning this war. Also, she realized, she was sure of the strength of her mind. Of course, she was untrained in defence of the mind, but surely all she lacked was a little instruction and the right technique? Yes, Hermione decided, the security of her mind was simply a matter of two or three lessons, and that would settle this aspect.

Psychological torture – difficult. Her greatest issue that the Death Eaters could play on was her insecurity. Insecurity in her academic success, insecurity in her magical abilities, insecurity in her friendships. Academia and magic they would be able to take from her, and she would still be thinking of her friends' lives, she had little doubt. If they were to question her relationship with those friends, however…

No, Hermione decided, she would not falter nor break. Thinking back to her third year, she had managed to keep faith even when Harry and Ron ignored her over a broom and a rat, even forsaking Hagrid in Buckbeak's trial. And in fourth year, she had unerringly stood by Harry's side, no matter how hard Ron sought to drive her from their trio due to her affiliation with Viktor. Even now, with Harry close to exploding if somebody near him so much as breathed the wrong way – not completely impossible to understand, but very much over the top – she stood by him. No, even if the Death Eaters managed to fully and utterly destroy her belief in her friendships, they would be unable to shake her convictions that the Light had to win, and she would keep faith in that.

Physical torture – this might be her weakest spot, requiring most of her work with Professor Snape. As a daughter of dentists, Hermione knew she should probably have a larger amount of blood she could see without becoming squeamish, and a higher level of pain she could withstand without resorting to begging for it to stop. As it was, both of those levels were pretty low for her. Not unusual for a girl her age, she assumed, but inconvenient and downright embarrassing for a witch of her calibre. She was resolved to work on that, however, convinced that she could withstand any amount of pain for long enough if only Professor Snape taught her how.

That left only one aspect… Sexual torture. Unwilling to think about how the Potions Master was going to teach her about that, Hermione quickly decided that it was merely a combination of physical and psychological torture, and those had already been ticked off her mental list, so it would be of little use to think on it any further until it came up in her lessons, wouldn't it?

She came to no further conclusions, but couldn't wrench her thoughts away from her discussion with Professor Snape. For him to suggest she go to the Ministry toad for help…

But then again, that wasn't exactly what he had said. He had said to approach her Defence teacher to learn about efficient protection. And yes, this year Dolores Umbridge had been assigned the DADA post, but did that mean she would be her only Defence teacher?

Not necessarily, Hermione mused.

But who to ask?

Dumbledore would have no time for them. Lupin, the only competent DADA teacher they'd ever had, was probably busy for the Order. And even if not, at the most he could sneak into the Shrieking Shack on a couple of weekends and teach them there, but that would not be enough. Sirius would know loads about defence and had the time, and he would probably jump at the chance to spend more time with Harry, but was unable to leave Grimmauld Place as he was still very much a sought criminal, even though innocent.

So what if… Hermione had to collect her thoughts. What if it wasn't an adult who taught them?

Determined to tentatively, but convincingly break the idea to Harry at the next chance, Hermione was finally able to concentrate on her workload.

Wednesday, September 11th, 1995

Alright, so the talk with Harry had not gone as smoothly as planned. Ron had supported her idea, had caught on to her meaning far faster than Harry had, but it had not been enough. Hermione had maybe not expected Harry exactly to jump at the chance to teach them, but for him to completely lose his temper she had not imagined.

It was well after midnight that she lay in bed, stifling her sobs until they became too heart-wrenching and she cast a silencing charm on her bed curtains. Why couldn't he see that he was the only one who could teach them, especially due to his experience in defying the Dark Arts time and again? And yes, most of it was pure luck and the help of other and occasionally better witches and wizards, but wasn't that something to teach them as well? To not feel overly confident and to work with others? To not only protect oneself but to look out for one's comrades as well?

She sincerely hoped Harry would at least think on her idea. Maybe he simply needed time to come to the same realization as she had, namely that he was the perfect teacher. As long as he had to sit detention with the toad every night, however, that would certainly not come to pass.

Thursday, September 12th, 1995

Time passed surprisingly quickly, and before she knew it, Hermione had to face her own detention with the Potions Master once more. During their Potions lesson that Thursday, she strived to work with focus, accuracy, and determination, and even though she naturally did not earn any points for Gryffindor, at least she didn't cause her House to lose any more points. In fact, Professor Snape ignored her as much as possible, which was just the same to her, as it helped her push the thoughts of their impending detention that night from her mind and concentrate on her brewing instead.

She waited for Harry to leave for his detention with Umbridge before she went to the dungeons, but he lingered longer than usual. She had propped an open book against a carafe of pumpkin juice, pretending to read about Advanced Transfiguration, but watched the two boys opposite her with impatience for Harry to finish. Fidgeting in her chair, Hermione chanced glances at the High Table, where she soon saw Professor Snape gather his robes and leave. Unwilling to risk the lie that she would be going to the library, in case Harry decided to grab a book before his detention (not very likely, but she'd rather not take any chances), she worried her lip between her teeth and willed Harry to leave soon. She waved the boys off when they asked her if she wanted to come, gesturing to her open book and not moving from her seat. When the boys finally got up from the table, she watched them leave the Great Hall, Harry's heart visibly heavy. Hermione counted to ten as calmly as she could, and then rushed to the dungeons.

Her heart was pumping so fast, she feared it might jump out of her chest, and her breathing was ragged. This time, she did not take the time to collect herself before knocking on the door. The deep, calm, cool voice of her professor bid her enter.

She entered the dungeon, her skin immediately breaking into goose bumps at the cold air there. As she shut the door behind herself, she inwardly cursed herself for forgoing her cloak. It was often stifling in the classroom when twenty-plus students were brewing, bent over boiling potions, fires burning under every cauldron. Classes had been over for a few hours, however, and the room had been aired to get rid of the lingering fumes, thus inviting the cold back in.

Professor Snape sat in his chair as usual, a typically bored expression on his face, though Hermione thought she might have seen a short glint of anticipative curiosity in his eye. The moment was gone in the blink of an eye, however, so she was almost certain to have imagined it.

He made no movement to speak, so Hermione broke the silence instead.

"Good evening, professor," she greeted politely.

The only reaction she received was one arched eyebrow, rising to almost disappear into his hairline.

Guessing the question he was silently posing her, she took all her Gryffindor bravery and answered him.

"I still wish to learn from you how to withstand torture."

His eyebrow sunk back to its usual position on his face that was now a blank mask. Hermione did not dare to speak, knowing that it would be him who broke the silence this time. Instead, she stood as stock still as she managed, calming her breathing and fighting to not lift her eyes from his, the black pools studying her intently. She struggled not to fidget under her gaze.

Images suddenly flashed before her mind. An ugly vase bursting into tiny shards of glass when she was five and was reprimanded for not brushing her teeth properly, Professor McGonagall's disappointment when Hermione 'confessed' to seeking out the mountain troll, Professor Snape's indifference when Malfoy had cursed her front teeth, Ron shouting at her for fraternising with the enemy, Harry losing his temper when he first arrived at Grimmauld Place.

How moving, a deep foreign voice mocked inside her head. No, not foreign, she realized, merely not her own.

The Potions Master withdrew from her mind and she gasped as her thoughts became entirely her own once more. The fear that had gripped her at the thought that somebody might mess with her brain was back with a vengeance, but it was interlaced with a curiosity that was never far when she found herself in the face of something to be learned.

Unwittingly, Hermione had stumbled a few steps backwards while her professor plundered her mind, and was now leaned back against a working table. She hung her head back to stare at the ceiling, her eyes slowly tracing the rows of stones there from one wall to the other and back again. Her breathing calmed a little, and she collected her thoughts. When she felt she was back to her old self once more, she lowered her head and looked at the Potions Master.

He looked back with an unreadable expression.

"We will need to work on your Occlumency skills, Miss Granger," he drawled, but the mocking edge was all but gone from his voice. "Knowing how fond you are of books, I will recommend to you a few titles that will be most helpful for you, lest you read through half the library and end up completely exhausted and still unprepared next Monday."

Hermione felt giddy at the realization that he would indeed teach her, her heart close to bursting with relief. She pushed the prospect of suffering at her professor's hand in order to learn how to withstand it to the back of her mind, focusing instead on the fact that the first step had been taken.

Severus almost scoffed at how easy it was to enter the girl's mind, her eyes wide open, trusting even, although defiant in a way that was entirely her own, staring right into his eyes. Of course, she had been unprepared and untaught, but that would not save her from the Dark Lord's followers. The memories he'd seen had been innocent mostly, though even glimpses of the Order's headquarters and seemingly irrelevant information that memory-Potter disclosed in his rants could prove fatal.

There would be much he had yet to teach her. Reluctantly he admitted to himself that he almost looked forward to the challenge. It had been long since a student had proven even remotely adept at Potions, and even though the girl had all of her knowledge from books only, she showed great efficiency in following written instructions. To teach her in the finer arts of mind magic might even approach something of a pleasurable pastime, though Severus would never voice those thoughts aloud, least of all to the girl. He hoped she would not break too easily. He feared that if she did, he might be compelled to feel some pity.

"Eye contact, Miss Granger," Snape drawled, "facilitates the entrance into an opponent's mind. While I see no reason to teach you Legilimency, you would do best to avoid eye contact with somebody who intends to extract information from you as much as possible. Of course, a skilled Legilimens will be able to penetrate your mind without even looking at you, but let us simply hope that you will not be brought before the Dark Lord for questioning. Beside me, nobody else will be able to enter your mind without eye contact."

"And if you are tasked with questioning me, sir?" the girl asked, curious.

Severus scoffed at the innocent expression on her face, not gracing her with an answer.

It took her a while to realize that she would not receive a reply to her question, but when she did, she simply asked another.

"How will you go about this, sir?"

Severus raised a thin black eyebrow at her. He watched as she began to fidget under his stare. When she began to nervously tap the heel of her sensible black shoes in an urgent and utterly annoying rhythm, he broke his silence.

"You will come here for regular lessons. If anybody asks, you are receiving extra tuition."

His lips spread into a sly grin at her exasperation.

