A/N: Hello, dearest readers, and welcome to the longest chapter yet of "Accommodations" - and my personal favourite so far. ;) I am overjoyed to finally be able to present you with this, and I hope you will enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please let me know any and all thoughts you might have on this, of whatever nature they might be!

Also, I need to tip my hat to the magnificent and talented McGonagal'sCat once more, for her latest story, "Things Best Left Unsaid". If you love a good RL/HG as much as I do, you should definitely go check out her work. Not only is she a gifted writer but also a lovely human being and a real friend who not only encourages me in my writing but also supported me through my studies these past weeks. For that, I simply had to take her latest review to heart - right at the beginning of this chapter, where our favourite Potions Master reflects on Hermione in quite the way my dear friend thought he might.

On another bright note, I am happy to inform you that I have survived my exam week and that I am now both back at home and back at work. This will mean that I have both more and less time to write now, as there are no exams to prepare for at the moment but I am back to working 40h/week. I will endeavour to pop out more chapters soon, though, and will not let you hanging. :) But enough of those ramblings. Lean back and enjoy!

Thursday, September 12th, 1995

Severus stared at the thick wood of the door that had clicked shut after the girl had left. He had escaped torturing the girl tonight, and was glad for that small reprieve. Contrary to the picture he painted of himself when among the Dark Lord's followers, he was not keen to cause pain to other people, especially children.

Although, did the girl count as a child anymore?

She had matured far beyond her age, which was even more obvious when one encountered her among her yearmates. More and more noticeable became the fact that she had not matured in mind and attention only, though Severus was unwilling to ponder on that thought.

Too late, he groaned inwardly, as he felt the much familiar stirring he had experienced that first day of the schoolyear, when she had needed help to dice her Asphodel roots. Pictures of her without her robes, shivering in the cold air of the dungeons, her stiff nipples pushing against the fabric of her bra and shapeless blouse, popped up in his mind. Thank Merlin the girl had insisted on conversation, bargaining away an undefined favour like the Gryffindor that she was – although the fact that she had bargained at least showed some trace of the Ravenclaw she should have been Sorted as, and the way she had offered to pay any price for his private tutelage at all was almost resembling of a member of his own House – and had thus quenched any improper thoughts his mind might have come up with, had put a halt to any dark paths it might have gone down…

…at least while she was still in the room. Now that the heavy wood of the thick dungeon door had fallen shut behind her retreating form, however, there was nothing to hinder the lecherous stroll his mind took in the direction of those dark paths, to keep its inappropriate forays at bay.

Resisting the urge to help himself out of the misery that the images of her matured body had put him in, Severus rose quickly, locked the classroom, and strode to his office for grading papers.

Shrugging out of his teaching robes and carefully hanging them over the back of the small sofa in front of the fireplace, he went to sit at his desk. Bent over a stack of parchment rolls, freshly handed in by his fourth years, he was reading over the untidy scrawling of a Ravenclaw boy. It was an assignment on three uses of dragon blood, to be freely chosen from the twelve Dumbledore had discovered and published.

I've seen first years do better, he inwardly scoffed, and indeed he had. One particular first year, to be exact, who had still been eager for extra credit from him at the time, willingly turning in an essay on a topic far beyond her understanding. She had learned quickly after that one experience that the dour Potions Master was not a man interested in the academic concoctions of an eleven-year-old Gryffindor girl. She had taken his admonishment – and yes, the word was far too soft for the scathing scolding she had received for her troubles – with more pride than he had expected from any of his students at that age. Her back had remained stiff, her posture tall (if one could say that of a five foot slip of a girl) and her expression unwavering except for a visible moistening of her eyes and a short quiver of her bottom lip. She had thanked him for his time, even though it had taken him less than thirty seconds to tell her exactly what he thought of extra credit, and had left his office with an hauteur he almost admired.

Later that night, when he had tidied his office from his work throughout the day in order to retire to his quarters, he had come across the essay he had discarded in his wrath at the impertinence of the girl who expected extra credit from him. Him! Because he had thought to amuse himself with the certainly uneducated scrawling of the insufferable Gryffindor, looking forward to drenching the paper in red ink with scathing remark after scathing remark, he had settled himself into the high-backed chair of the desk in his private quarters. It was no comfortable piece of furniture, but the longer he had been reading the six foot essay, the more entranced he had become in her exploration of the topic, and he could tear himself away neither from the parchment nor his seat. Her elucidations had been well thought and substantially backed by research from different perspectives, taking into account both Dumbledore's original findings and ancient sources on dragon behaviourism, back from the times when wizardkind was barely more cultivated than the fire-spewing beasts themselves.

In fact, the essay had been so well-written that Severus wouldn't have been surprised to hear that it came from a NEWT student. Alas, that it had sprung from mind and quill of an eleven-year-old Gryffindor, and a Muggle-born at that, thus barely versed in the wizarding world, had taken a while to sink in. Even though the witch had not procured any new information in her work, the structure and angle had been so well thought out and unusual, yet surprisingly successful, that he had found it hard to put it away that night. He would never admit it, but as soon as he had gotten over the initial surprise – or, well, not gotten over it, but at least accepted it – he had read it twice more, each time finding yet another remarkable twist on her way to go about the topic.

He still had the essay, safely stowed away in one of the many secret compartments his private desk held. He would take it out from time to time, always reluctant but weirdly drawn by this academic piece of art, and use it as the measuring stick that all assignments that required a similar depth were to be compared against. He secretly granted a point to Gryffindor every time hers came out as the better work, which was more often than he cared to admit.

Well, fuck, Severus thought to himself when he managed to snap out of his musings, so much for not thinking about the girl.

The clock showed a little after ten. Sighing, he decided to let the stack of parchments rest for another night and maybe tackle them in the morning before breakfast. He usually woke long before sunrise, needing less sleep than most people, and knew that the time would suffice to finish his grading then.

Knowing that it would be of little use to go to bed now, and unwilling to sit in his private chambers and wait for Morpheus to embrace him, he donned his earlier discarded teaching robes once more and decided to roam the castle in search of rule breakers. At this time, shortly past curfew and the schoolyear barely started, there would be quite a few of those to find and deal with.

The air grew warmer the further Severus walked from the dungeons, but was still quite cold as usual for September in Scotland. He patrolled the corridors, one by one, striding in circles through the castle, his path a winding coil reaching from the dungeons to the seventh floor. No niche nor crevice nor tapestry-hidden alcove was spared his thorough search. Sending stragglers to bed left and right, deducting House points as they hurried to their common rooms, he felt quite content with his patrol. A Homenum Revelio even procured two prefects enjoying a late night bath together in the luxurious bathroom on the fifth floor.

By the time he reached the seventh floor, he was quite certain that whichever of his colleagues had patrol duty later that night would be hard pressed to find any stragglers. Satisfied with his work, he almost missed that he had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady who, rather unusual, was wide awake.

"Out to catch stragglers, professor?" she called to him.

He inclined his head in greeting. One never knew when a little politeness towards a painting, especially one guarding a common room, might come in handy.

"Those who are still out and about at this time," a quick Tempus showed the evening to have progressed to well past eleven-thirty, "are not merely stragglers, Madam, but deliberately disregard the curfew set by school rules. And yes, I am out to catch those."

The Fat Lady laughed. The sound was eerily similar to a bell with a rather substantial crack in it.

"Let us hope then that you won't come across any of my protégés," she chuckled lightly, though her brows were slightly creased. Even among the paintings, the Potions Master's temper and attitude towards Gryffindors were well-known.

"That depends, Madam," Severus countered. "Are many of your protégés out and about?"

"Not many, no," she answered, serious once more, her expression a tad worried even. "Merely one is missing. Simply never returned from dinner, that one."

A small grin spread over Snape's face, and he saw a shudder run through the Fat Lady at the sight. Barely taking the time to utter a 'good-night', he turned on the spot to roam the corridors once more.

"Happy hunting," he heard the Fat Lady call after him.

Her plea for him to have mercy on the girl never reached his ears.

Deciding to patrol the seventh floor once more, he came across the steps to the Astronomy tower. Mentally scanning the timetables hung up in the staff room, he ascertained that currently no lesson would be held there. Surely no student would be so bold as to…? Severus then remembered that it was a Gryffindor he had yet to find, and ascended the stairs.

Tallest of the five towers of Hogwarts castle, the Astronomy tower was out of bounds for all students except during lessons. Even then, they were never to enter the tower without supervision from Professor Sinistra, neither to come early nor to leave late. When he exited the door to the stairs on top of the tower, however, he was met with a sight he rather hoped to avoid as much as possible until Monday.

The girl had her back to him, standing on the far side of the tower platform, her body bent, her arms resting on the balustrade, her chin nestled on them. He could barely make out her silhouette, a black shape against the sparse light of the starry, yet equally black sky. The mop of wild curls, however, could not be mistaken for anybody else's hair.

Although Severus had hoped that maybe he would have the chance to actually design a lesson plan for her studies of torture, he decided to take this opportunity to introduce the girl to the receiving of pain. While he had never been a man to be gripped by bloodlust, he felt lust rush through his blood at the thought of teaching the girl outside the classroom, not only in the aspect of location but also in context.

Get a grip, man, he scolded himself. Even though the girl had apparently recovered her robes and decided to wear them to protect and warm her against the angry winds on the open platform, images of her taut nipples straining against their fabric confinements were still fresh on his mind. When he realized that he was unable to will the lust away, however, he chose to relocate his energy and attention elsewhere.

A short flick of his wand caused the girl to experience the sensation of a large hand spanking her behind once.

The girl emitted a loud gasp, jumping at the pain that had suddenly seared through her shapely behind. Turning around, panic-stricken, to scan the tower for intruders, she visibly calmed as her eyes found the black shape of her Potions Master. He had his wand in hand – the wooden one, obviously, though wood was quite an apt description for his other wand as well at the moment. Once more Severus was grateful for his billowing robes, and inwardly scolded himself for his inappropriate reaction to the girl's presence.

A wordless spell had the tip of his wand emit a pale light, allowing both of them to see each other without blinding either.

"Sir," the girl greeted breathlessly.

"Miss Granger," Severus drawled in answer. "What has you up on the Astronomy tower, which you know to be out of bounds outside lessons, at a time you should be in bed?"

"I knew I would not be finding any sleep if I went to bed now, sir," she replied, her eyes still steadily set on his when he would have expected her to cast them to the floor, or anywhere but at his face, really, "same as I knew that I would be unable to focus on my studies. So I decided to walk the castle a bit, to tire myself out and sort out my thoughts. As you know, sir, my position as Prefect exempts me from curfew."

He ignored her last comment. They both knew full well that Prefects were only allowed to leave their common rooms after curfew to perform their rounds of patrol, and those never included the Astronomy tower. This was of no immediate concern to the matter of hand, however, and the Potions Master elected to pose another question instead.

"And of what nature would those thoughts in need of sorting out be, Miss Granger?" Severus decided to press on, well aware of what it was that probably kept her mind from finding the calm to sleep.

"They would be of an extracurricular nature, sir," the girl merely answered, affirming his guess.

"And you decided that your lack of sleep would warrant the use of the Astronomy tower, Miss Granger?" he asked, his voice mocking, though not as scathing as usual. Had he lost his touch, he shortly wondered, and went to discard the notion by cutting off the girl's reply forming on her delicious lips.

"I believe punishment is in order, Miss Granger," he decided.

Her eyes became wide as saucers at the prospect of losing House points or receiving more detention, possibly even with Filch. But no detention would be assigned to her that night, Severus knew, as he had already told her to see him for what would publically be called extra tuition, and he had no desire to hand her off to the Hogwarts caretaker. Deducting points had a certain appeal, but he knew he would find no real pleasure in it.

What he would find pleasure in, however…

Another gasp escaped the girl's plump lips once more as with another flick of Severus's wand, her other lower cheek was graced with a hard slap of an invisible hand. If her eyes had been wide before, they now practically filled her face.

"Professor," she breathed, obviously unbelieving at his actions.

"Miss Granger?"

He cocked an eyebrow, a smirk on his face.

She opened and closed her lips a couple of times, trying to form words although none seemed to come to her mind. Severus watched the movement for a while, amused by her taken aback expression, until he decided to speak once more.

"I believe you are beyond the effects of deducting points, Miss Granger," he explained in his usual drawl, though a mirthful edge appeared to have crept into his voice. "Contrary to what I said before, you are too academically advanced for any deduction to cause lasting effect to the scales in the House Cup. No," he chuckled darkly, "it is time for you to feel the effects of your transgressions."

Conflicting emotions played in the girl's eyes. Pride at his reluctant compliment warred with shock at the fact that he would assign physical punishment, intermingled with dread at knowing that he was about to carry out said punishment. With great surprise Severus noticed another emotion, flickering at random intervals in between the other three; far less present, but present nonetheless.

Was it…?

No, it could not be.

One might almost mistake it for desire.

Had he actually just suggested…?

No, it could not be, Hermione determined, certain she must have understood the Potions Master wrong. But if he wasn't about to physically chastise her, than where had those two slaps on her now slightly sore behind come from?

"I suggest you bend over and hold on to the balustrade, Miss Granger," she heard her professor drawl in his usual bored tone, "it will make this much easier on the both of us."

She could not take her eyes from his, her feet not obeying his not-quite-a-command. At her hesitation, another slap met her backside. This time, she saw the flick of his wand from the corner of her eye and knew without doubt that the two slaps before had been his doing as well.

She desperately struggled to discern her conflicting emotions. There was pride, loads of it, to be honest, at his comment on her academic advancement. As her brain apparently failed to catch up to the realization that she had just been physically assaulted and would be getting more of that in the very immediate future, Hermione was quite certain that she might have gone into shock.

What she fought to comprehend, however, was why there was moisture collecting in between her thighs.

She had no time to linger on those thoughts, though, as she was magically turned around and bent until she had to grip onto the balustrade in order not to fall head-first into it, or worse, over it. Behind her, she heard a chuckle and wanted to turn around to glare at her professor, but several things kept her from doing so: a stubborn sort of pride, a vehement feeling of embarrassment at the situation, a flicker of a memory reprimanding her to avoid eye contact, and two more hard slaps in quick succession.

The loudness of magical hand meeting clothed backside was muffled, but multiplied as the sound echoed on top of the Astronomy tower and in the nightly silence surrounding the castle. Hermione was certain that the slaps had to have hurt, but other than a numbing sensation of slight soreness of her behind, there was no lingering pain. She was surprised at that, but only for a moment. The night had many more surprises to come.

Hermione jumped as she felt two hands grip her hips and pull backwards. She didn't let go of the balustrade, but that appeared to be exactly what the wizard thus manhandling her wanted, as he gave a low hum in appreciative agreement. She was now bent even lower, her back in a straight line that went almost parallel to the floor. One of the two hands came to rest between her shoulder blades, as if to make certain that she would stay down. The other lifted first her black robes, then her plaid skirt over her hips to rest on top of her lower back. Hermione felt the cool night air hit her upper thighs, but the Potions Master was not satisfied yet. A high, short scream escaped her as the hand that had first exposed her legs now slipped into the waistband of her knickers and roughly pulled them down to her knees. Hermione was almost certain that he would spread her legs now to take her by force, remembering that aspect of torture he had quite maliciously mentioned a few nights prior, but was proven wrong as she felt the black-clad wizard step back, as if to marvel at his work.

Her breathing was laboured, the surprise at her professor's actions draining much of her energy. The rugged inhales and shaky exhales resounded loudly in the deadly, anticipative silence of the tower platform. Her brain struggled to conclude what would be next, but she need not have thought on that so much, as Professor Snape spoke.

"You know, Miss Granger," he said, "there are two different types of Death Eaters, at least where torture is concerned."

A few steps, usually so silent even in the hollow dungeons, but now loud and demanding in the darkness, pounding in her ears in a matching rhythm to the blood rushing through her body, told her he had moved to her other side.

"Some of us prefer a rather hands-on approach, eager to get their hands dirty," Professor Snape lectured. "Those would tie you up and get out their knives and whips and other torture instruments to see who of them can paint the prettiest patterns on your skin, red on white."

A shudder ran through the half-exposed witch at his use of the word 'us' to describe the Death Eaters. In this moment, she felt very much aware of her naked backside being presented to her sternest teacher, and she wondered whether he was one of those men he had just described, and if yes, what more would be in store for her lower cheeks.

"The others," the Potions Master continued, "prefer magic, unwilling to touch those they deem beneath them. Although," he mused, "you will usually be very much beneath them, at least in the physical sense, when you are captured.

"Tonight, Miss Granger," he paused, and Hermione heard the steps return to her other side, "I will initiate you in one of the multitude of ways in the area of magical torture."

Hermione involuntarily gave a sigh of relief. No scars would be criss-crossing her white cheeks after tonight, she thought happily.

Professor Snape must have heard her sigh, though, as a dark chuckle behind her made her heart plummet in her chest until it seemed to rest somewhere below her kneecaps.

"I'm afraid it's a little early to feel relieved, Miss Granger," he said, "this night is not over yet, and we still have to carry out your punishment, don't we?"

Another shudder gripped the young witch as another dark chuckle erupted from the wizard behind her. Dark and looming, he made her breath hitch, and the low pitch of his voice caused goose bumps to erupt all over her skin, much of which was visible to him. Had he noticed? Hopefully not.

"My my, Miss Granger," he destroyed what little hope she had had, "is a little taunting too much for our tender heart? Or," and at this, his voice dropped another notch or five, "are we actually eager to receive our punishment?"

A blush crept into her face, her skin radiating heat, and she was certain that her lower cheeks would be flushed as well.

They were, apparently.

"You are eager," Professor Snape breathed. Was that an ounce of surprise she heard in his voice?

"This is most unexpected, and, if I may say so, Miss Granger, highly inappropriate." The chuckle was back. "Though I must confess, not unwelcome. It might tilt the odds a little towards your favour, that you embrace pain, should you ever be in a position such as this."

About to be spanked by my teacher? Hermione thought and snorted inwardly, though even in her mind she found it hard to convince herself of her dislike of the current situation. She knew she should be disgusted that Professor Snape saw fit to ogle her naked behind, if that was what he was doing. As her back (and subsequently her backside) was turned to him, she could not watch his actions. All she knew him to do was occasionally pace from her left to her right and back again, or at least that was what the resounding echo of his heavy boots falling on the cold stone floor told her.

His lecture on different kinds of Death Eaters and their approaches to torture, however, told her that he was obviously more than punishing her for her trespassing of the Astronomy tower. He did as he had promised, teaching her about torture and being tortured, and she could only blame herself for giving him both prompt and opportunity to do so this night. After all, he had dismissed her from his office, only to return on Monday, and instead of returning straight to the Gryffindor tower and heading to bed, she had made a detour to calm her thoughts and breathe some clean, silent, undisturbed night air. Of course, little could she have known that a teacher, and her dour Potions Master at that, would be patrolling earlier than usual. But after all, she was not the only one whom sleep might escape, so it really should have been no big surprise that another might search out the Astronomy tower for some peace and quiet.

"Now, for your punishment, Miss Granger," the Potions Master drawled. "If you would please summarize what mistakes led us to the situation at hand?"

Agreeing to befriending you, Hermione mentally enumerated, going out of my way to show my respect for you, asking for your help in securing the success of the Light in this war?

"Wandering the castle after curfew and trespassing on the Astronomy tower outside lessons and without supervision of a teacher," Hermione chose to say instead.

Professor Snape, however, was not satisfied with her answer.

"Aren't we forgetting something, Miss Granger?" he prompted.

Hermione was confused.

"Not to my knowledge, sir, no," she replied cautiously.

"Well then, Miss Granger," she could practically hear the smirk on his face, "it appears you are not quite the know-it-all you like to make out to be."

Rage gripped Hermione at the quip. Of course she did not like to constantly be called a know-it-all; she merely liked learning new things and strived to grasp as much knowledge as possible, without claiming to know it all, as many chose to label her.

"Enlighten me, if you will, sir," she pressed out between her teeth, struggling to keep her tongue in check instead of spitting out some more cutting words she would certainly come to regret, rather sooner than later.

"Tz tz tz, Miss Granger," Professor Snape chastised, "watch your cheek there. Or should I say, cheeks?"

Another chuckle erupted from the otherwise so dour, humourless Potions Master, though the sound did little to encourage Hermione.

"Now, as to what slipped your mind, Miss Granger," he gratefully continued now, "is your obvious ignorance of the school dress code, as your state of undress doubtlessly proves. This I cannot let slide."

As if he would have let any of the other accounts slide, Hermione snorted inwardly, though with little to no mirth, as hot anger flowed in waves from her brain to run through her veins in ice cold fury. How dare he punish her for being forced to let him expose her lower body?

"I would like to point out, sir," the words were harder to keep polite, rage seeping into her voice, "that it was you who caused this state of undress, as you call it, with no action of mine to help it."

"You are most certainly right, Miss Granger," her professor agreed, "you did not help it. In fact, you did nothing to stop or even try to discourage me from gradually exposing you. One might think you a wanton little minx."

About to get up from her position, which became less comfortable by the minute, and face him, a loud slap hit her bottom once more, and the soft but insistent pressure of her professor's hand between her shoulder blades made sure she was unable to rise.

"Now, Miss Granger," Professor Snape's voice dropped almost to a whisper, "it would not do for you to try and escape your punishment, now would it? After all, I would have to punish you for that as well.

"Out of the goodness of my heart, however, I will let that slide for now."

If he was waiting for a word of thanks, none would come. He realized that as well, it seemed, and continued.

"What is left to be determined, Miss Granger, is the number of strikes you will receive for your misdemeanour. Now, how many House points would I have to deduct for your transgressions, what would you say?"

Where her face had once been bright red, it now changed to a sickly white, all colour draining from her skin. Did he mean to spank her as many times as she would lose House points? That would be at least…

"Fifty points, don't you think, Miss Granger?"

She wanted to vomit but found she could not even concentrate on emptying her stomach, so much did she cling to his each and every word, desperate to find some shred of hope in the darkness surrounding them both.

"A quarter of that should suffice, I should think. Would you agree there, Miss Granger?"

She fought to react as quickly as she could, forcing her head into a nodding motion of agreement.

"Splendid," the Potions Master drawled. "Now, as you have so graciously taken one or two slaps already, I believe it will be of little harm to spare you the half slap, and round the number down to a beautiful dozen, don't you think, Miss Granger?"

Had she hoped her number of slaps to be reduced by the number already received, she was sorely mistaken, and would be even more sorely mistaken once he started carrying out his punishment.

"Now, Miss Granger," Professor Snape chose to take her silence as agreement, "I should like you to count for me, lest I miscount and have to start again. Will you do that for me?"

About to voice a 'yes', Hermione's lips formed a surprised 'O' instead as a sharp gasp escaped them at the first, very unexpected slap. Still struggling to formulate a number, the invisible hand swiftly left two more prints on the soft skin of her behind.

"And here I was, Miss Granger, praising your grasp of basic mathematics, just a few days ago last Monday," the deep voice behind her drawled. His heavy boots clicked, the sound indicating he had moved to her other side once more. "I believe we must start anew, as much as it pains me," he chuckled, "to say."

"You are a monster," Hermione whimpered, tears of surprise more than actual pain streaking her face, the shock too great to filter her words anymore.

"Let us not forget, Miss Granger," his voice now dropped to a threatening level, "that it was you who approached me about introducing you to the art of torture, not the other way round. As it is, I am merely granting your request of education, as you like to put it."

You bastard.

Her lips formed the words, but her breath hitched once more as a sharp smack hit her left cheek, cutting of her voice. It was probably better this way. Instead, Hermione chose to cut this as short as possible.

"One," she counted.

His feet had begun to pace of their own accord, tracing and retracing the same line forth and back behind her outstretched behind, from her left to her right and back again. The pacing helped him pace his thoughts in turn, racing through his mind quicker than curses in a duel. Most of them were curses, in fact; cursing his method of punishment, cursing his decision of climbing the Astronomy tower, and cursing the girl for coming here in the first place instead of hurrying to bed as he had expected her to.

Being the thrice-damned Gryffindor that she was, however, she had elected to roam the castle and get herself into trouble, rather than seek out the comfort of her warm bed. What had he done to deserve this?

Nothing, a niggling voice at the back of his mind hissed, you have done nothing to deserve the sight of this beautifully shaped behind in front of you.

And beautiful it was, even Severus could not deny that. Full, plump cheeks, two perfectly symmetric globes, round and ripe and practically begging to be gripped, to be caressed, covered in snowy white skin, soft and unblemished, begging to be taken.

Thus the pacing. It helped reign in thoughts like these, urges to possess the fragile creature so vulnerably exposed in front of him, near enough to be touched, not strong enough to resist him. He could not, would not do it however.

