A/N: Hello, my dear readers, and welcome to chapter fifteen of 'Accommodations'. Thank you so much for your overwhelming response to last chapter, I am truly moved by your support. :)

That is why it crushes me to tell you that you'll have to wait for two weeks for the next update, instead of just one as usual. I am currently in exam week, with three more exams in the next four days, a paper to hand in on Monday, and returning to work next week. I have chapter sixteen already written and ready to publish, but I won't manage to write chapter seventeen in time, I'm afraid. For that reason, I'd rather hold off for one more week on the next update, so that I'll hopefully be able to publish chapters throughout the rest of the year, though those will happen on a biweekly schedule at the most, I'm afraid. :( I hope you'll understand.

On the bright side, we're starting to move a little faster through time. So who knows? We might even make it to Christmas by Christmas. ;) Won't promise anything, though. And first, we'll have to make it through October. Enjoy! :)

Monday, October 7th, 1995

The past week had gone remarkably well for Hermione, and fast. Professor Snape had worked her to a nosebleed again in their final detention, yes, but in between the lines of his scathing remarks about her lack of talent for the art, Hermione could read the begrudged compliment to how far she had developed her Occlumency skills over the past few meetings.

The Potions Master had not taught her the ward to avoid being detected with a Homenum revelio after all, declining her repeated request with a hint to how he'd managed to snatch her wand, and if she was so careless with that, why should he care help her in other ways that were lacking in her care? Hermione chose to view that as a challenge, and seeing as her professor did not join her again the following Wednesday night for her bath, she was almost certain that her own attempt at instinctively and intentionally warding the bathroom against such detection spells must have worked.

Hermione was not quite sure how to feel about the fact that Professor Snape had not interrupted her mental and magical exercises in the prefects' bathroom, nor about the fact that he'd intruded upon her in the first place. Her embarrassment at talking to her professor in such an intimate setting, with her being in such a vulnerable state, had mightily strengthened her mental barriers, but at the same time had prompted a moist rush of heat pooling in her lower belly. At the time, she had been able to dismiss the sensation as a trick the warm water surrounding her played on her senses. When the feeling returned the following day as she was bent over the Potions Master's desk, his hands stroking her charmed knickers and caressing her exposed behind, she had fought for control over her emotions. She had lost that fight; fascination more than anything winning out over what she now clearly recognized as desire, warring with a strong sense of impropriety and a slight pang of guilt that she felt not the least bit of revulsion.

There had been no time to ponder those feelings, however, as Saturday had been approaching fast, and with it the first Hogsmeade trip of the schoolyear. Hermione had been busy talking to students about their interest in a private practice group for Defence. She had started with yearmates, branching out to friends and friends' friends, approaching Harry's teammates and even went so far as to invite Ginny's current boyfriend's friends who had happened to listen in on their conversation.

In the end, the whole recruitment had developed into a meeting of almost thirty people in the dingy little pub called the Hog's Head. Harry's temper had almost put an early end to the idea as a whole, but in the end, the day had been very successful, leaving only one question – where to meet.

Again, there had been no time to ponder that issue, as this Monday brought with it a whole new collection of drama. First, there was the shock of Educational Degree Number Twenty-four, forbidding all study groups of more than two students if not given expressed permission. Second, Hedwig.

Hermione had been breathing throughout all of their lesson of History of Magic, when an insistent tapping sound filtered through her concentration. Seeing as Harry had noticed nothing, doodling away on his parchment, Hermione felt a short but intense sense of pride at the fact that she'd managed to breathe while listening to her surroundings. When she saw the state Hedwig was in, however, her spirits plummeted.

While Harry was off with the majestic snowy owl, Hermione ran through all the worst case scenarios that might have led to Hedwig's ruffled and obviously hurt state. Ron offered his own suggestions, and together they came to the conclusion that Hedwig and the missive she was carrying must have been searched, seeing as she had missed arriving with the morning post. Harry's recollection of what Professor McGonagall had said to him about communication channels into and out of Hogwarts possibly being watched supported that theory.

Again, there was no time to look deeper into that troubling development, as the trio arrived at the dungeons. Hermione did the best she could to keep Harry from charging at Malfoy and his thugs when they practically waved their Quidditch permission under his nose. What she had not expected, however, was Neville making to attack the Slytherin boys.