"Merlin knows you rely too much on mere book knowledge, neglecting the finer aspects of the art of brewing. You will come here every Monday after dinner. I expect you to be at your fittest unless I tell you differently. This contains at least eight full hours of sleep on both nights of the weekend, three full meals on Mondays, and no homework or revision planned for the day. I may tell you to dress in a certain way. If you fail to meet my requirements, I will send you away and possibly end these lessons. Have I made myself clear, Miss Granger?"

"Yes, professor," she breathed.

"Very well," he assessed.

"Please, sir," she asked tentatively, "if there is any favour I might provide you in the future, I hope you will feel free to seek me out."

Severus scoffed inwardly. As if he would ever be truly free to do anything he wished.

Ridiculous Gryffindors, he thought, acting as if he was doing this out of the goodness of his heart, without expecting anything in return. The girl at least was probably well aware that she was asking for the price of her lessons. He wondered how much she was willing to give to practically let him torture her.

"I will reserve the right to one favour yet to be determined at a time of my choosing," Severus spoke, carefully watching her face.

Her brows knitted together for a second before she fought – and failed – to relax her facial muscles.

"A carte blanche, so to say, sir?" she specified.

Severus nodded.

Her expression became even more thoughtful. The girl was obviously doubting how much these lessons were worth to her.

"If I might suggest a counter offer?" she asked, but gave him no time to answer her rhetorical question. "I would suggest a carte grise, if you will. I am willing to grant you much free reign in the favour you might ask of me, but I need to set some restrictions."

Severus slightly tilted his head, the change in his posture so minimal one might have missed it, but the girl's eyes had not left his face – they were focused on a strand of his hair that fell across his forehead, he noticed, heeding his earlier advice by avoiding his eyes –, and she took his movement for the permission to continue that it was.

"Firstly, I may deny your request if to fulfil it would mean for me to betray my convictions."

Severus interrupted her there.

"Only convictions pertaining to this war, Miss Granger," he bartered.

It was her turn to tilt her head. Her wild curls bobbed up and down from the movement, like a million coils ready to unwind at any second, even though they never did.

"What other convictions are there?" she asked in confusion.

Severus merely inclined his head as if in agreement, and the point was settled.

"Secondly, I reserve the right to deny your request if fulfilling it would put me or people close to me in immediate danger of death or permanent damage," the girl continued.

"'People close to you' is a too vague," Severus countered. "Specify the group of people this will concern."

"My parents," the girl started without hesitation. "Any other immediate family I might have at the point of time of your request, namely siblings, both full and half, spouse, children. Also, Harry and Ron are included in this condition."

Severus wanted to scoff at that last sentence, but decided he had been doing too much of that already. He pondered her list of exemptions. Several people he had expected her to name were missing. If she wasn't to exclude the whole staff of Hogwarts, then at least her Head of House, certainly? And what about that ugly and vicious familiar, dispersing his awfully persistent orange fur wherever he went? He also found some of her wording curious. Would she be willing to kill her step-siblings should she ever have any? And why had she said spouse instead of husband? Was she maybe a lesbian as some of his more outwardly stupid Slytherins had speculated?

Interestingly, also, was that she had elected to reserve her right to veto such a request that might result in death or permanent damage, rather than outright refuse such requests. It did not quite fully answer Severus's question of how high a price the girl would be willing to pay, but it certainly gave him more than a hint.

"Lastly," the girl spoke up once more when he did not make to debate her second condition, "I am allowed to step back from fulfilling a request if doing otherwise would require me to commit murder or serious damage to another creature, be it beast or being."

Severus inwardly laughed at her wording. Creature, be it beast or being? What exactly did she expect, that he would send her out to collect Pixie hearts, fresh from their chests? On second thought, that notion wasn't too ridiculous after all. Pixie hearts made for many a powerful potion. The same went for Hinkypunk livers and Grindylow fingers, among others.

Taking his lack of reaction for reluctance to accede to her condition, she amended, "Of course you will choose another favour in that case that I would willingly provide for you."

A self-satisfied grin slowly spread over the Potions Master's face, his lips becoming thin and thinner to the point of disappearance from his features. It was a fearful sight, he knew; many had fled (or at least tried) in horror at this particular expression on his face. The girl, however much he could see her to be frightened, did not flinch once or make a move to leave the dungeons.

"Agreed," Severus drawled.

A shiver of fearful anticipation shook the girl's body for a second but was gone once more in the blink of an eye. Severus, of course, had not missed it.

Deciding that he had probably tortured her enough for one night – not in the sense of actual torture, of course; the girl was simply too easy to rile up –, he dismissed her.

"This will be all for tonight, Miss Granger. I expect you back here on Monday for your detention, and this time," his voice dropped to a colder tone, "I expect you to be punctual."

She nodded in a rush, so eager was she to convince him that she would not come short again.

Not once had he left his chair but now he stood, towering over the girl, and even though his desk and then a couple of feet in distance lay between them, she shrank a little at the sudden movement.

"Good night, Miss Granger," he effectively dismissed her.

A rushed 'good night, sir' was all he heard before the heavy dungeon door fell close behind her retreating form.

Coming up: Chapter five, wherein a trespasser is caught.