A/N: Hello dears, and welcome to chapter eighteen of 'Accommodations'! As probably all of you know, the days leading up to Christmas can be quite stressful. Personally, I had a project to finish at work and a paper to write and format and print and... You know the pain. Now all that's left is buying and/or fashioning Christmas presents, and suddenly the new year will be on us. Writing time has become quite scarce for me, but I hope that everything will relax a tad, come January. That's why I'm reluctant to promise you an update on Jan 2nd, but I won't have you wait for chapter nineteen any longer than 01/09! Till then, I hope you have the best of holidays and celebrate safely into the new year!

xxx Marcella

PS: This chapter is quite dear to me, and I desperately hope you'll like it. So, if you find the time, please, please, I'd love to hear your opinion on it. :)

Monday, November 4th, 1995

Unsettled as she was by the fact that when she'd gone to Hagrid, he had been resolutely immune to her pleas to change his lesson plans for the upcoming inspection, nothing could prepare her for the weird atmosphere that hit her in the Great Hall at breakfast the following day. It wasn't as if everybody was concerned; no, it was only her that felt the heat course through her body in a wholly unpleasant way when she knew the icy cold stare of her Potions Master fixate on her, but whenever she raised her head to meet his gaze, his eyes would be perusing the other House tables instead, honouring his task in overseeing all the students.

Aware that he would not have to speak with her if he was disinclined to do so during their Potions period, as he had demonstrated rather well the previous lesson, she had low expectations when entering the classroom. Figuring that he'd set her a simple task like stirring or the like as he had the previous week, she was rather taken aback when she read the short, terse note that she found on her desk.

Don't close your eyes. Don't cry out. Don't bleed.

To say that the words unsettled her would have been an enormous understatement. In fact, she was so rattled by her instructions for today's class that she physically jumped when the door from his office flew open, banging against the wall it had been closing, and Professor Snape entered the room. Hermione was still rubbing her leg that she had bumped against the underside of her work station in her surprise, and hard at that, trying to dispel the pain coursing through her thigh and attempting to reign in the tears that had collected in her eyes, threatening to escape, while their teacher was already barking instructions.

Only when she had rid herself of the salty liquid to a degree at which she was quite certain she'd be able to read what instructions he had written on the blackboard, did Hermione dare look up. She gasped as she found his gaze now firmly fixed on her, locking eyes in a manner that had Hermione seemingly physically unable to look away.

And then she felt it.

He was pushing against her mental barriers, trying to bring down the walls that were guarding her mind. It wasn't even as if she'd fortified her mental protections. In fact, the polar opposite was the case. Fazed as she'd been with his behaviour towards her today, and during the end of the previous week, she had let her guard down, so that rather than the brick wall it was supposed to be, there was now merely a fence staking a claim to her own mind, warning intruders off.

It wasn't even remotely enough to keep him out if he was to simply try and slip through. But he wasn't trying to slip through. No, Professor Snape was pushing against the general structure, trying to bring the whole fence down.

Struggling to keep her lips firmly closed as she fought to nip the cries of pain in the bud before they could even begin their way up her now parched throat, she also desperately attempted to fortify her fence, so that it would stand a little more firmly on its own without her having to push back at every point that the professor was trying to push in. Much as that demanded her concentration, Hermione still found the capacity for a little thought, remembering what he'd told her weeks ago.

Even if they do not know the fine skill of subtly sneaking into an opponent's mind, that does not mean they cannot brutishly delve into the thoughts of a victim already physically subdued.

That was what he'd said about the kind of people that might try to break into her mind. He had also said that he would start more gently (never using that particular word, of course), because he had no interest in 'irrevocably damaging' her mind. It certainly appeared as if he had no such qualms anymore.

For a few moments, Hermione was tempted to cast a Silencing charm on herself. For some reason, however, she was quite certain that merely keeping herself from making any noise was not the goal of this exercise. No, she figured it was about learning to appear unfazed by the effort her opponent spared trying to break into her mind, either making it seem as if she was superior to them, dissuading them by destroying their hopes of ever finding entrance into her inner thoughts, or making it seem as if there was nothing she had to hide in the first place.

With Hagrid's tale about his quest in seeking the giants' allegiance, Hermione was determined to meet her professor's expectations for her learning process. She somehow knew that he had not yet put all his strength behind his mental pushing, and was allowing her some leeway in which to navigate and strategize.

As it was, she swiftly weighed the options set before her, opting for some relaxation techniques. Figuring they might help school her features into a mask of innocent indifference towards the attack on her mind, she began the practices as described in the book Professor Snape had set her to study. As she forced herself to let go of the tension collecting in her forehead, visible in the deep folds her frown had put the skin in, some of the pain pounding away in an unnerving staccato in her skull dissipated as well. She was now ever more aware of the dull thunder that was the Potions Master's strength of will against her own strength of mind.

Satisfied with how far her relaxation techniques had brought her, Hermione was still very much determined to put her knowledge to even better use. As more of her lower facial muscles relaxed, shaking off the tension that had before gripped her cheeks, she felt her jaw become slack as well. For a moment her heart stopped beating as she was afraid that relaxing her jaw meant the pained noises would escape her more easily. Surprisingly, none did, as she found with all the energy that had been invested into tensing her physical muscles gone, she now had more capacities to spend on fortifying her mind.

And fortify her mind she did. Brick by brick, Hermione travelled along the fence staking her territory, slowly building up the wall that had been supposed to surround her mind in the first place. What had before been a thunderous thrusting against the very structure that spanned her thoughts, now receded to a soft pounding that haunted her, but couldn't awaken the same kind of dread that had filled her when the lesson had first started.

It appeared that simple physics applied to mental issues as well. There was no other way that Hermione could explain how the professor's assault had now less impact on her mental barriers. She was certain that he had not lessened the strength spent on attempting to break into her mind, so that left only one possibility: with a broader structure now surrounding her inner sanctum, the power channelled against her barriers was distributed equally over the surface spanning her borders, and with a larger surface diminished the pressure that the utilized power could focus on any one spot.

Hermione wanted to jump up and down in joy at having hindered the professor's mental assault, or pat herself on the back at the very least, but did neither. Instead, she was shocked to find that instead of using the raw force pushing against her fortifications before, there was now a tendril almost caressing her mental barriers. Mentally, Hermione followed the single tendril on the other, inner side of the border, and was horrified when she felt it split into a handful, two handfuls, two dozen, a hundred more tendrils that crept along the wall she had painstakingly built around her mind. She could practically feel the tendrils knocking against bricks, checking if they were hollow; testing the mortar, seeing if it would loosen and crumble; sniffing at every nook and cranny of her brick wall, and the act alone almost had it come tumbling down.

What saved her, this time, was the end of the lesson. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief when the professor eventually broke eye contact, releasing some of the pressure he had caused against her mind, though she could swear she still felt tendrils probing along her barriers. Whether that sensation was of a phantom nature or whether he was actually still perusing the fortifications around her mind, keeping her on edge, she could not say.

Wondering whether he might think she had done well, building her mental wall even as he was trying to bring it down, Hermione was startled when a spell hit her in the face. She was only just aware enough of the task he'd set her in his note to muffle the pained gasp that had escaped as the Scourgify scraped her mucosa raw, vanishing the blood that had copiously flowed from her nose. She left the classroom along with the boys, her head hung despondently low.

Don't bleed.

She had failed.

If the girl thought herself mature enough to rid herself of her innocence in order to prepare herself for this war, then she was ready to proceed to some of the more violent aspects that he had mentioned she might expect if caught.

At least that was how Severus reasoned away his unreasonable onslaught on the girl's mind. The truth was that the previous day's discovery of the girl in company in the prefects' bathroom still was very prominent at the forefront of his mind, and he felt inexplicable, uncontrollable fury at knowing what had transpired there. He had never been physically violent towards women before, though, so why he had assaulted her this way, he could not say. Perhaps because attacking her mentally was no physical violence per se? Severus did not know.

He had somehow managed to keep some of his strength back, though, rather than plowing his way into the inner workings of her brain, but that had been little solace as he Scorgified the shocking amount of blood that had run in rivulets from her delicate nose. He knew that the girl would have a major migraine for the rest of the day, if even it was gone in the morning, which he couldn't be certain about. For a moment he was almost worried. Then he made a decision: If the girl hadn't fully recovered by their next Potions lesson on Thursday, he'd see what he could do to accelerate her recovery. That would have to do.

For tonight, in the girl's Remedial Potions period, as they called it, there would be little use in assaulting her mind any more, weakened as the girl was. In fact, Severus was quite proud of how the girl had managed to stem his attack, keeping him out while fortifying her barriers. