A/N: Hello, my dear readers, and welcome to yet another chapter of 'Accommodations'! Without much preamble, I just wish to express once more that even though I can survive on my intrinsic motivation alone - to write for the sake of writing -, I thrive on reviews. So please, if only because I've passed another birthday since posting the previous chapter, please grant me plentiful reviews. ;) And maybe, just maybe (very definitely, if you're good!) I might be convinced to post the next chapter a week early...
(Look at me, dealing out favours for reviews. Honestly though, I love reading your thoughts.)
And now, don't let me keep you any longer. Voilà - chapter seventeen! Enjoy. ;)
Saturday, November 2nd, 1995
As elated as Hermione had been a few days prior at Hallowe'en lunch, as put down was she now.
After her short talk with the professor, she had been determined to find out what ailed him so that night, when he had scheduled a meeting during her bath time. Shoving all doubts as to the propriety of such a meeting aside – because honestly, there wasn't much she could do about that other than not show up, and Professor Snape would just accuse her of sabotaging his lessons and might even cancel them for good this time –, she had gone to take her bath, raising the usual wards that would keep away unwanted visitors in the middle of the night. When nobody had come to her, even two hours after their set meeting time, she had eventually left the tub, wrapped her by then thoroughly wrinkled skin in her soft bathrobe, and traipsed back to the Gryffindor tower, hidden under Harry's Cloak.
The following day, Professor Snape couldn't be seen at any of the meals. It wasn't as if she'd been looking for him, no; merely when she happened to glance at the High Table, he wasn't there.
All those worries at his snarky mood and his missing during her bath and the meals fell away, however, as the day of the Quidditch match of the term dawned. Harry's good mood from the last fortnight could not even be dispelled by his nerves at the important match against Slytherin, but Ron seemed positively willing to change himself into a puddle of pumpkin juice, eager to be wiped up by a house elf if only it kept him from having to face the pitch.
When Hermione saw the pins that the Slytherin students had hefted to their robes and heard the song swell around the stands, her heart sank deeper than she'd ever experienced it to. Even when the game ended, her soaring mood at the Gryffindor win soon plummeted as the muggle wrestling began between Harry, George and Draco. She was very much relieved that it was her Head of House who carted off the seething Gryffindor boys, feeling safe in the knowledge that the stern witch would show no mercy, but at least fairness in her judgement and subsequent punishment. Even that feeling wasn't supposed to last long, though, either, as a short witch in green robes that swished around her to reveal pink fabric underneath followed them.
That evening in the common room was uncomfortable, to say the least, and from the day she'd had, maybe Hermione should have become suspicious when she thought that Hagrid's return might cheer them all up. His tale of how the giants, depleted as their race was, would rather support Voldemort than Dumbledore was enough to give them all nightmares for a few days to come. Thinking the night could not get any worse, Umbridge proved Hermione to be mistaken, as she turned up at the cottage and almost busted the trio.
When eventually – finally! – the three Gryffindors had made it back to the common room, Hermione went straight to bed, but sleep wouldn't come. Oh well, she thought, when after hours of casting and recasting the charm, the Tempus finally showed the time to be half past five, maybe an early morning bath might help.
Sunday, November 3rd, 1995
It was a little before six when Hermione left her dorm room to traipse down the stairs. She knew she'd have to wait a few more minutes until curfew was over before she could go to the fifth floor prefects' bathroom, but she'd rather do her waiting in the common room than listening to the two girls softly snoring in the beds beside hers.
What she had not expected, though, was to find a cursing Angelina Johnson standing in front of the fireplace.
"Angelina?" Hermione asked as she descended the last couple of steps and approached the girl. "Are you alright?"
"The hell I am," was her answer. "Not only did I lose the best seeker this team has seen in the last decade at the very least, but I also lost two beaters who have been a constant on this team and a huge help in keeping everybody together and in spirit. And now I can't even pull off this ridiculous charm that George showed me!"
At her last few words, uttered in pure frustrated anger, her wand that she had pointed at herself emitted a flurry of red sparks and she pulled away quickly. Hermione thought it best not to mention that Angelina's bangs appeared a little singed.
"What is it you're attempting to do?" she asked instead. "Maybe I could help."
Angelina sighed.
"Not that I can see how you would know about this one, but I can't see how much more could go wrong at this point either, so what the hell."