Thinking back, Hermione realized that she should have noticed sooner that the insults about magically damaged patients in St Mungo's pertained to Neville's parents. From the many half-sentences she had been able to gather during the summer at Grimmauld Place, Hermione knew Frank and Alice Longbottom to have survived extensive torture under the Cruciatus curse, though at the loss of their minds. That the topic was a highly sensitive one for their son seemed obvious.

Yet, when after this third strike of the day the door to their dungeon classroom opened to reveal a furious Professor Snape, Hermione had the keen sense that his anger was not only directed at the fighting Gryffindors – fighting to keep Neville back from having Malfoy's thugs severely damage him if he laid so much as a finger on the smirking blonde, but none of that mattered to their Potions Master, so much was clear.

What was not immediately clear to Hermione, however, was why else the professor might seem so tense. To the others, it might seem as if the only scathing looks he was shooting towards the Gryffindors were meant for the boys, but Hermione knew that for the fraction of a second, his gaze lingered on her, imploring her to understand, though what it was that was significant enough to meet her eyes directly, she did not understand.

That was, until she entered the classroom a moment later, and shock number four of the day became apparent.

In a remote corner sat the toad. Even in the dimness of the dungeons, her garishly pink outfit was hard to miss, and Hermione wondered for a second if the Ministry witch had cast a charm on herself to addle the other students' perception, and only Hermione's Occlumency practice allowed her a broader awareness.

Guessing from Professor Snape's look that had carried a ton of meaning, Hermione turned her steps towards the boys, where they were sitting and still trying to calm Neville down. It seemed to be the correct path to take, especially seeing as Harry was apparently set on exploding his cauldron today.

Repeatedly, Hermione had to steady his hand, like when he almost used pomegranate juice instead of salamander blood (and why was that even sitting on his work station in the first place, seeing as pomegranate was needed at no stage of brewing the Strengthening Solution?). Harry was simply so gleeful to see his two most hated teachers fighting each other, that his concentration was decidedly off.

Busy with helping Ron and Neville as well, who took full advantage of her sitting with them for once, rather than in her secluded corner in the back row, Hermione missed the point at which Harry rendered his concoction unsalvageable. Who did not miss this, was – of course – Professor Snape.

Harry spent the next break moaning about how he would have to do another essay for Potions, on top of the usual homework that had been piled on them. Hermione listened with only half an ear, wondering whether she should go to the dungeons today for her first period of 'Remedial Potions', and if Umbridge had already heard about that and would insist on sitting in on that lesson, as well.

When, an hour later, the boys told her about how Trelawney had apparently been put on probation, Hermione's decision was clear. With Professor Snape being one of the few teachers who would stand up to the Ministry toad, Hermione would not allow herself to be bullied into abandoning her quest.

When the knock on his door reached his ears, Severus merely hoped it would not be the thrice-damned Ministry bitch. Still, just to be on the safe side, he made his way to the door himself, pulling it open with all the intimidating grandeur he could muster. He almost gave a sigh in relief when the heavy wood revealed the girl waiting outside.

"Miss Granger," he acknowledged her presence for once in something that might almost resemble a greeting.

"Good evening, professor," the girl replied politely, though she seemed nervous for some reason. "I was not certain if I should still be coming, considering –"

"There is nothing for you to consider in whether you should uphold any and every appointment of your Remedial Potions course," Severus sneered, though the expression held less malice than usual. "The only thing that could possibly keep you from attending your lessons with me would be a deeply unpleasant and highly contagious malady, in the case of which there is always a way, ranging from physical distance to a bubblehead charm, to keep me from contracting it. Is that clear, Miss Granger?"

"Yes, sir," came the girl's meek reply, and Severus waved her into the room.

Severus made sure to ward the door to the dungeon classroom in a manner that it would be impossible to open from the outside and no sound would escape from the inside, though he himself was still very much able to hear the comings and goings on the other side of the door. Only once he'd made sure that especially an overly nosy Ministry employee would be unable to forcibly cut a path into the classroom, he turned to face the girl.

"Miss Granger," he began, "since you have proven to be less inept at Occluding while writing, you will progress to more practical tasks from today on." Severus waved towards a work station where a collection of ingredients and different knives was orderly laid out. "That work will demand less concentration of you in the way of calling upon certain memories, but will require you to pay more attention to the physical motions of your body – that is, if you do not wish to lose a few fingers, of course."

The girl swallowed thickly, probably thinking about all the different ways she could mutilate her body if she did not manage to control her hands as well as her mind.

Severus set in for the final blow.