It had not even been a lie when he had asked the girl to count the slaps for him, not really. A great possibility existed that her backside might entrance him so much that he would find himself unable to count properly, or become too immersed in the spanking that it would be impossible for him to stop. The limit of a dozen slaps had been for him as much as for her.

In fact, he barely heard her uttered 'twelve', as his brain was filled with snapshots of her reddening cheeks, mentally comparing the picture and revelling with every new imprint of his hand, even though magically induced, gracing her skin, red on white.

His hand had half-executed a thirteenth flick when he stopped his wand mid-movement. He thought to heal her for a moment, but chose to stow his wand in the hidden sheath beneath his left sleeve. Stepping up behind the girl, he held his hand to her behind until they hovered less than half an inch from her skin. He could feel the heat radiating from the redness of her lower cheeks. The sensation reminded him of warming his hands on a bonfire.

He meant to heal her wandlessly, using his hands only – really, he did! – but when he placed his hands on her reddened mounds, he had to hold back a moan. Her skin was even softer than it looked, and the sensation proved too much for his already partially lust-muddled mind. He gripped her cheeks, pulling her further back, and as his hands wandered to her hips to better hold her to him, he pushed his aching hardness into her perfect crevice.

Her body stiffened beneath his as she felt his erection press into her behind. The fact that he was clothed certainly did little to ease the girl's fear, he was very much aware, even through the desire-induced haze that caused a thick fog to envelop his usually so rational mind.

Fighting to not push himself onto the girl any further, Severus decided to take the (more or less) gracious way out of this situation he now found himself in.

"Are you aware that if I took you now, Miss Granger, nobody would be coming to help you?" he asked, his voice low and as icy as he could make it with all the heat running through his body.

"Yes, sir," the girl beneath him whispered.

He ground into her – merely for effect, he told himself, as his desire-ridden brain gave a purr of encouragement and demand for more.

"Are you afraid, Miss Granger?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," the girl breathed.

Then –

"Do you fear me?"

"No."

The girl's answer took him aback. He had not doubted that she would reply in the positive, yet she hadn't. He tried to determine whether her answer had come too quickly, but it hadn't. She hadn't hesitated more nor less than with her other replies.

"You should," he muttered under his breath as he released the girl.

With a quick wave of his hand and a few non-verbal spells, her clothing righted itself and her cheeks returned to the same creamy white they had been before, the imprints of his hands disappearing one by one. Severus's brain – or wherever most of his blood was directed to right now – gave a pang of regret with each imprint that ceased to grace her magnificent globes, then a burst of frustration when her knickers slid up her smooth thighs to cover those soft mounds once more.

Her robes fell down last, like a curtain ending the drama that had played out on the back of her legs tonight.

Slowly, the girl rose to a standing position, her hand still gripping onto the balustrade for support, her body inching away from his and towards the edge of the tower, as if afraid that he might grab onto her once more and finish what he had almost started. Her back emitted low cracks as each joint of her spine resumed its righteous position once more. He had not realized it before, too immersed had he been in the spanking, but her breathing was laboured, and each breath rattled and shook as it filled and escaped her lungs.

The girl did not turn around to face him, but her head turned to the left as she watched him from the corner of her eye without actually meeting his gaze. Clever girl, Severus thought with an air that might be described as pride, even remembering and following my advice after receiving her punishment. He elected to ignore that niggling voice that told him that she was evading his gaze exactly because of his choice of punishment.

"With your permission, sir," the girl finally broke the uncomfortable silence that had settled over them like a suffocating blanket, "I will go to bed now."

He hesitated. Could he let her go without a word about what had just transpired?

Severus had to forcibly remind himself that he was the Slytherin and she the Gryffindor. If one of them had the need to talk about their actions tonight, it would be her, not him. If she wanted to discuss things, she would come to him, to be turned down and sent away just like any other student of her House would be. The sensible thing was to send her running to her common room now.

"Go, Miss Granger," Severus permitted, "and see to it that you do not dawdle."

The furious look she shot him was considerably toned down with a generous measure of fear of possible consequences for any impertinence she might allow herself. Instead of retorting to his cutting comment, she nodded in agreement, deference, and in good-bye, and vanished down the tower stairs.

If he had thought before that sleep might evade him for a couple of hours, he now was certain to find none at all tonight.

Coming up: Chapter six, wherein a phrasing is questioned and a secret is revealed.