Hermione wanted to feel insulted, but seeing as she could only understand the sentiment too well, after the Saturday she'd had, she decided not to let the words get to her. She went closer when the Quidditch team captain beckoned to her.
"See now, this is supposed to be a Disillusioning charm. George showed me how to do it to him, and he also demonstrated that it was possible to do on oneself, but I'd never actually tried that out. It worked when I did it on him, and I don't see what I'm doing wrong now that I'm trying it on myself, because honestly, I'm doing exactly what he did, but it just doesn't –"
"What's your intention with this charm?" Hermione asked, wondering when she'd begun to channel her professor that much.
"Well, to make myself invisible of course, but –"
"To whom? To yourself?"
"Yes, of course," Angelina answered, her face in a frown at the seemingly ridiculous questions. "I mean, invisible to everybody."
"But including you?" When the older girl nodded in confirmation, Hermione explained, "You see, that's the crux of your problem. The Disillusioning charm is meant to keep you from being seen by others, but if you were to lose sight of yourself, you would have done something extremely wrong. You still want to be conscious of yourself, and that includes being aware of yourself with your visual sense. That's why it's worked when you tried to Disillusion George, because he was meant to be invisible to you, but not on yourself. Try on me, if you like, and then change your intention and try again on yourself."
Angelina seemed hesitant to accept advice, especially advice as theoretical as this, from a younger student, but Hermione could see the change in her eyes when the captain decided to throw all caution to the wind. Knocking Hermione sharply on the head with her wand, Hermione felt a weird sensation like that of a raw egg breaking and spreading its innards over her body. When Angelina smiled, she was sure that the charm must have worked. Seeing the elder girl turn her wand on herself and shifting into invisibility a moment later, Hermione smiled as well.
"Now what do we do, Disillusioned as we are?" she asked. Squinting, she could still make out Angelina's shape where the edges of her body threw ripples into Hermione's perception of their surroundings. Still, it was a nifty little charm and she was determined to learn it.
"Well, I don't know about you," Angelina answered, "but after the day I've had, I thought I might as well start this one with a long good soak."
"Funnily enough," Hermione replied, "I was having that exact same thought when I woke up. But I can wait till you are finished, or I can just use the Gryffindor bathroom instead, so do go ahead."
"Don't be ridiculous," Angelina admonished her. "I don't mind you coming along. Join me?"
Hermione nodded. If the motion was lost on the elder girl, it was not only because they were both Disillusioned, but also because, assertive as she was, she was already halfway to the portrait hole.
The two girls trudged along in silence, walking to the prefects' bathroom together. Inside, Hermione had to remind herself not to erect her usual wards, as outside of curfew, everybody was well within their rights to use the bathroom. Well – everyone with the correct privileges, such as Angelina and her, of course.
Angelina lifted the Disillusion off of both of them and went to fill the tub as Hermione Conjured her usual screen at least, if she couldn't stick to her wards, to keep the two of them from being seen by anybody upon first walking in. Angelina merely arched her eyebrows at that, but the question mark in her expression was drowned in the appreciation that could be found there, and no further comment was needed.
Hermione was still shedding her clothes as she heard Angelina sigh behind her. Quickly disrobing, Hermione slipped into the water herself and had to bite her bottom lip in order to keep herself from mirroring the older girl's sigh. The water's texture was heaven against her skin. It appeared that Angelina liked the same copious amount of bubbles in her bath that she did, but instead of pine, the water wafted a scent of blood orange, tinged with a hearty amount of salt that did wonders for the smell.
The girls sat in silence for a while. Resting against opposite ends of the pool-sized tub, Angelina had her head leaned back against the edge of the bath, her eyes closed. Hermione used the opportunity to muster her. Slanted eyes with long black lashes were perfectly framed by delicately arched eyebrows under a high forehead. Her cheekbones sat high upon a silky-looking expanse of skin, ending in a pointed chin that somehow didn't make her face appear edgy in the slightest. No, relaxed as she currently was, the Quidditch captain appeared to Hermione as the softest person she had ever met. She knew otherwise, of course, but with the dark bow of her lips not shouting commands for once and with her chocolate skin tone not further darkened by her imposing expression, the older girl's face held a beauty that Hermione had rarely encountered.
Fazed as she was by the sight, Hermione did not even notice when that beauty's eyes slowly opened to return the perusal.