"While you work, try to keep the colour of your knickers for yourself."

And with those parting words, he ushered the girl off to start her work.

As Hermione went over to the work station her professor had prepared for her, her mind was already kicking into overdrive. How to keep the colour of her underwear secret if she was to Occlude and handle sharp knives and expensive ingredients at the same time?

Standing at the work station, she grabbed the note that listed the instructions for which ingredient to cut with which knife in what way. Pretending to read through the list, Hermione struggled to close her mind against outwards intrusions while struggling to find a way to protect her knickers from being seen. When no schoolbook spell came to mind, Hermione realized she would need to get creative.

Mentally, she ran through all the possible ways for the Potions Master to go about discovering her chosen colour of the day. After the incident over a week ago, when he'd physically forced her to bend over his desk to reveal her underwear to him, he had not touched her again. In fact, he had not queried her about the colour of her knickers in all that time. Or had she simply not noticed it when he'd entered her mind to find out for himself?

There was little use in lingering on that particular question now, Hermione decided, but physical violence to get his way was one manner in which Professor Snape might attempt to get to the desired information. No, not desired, of course – after all, why would a respected member of the esteemed Hogwarts staff be interested in a little girl's knickers? No, he was merely teaching her – wasn't he?

Trying to drag her mind away from such dangerous paths, Hermione mustered all her creativity and intention to have an electric charge creep into her robes. That way, the professor would get himself a nice, smarting shock, should he try to manhandle her as he had the last time. His sheer touch, Hermione hoped, would draw her from her concentration on the potions ingredients, so that she might defend herself against his search for information.

Another intentional bout of magic had an immaterial mirror span the underside of her skirt, so that the layer of air at the level of her skirt's seam would reflect what lay underneath, disabling others from seeing anything from her knee upwards. On an afterthought, she added an alarm ward to the mirroring effect, thinking that should anything try to push through the layer of air that held no physical barrier, she would at least be warned.

When no more ways came to mind of how Professor Snape might attempt to get to her knickers, Hermione put down the list of instructions and started dicing. Asphodel roots, she noticed with no little mirth, remembering how the Potions Master had demonstrated how to prepare these at the beginning of the schoolyear, before she closed her mind.

Watching the girl clutch the piece of parchment with his instructions on it in her hands, obviously not reading, as she thought herself into a frenzy until he could almost hear the gears turn in her mind, had Severus close to laughing out loud. What kept him from actually doing so, beside the fact that he never laughed out loud, much less in the presence of a student, and a Gryffindor at that, were the measures to which the girl went in her quest to keep him from perusing her knickers.

With his sensitivity for wards, Severus could literally feel how the girl's robes charged themselves with electricity, and the alarm around the seam of her skirt almost impressed him. Severus felt that there had to be something else there, and uttered a spell that would allow him to view what lay under her skirt. Taken aback when all he could see were the stone tiles of the dungeon floor, Severus was close to doubting his own skill at casting that particular spell, until he realized that the girl had infused the region under her (by now already well shortened) seam with her very own brand of magic, charmed to resemble the surface of a mirror.

Careful not to disturb the layer of air that seemed to hold the ward, unwilling to trigger the alarm that the girl had worked into that, Severus cancelled the spell. Returning to his own perspective, he perused the girl who slowly, yet ever so diligently diced the Asphodel roots he had set before her. It seemed the girl had thought of both obvious ways for him to approach her, disabling him to neither look under her skirt nor to physically overpower her as he had done before. Of course, her little charms would not keep him from doing either; no, she would merely be warned and thus, aware of his actions.

However, Severus had no intention of calling her attention to his attempts. It would be of little use to her if he demonstrated once more that a grown wizard would be able to overpower her. No, she already knew that. What Severus thus had in mind for tonight's lesson was to demonstrate another way in which the girl might be taken unawares.

The way she had warded herself left only one possible road to take.

A quick trip to his office, unlocking the multitude of traps behind which he had hidden it in his desk, availed Severus with what he had been looking for – his spare wand. It had been registered to a half-blood his comrades (Severus physically recoiled at the word) had killed during one of their raids, now so many years ago. Severus had snatched it from the scene of their crime, unseen by either of his brothers, and kept his possession of it a secret ever since.

Now, however, it had become time to draw it once more.

The wand worked not as well for him as his own, primary wand did, as it had never chosen him as his master. Severus was powerful enough, though, to force his intentions and his magic on the piece of wood, to carry out his will. Unforgiveables were very hard to procure wandlessly, after all.

Pointing the wand at the innocuously working girl, Severus uttered the word.

"Imperio."

Lay down the knife.

Oh no, Hermione thought, the voice was back.

Come now, girl, lay down the knife.

No, she thought, it would not do to stop in her actions. After all, that would probably lead to Professor Snape thinking she disrespected him after all, defying his explicit instructions, and he would reject teaching her ever again.

Go talk to him, then, the voice in her head suggested, but lay down the knife first.

Oh, alright, Hermione gave up. It wasn't as if the voice's command made any more sense than its usual ramblings did, but for once, it was intriguingly convincing, and Hermione made to follow it.

When she stood in front of her teacher's desk, Professor Snape shoved his chair back, leaving ample space between his long legs and the desk.

Walk around the table, the voice insisted. It will be much more comfortable that way.

Hermione hesitated. She saw the professor tilt his head to the side, if only slightly, but enough for her to see, as if questioning her hesitation. Yes, Hermione thought, why did she not simply say what she had come here to say? Though what exactly it was she had come here to say, she did not know.

To disguise her search for words, she followed the voice's command, rounded the desk, and stood between the professor's knees that he had opened for her once she'd started walking.

Turn around now, girl, the voice commanded. Sensing her hesitation, it reiterated, Turn around now.

Fed up with the annoying voice, Hermione did not even try to fight for real this time. Instead, she simply gave in and turned her back to Professor Snape.

And now bend over.

What?

Bend over, the voice insisted, and lift your robes and skirt.

No.

Bend over, girl.

No.

Do it.

No!

Now!

"No," Hermione shouted, and took a moment to realize she had spoken out loud.

"Excuse me?" queried Professor Snape.

"I –" Hermione began, but did not know where to go from there. Turning around, she faced her teacher. Realizing how close she stood to him, she scrambled to get away, swiftly walking around the desk until the heavy wooden table created a safe, physical barrier between the two of them.

"I apologize, sir," she said. "I don't know what came over me, coming onto you the way I did."

"Don't you, Miss Granger?" the Potions Master asked. "I thought that would have been obvious."

Hermione started. Could he possibly know of her confused feelings where he was concerned? Could he have sensed the heat that pooled in her body whenever he came close to her?

Of course he could, Hermione admonished herself. After all, Professor Snape was not only a master Mind Mage, but one among the most perceptive people she knew.

"Excuse me, sir?" Hermione opted for the safe road to take.

"I believe that the imposter calling himself Alastor Moody taught you about the Unforgiveable Curses last year. Am I not correct, Miss Granger?"

Suddenly everything clicked into place. It had not been as obvious to her before, as her inner voice usually sounded already much like the Potions Master himself, but now Hermione had to wonder why she hadn't noticed earlier that for once, it imitated the velvet quality to perfection. Even the nonsensical commands and why she could be convinced to follow them made sense now.

"You Imperio'ed me?" she wanted to scream, but held herself back in case anybody was listening in on them, so that her voice turned out as more of an angry whisper that was so loud, it probably seemed staged.

"I would refute any such accusation were you ever to be stupid enough to lay them before anybody, but I will commend you for your strength of will to fight the compulsion as you did, Miss Granger," the professor answered.

Hermione tried to use that strength of will to will away the strong sense of pride that now filled her chest, and to conceal it underneath the very real anger that was still coursing through every fibre of her being. She failed.

"We will work more on that in the future," Professor Snape continued. "The practice will be most effective when you are unaware of such an attack. For now, it would be best if you returned to your earlier task of ingredient preparation."

Hermione nodded in agreement at his dismissal and turned to walk back to the work station. When she was there, knife already in hand, the Potions Master spoke once more.

"And Miss Granger," he called her to attention. "Your mind is an open book right now. And pleased though I am with your transfigurational work – the baby blue paints a rather enticing contrast to your creamy-white skin – I suggest you exercise more care with your Occlumency shields in surprise situations in the future."

Hermione stared at her professor. When her tongue became dry, she realized that her mouth must have fallen open, and closed her lips until they were pressed into a very fine line. Professor Snape graced her with his signature smirk.

"Go on now, Miss Granger," he reiterated. "Those Asphodel roots still need dicing. And do take care with your surroundings. You never know if I might not just decide to find out if that silk feels as soft as it looks."

Coming up: Chapter sixteen, wherein a legacy is contemplated and companionship is discussed.