"Dear Morgana, Granger," Angelina cursed, though in good humour, "are you quite done staring at me? I have a harp string to pluck."
Hermione was confused. Her eyes shot to the painting of the mermaid who was still fast asleep, the harp in her hand dangling to the side. Somehow she felt that wasn't what the older girl had in mind, exactly. Not knowing what to say to that, she replied, "I didn't know you could play the harp."
To confuse her even more, Angelina giggled.
"Well, maybe that expression isn't clear enough," she said. "Might as well say that I'm about to get lost in the deep end."
Hermione felt the skin of her forehead fold itself into a frown. She was quite certain that the pool was equally deep at all ends. Sure, the centre was a lot deeper than the rest, seeing as a heightened platform for sitting underwater ran around the edges of the tub, but there was no deep end, specifically.
"What does that have to do with music?"
"Oh girl," Angelina sighed. "They call you the brightest witch of your age, but honestly, you seem pretty thick to me right now. Alright, what else might you call it? I meant to polish my pearl. Roll my dough. Air my orchid."
At Hermione's empty expression, the older girl sighed once more. "Honestly? Nothing?" Hermione shook her head no. "Sweet Circe, Granger, I'll spell it out for you then: I'm going to touch myself."
If that had been meant to lift the heavy confusion that had settled over Hermione like an uncomfortable, suffocating blanket, it did not serve its purpose in the least.
"Well, how else would you wash if not by touching yourself?"
The look she received for that was one that seemed torn between laughing her ass off and swallowing her own tongue in incredulity.
"I'll have to spell it out for you, won't I?" the older girl asked, but did not wait for an answer. "Granger, I mean to masturbate. Now. In the bath. If it makes you uncomfortable to stay during that, you should go now, because Merlin knows, once I start, I have no intention of stopping until I've reached and tumbled off the cliff at least thrice."
Hermione hadn't really expected anything, but even less than anything she'd expected that. What a question to have posed to oneself by a person one had rarely had close contact with, or any contact at all, really, if one discounted the few polite greetings during their DA sessions.
"I –," she began, but broke off as her voice faltered. "I don't really know how that would make me feel. I haven't had anybody ask me that before."
"Oh really," Angelina snorted, "I couldn't tell that."
All of a sudden, Hermione felt stupid. She turned to the edge of the tub and made to leave the bath, when Angelina called her back.
"I'm sorry, Granger," she said. "That was rude of me. You're still young, I shouldn't be making fun of you. Stay, please," she added, when Hermione had still made no move to abandon her retreat. Letting herself sink back into the bath from where she'd already lifted herself out halfway, Hermione settled back into her former position, her back rigid.
"Please," the older girl reiterated, "I've never had a girl watch. Not even Katie, even though we talked about – Oh well. Never mind that. You know, I'm beginning to see why George would only show me how to perform that charm on him, rather than on myself. Bet he never imagined I'd sneak off on my own, without him. With us two being lo- I mean, such good friends, and with Katie and Fred being as close as they are, the next step seems somewhat inevitable – you know, twins and all that. But I've never… Please, would you stay? With me?"
Hermione had never seen Angelina so nervous, jumping from one long sentence to a row of half sentences, and seemingly changing trains of thought halfway through. It unnerved her slightly, to see the usually so composed elder girl show her nerves. Most of all, it lent her a strange sense of comfort.
"Of course," she said before she could convince herself otherwise. "If you want me to stay, I'll – I'll stay."
"Good," Angelina replied, her nerves still showing, "good. Thank you. Just – don't stare, alright? Watching, I can take, I guess, but please don't stare."
Hermione shook her head, signalling her understanding. Whether it was in a yes-I-agree kind of way or rather in a no-I-won't-stare motion, she was unable to say afterwards, but to Angelina, it was all the assurance she needed. Leaning back and closing her eyes once more, Hermione could see her right shoulder moving in a motion that she assumed had the other girl's hand travel to the apex of her thighs.
Hermione's focus was fixed on the elder girl's face. Where before there had been nervous insecurity, there was now a strangely elated kind of determination. Soft waves emanated from her body as her hand supposedly moved under the water, getting bigger as the girl's dark lips parted and a first of a row of sighs escaped. Hermione did not feel her tongue wet her own lips as it darted out from between them, nor did she notice her mouth remaining open after that, as Angelina's mouth formed a big O and all sighs ceased. A moment of silence followed as the captain seemed to gasp for air, her eyes suddenly wide open, and then, her whole body fell slack as she relaxed back into her former position.
Hermione felt a tension fall away from her that she had not even known had crept into her in the first place. Angelina's eyes, remaining open, now settled on her. Hermione blushed, feeling her cheeks light up, under the now sated girl's pleased scrutiny.
"Sweet Nimue, Granger," Angelina said, "that was fast. Seems like you do wonders for my – you know."
Hermione did not quite know how to reply to that. When she pressed out a terse "You're welcome", now somewhat uncomfortable having witnessed what she'd just witnessed, Angelina giggled. Then, her face morphed into a frown once more, though much softer this time.
"And you've never – you know," she asked, "touched yourself?"
Hermione shook her head no.
"Not even late at night? In the privacy of your own bed? Not behind closed curtains, not alone in the bath, never?"
Thinking her head must surely burst into flames soon if her blush did not stop increasing every time Angelina asked her a question, Hermione replied in the negative.
"Why not?"
The question took her aback. Sure, her adventures with the boys (if chasing them through the castle, trying to prevent them from getting themselves killed, could be called that) had left little time for other things, and studying had always been a top priority, so interest in romance with boys had been scarce. But to have no interest in her own sexuality suddenly seemed like an inexplicable surprise to herself, as well.
"I don't know," she hesitantly answered. "I guess I didn't really know how. I mean – I've never done that, I wouldn't even know where or how to begin, or –"
Angelina laughed, though not in a belittling way. It rather seemed like amusement at the fact that she could relate to the younger girls worries. Scooting closer, she said, "But that's the excitement of it, the adventure, isn't it? It's your own body, your own pleasure, and you get to explore it, to own it. That's the crux of doing it alone first, so that when the time comes of sharing your pleasure with others, you can show them how to please you, and they will be able to guide you in how to please them."
Hermione nodded. The older girl's words held sense, but she was not convinced that she could find the bravery to explore herself, not even in the utmost privacy. It seemed that the Quidditch captain could sense her hesitation, as she came closer still until she was seated right next to Hermione, facing her.
"You know," she said, now hesitant herself, "if you don't want to experiment all by yourself, I could always – well, not always, obviously, as we're not that close, but this, right now, might be a good moment, I mean, if you wanted to – I've never done this, obviously, but I guess the time will come at some point, I'm sure, and why not –"
"Angelina?" Hermione gently interrupted the Gryffindor, now reduced to nervous stutters once more as she'd been before. "Just tell me what it is you mean to say."
"Alright," she replied, then, once more, with determination, "alright. Hermione," the use of her first name had the younger girl's full attention, "would you like me to try and get you off? To touch you and, maybe, with your feedback, get you to orgasm?"
Before her mind could form an opinion, before she could assimilate enough brain power to formulate a single thought, before she could even begin to process the question she had just been asked and all the complications that came with it, Hermione felt herself nod.
Angelina shot her a smile, and the brightness in it almost blinded her. Scooting closer yet, the girl lifted one hand to tuck a loose curl behind Hermione's ear and to cup her face.
"Just – this is a one time thing, alright? We're not going to be best friends afterwards, or fuck buddies, or anything other than we were before, yes? Nobody can know."
Rather than be hurt at the implication that the older girl might be embarrassed at being seen with her, or associated with her, or anything along those lines, Hermione felt relieved. Relieved that there would be nothing to explain to people who had no business knowing of what would be transpiring here, between two girls who were equally flustered by the previous day's happenings and were simply looking for some relaxation and stress relief.
Nodding, Hermione rubbed her cheek along the hand cupping it, only for said hand to slide down her long neck, travel over the expanse of her shoulder, traipse downwards along her collar bone, and to settle around her right breast. Looking down, Hermione noted how beautiful the contrast of the dark complexion of those fingers was against the creamy white of her own skin. A nipple, suddenly pebbled, peeked out between Angelina's fingers.
"Close your eyes now, Hermione," the older girl suggested. "Let's make this all about you. Just let me know what feels good and what could feel better, alright?"
Following her suggestion, Hermione closed her eyes and felt Angelina's girl draw circles under her breast, over her belly button, in the curls at the apex of her thighs. When a finger spread her nether lips and happened to touch the curious nub that sat between them, she gasped.
"Oh, yes," she heard the other girl chuckle benevolently, "there is much you have yet to learn."
What made him skip breakfast, lunch and dinner on Friday, Severus could not tell. Whether he wanted to escape the Headmaster's presence or the girl's, he had no way of knowing, scrambled as his thoughts seemed to be. Quite possibly it was both. For once, he found that he had no real desire to know.
Slytherin's failure against Gryffindor had further diminished his spirits, but the fact that Umbridge had banned Potter for life had his mood soaring – though her ability to do so in an of itself had him uncomfortable all over. 'Educational Decree Number Twenty-five' the witch called it, but Severus did not believe in giving individual names to every dropping of the bullshit the Ministry was heaping upon Hogwarts. What mattered was that the Ministry was going to shit, and was dragging Hogwarts right along with it.
Instead of lingering on those dreaded thoughts, Severus found himself wandering the castle come Sunday morning. After all, Slytherins knew how to throw a party, and when they'd still been used to winning, parties in the prefects' bathroom had been no rare occurrence. To have Potter and the Weasley twins banned from the Gryffindor team certainly did warrant a celebration. They usually made certain to have the house elves clean everything up afterwards, but Severus had no desire to have anybody else stumble upon their inability to do so correctly, in the very improbable case that his students should fail for once.
What he first noticed upon entering the room was the familiar screen that hindered his view of the bath. He was almost around the corner of it, when he heard a sigh. Severus stopped dead in his tracks. Listening intently, the next sigh had him almost certain that it was the girl. It was certainly of a female nature, that much he could tell, and who else would think to erect a screen, much less this particular one?
Severus paused. Was the girl pleasuring herself? Or –
A Homenum revelio confirmed his suspicion. The girl was not alone in the bath. Unable to move, Severus found himself rooted to the spot. Why that was, he could not tell, so he resigned himself to listening. He dared not walk around the screen, lest he be spotted, so perhaps he might be able to discern who the girl's partner was in the bath.
Severus knew that he wanted nothing more than to tear down the screen, tear the delinquent off the girl, tear him to emotional shreds, and tear him a new one, while he was at it. He also wanted to tear apart his records of education here at Hogwarts School, and with them, tear apart his whole future.
What he could not do, however, was tear away his mind from the insistent thought that this was exactly what he himself had told the girl to do.
And what if she wanted to waste her innocence on a fumbling boy in an unhygienic setting? It mattered little to him, no: it meant nothing to him, to whom she opened her thighs.
Or did it?
After all, he was well within his rights as a teacher to separate the two, Hogwarts having a strict policy on sexual relations – if discovered. By themselves, the Heads of Houses made sure that their charges knew how to protect themselves from maladies and early parenthood, and impressed the importance of not being caught upon their students.
To have the girl, of all people, now display herself so wantonly, so publicly – because truly, the Sunday morning before seven o'clock, after a Quidditch match no less, was a highly busy time, and the prefects' bathroom had a whole number of people that might frequent it at any time, so the girl engaging in inappropriate activities, here, now? She might as well have chosen the Ministry cafeteria during Monday lunch break.
Just then, another sigh escaped the girl.
"More," he heard her voice ask, and had no way of convincing himself anymore that it might be any other girl instead of the girl. No, that voice was far too familiar to be misplaced. It was her.
"More?" another voice chuckled, and Severus frowned. It was far too high to be a worthy partner to the girl. Merlin knew no man deserving of her would have that high a voice. After all, he had not missed the effect his very own voice seemed to have on her, how she leaned into the caress of his deep, silky words washing over her skin. To have her give herself to somebody who could not mirror that, struck him deeply, in a wholly uncomfortable way.
"Yes," the girl sighed, "please. More, please."
Listening to this, listening to her, it was suddenly too much for Severus. He found movement in his legs again, and as fast as they could, he willed them to carry him out the door. Once outside the prefects' bathroom, he closed the door as silently as possible. If the girl had gone to this much trouble to rid herself of her innocence, who was he to hinder her now? He simply did not need to bear witness to the act himself.
And turning on his heel, Severus strode away. Somewhere in this castle, there must be somebody worthy of punishment, that much he was sure of. And if not, there was always homework to grade.
Coming up: chapter eighteen, wherein a task is failed and a price is named.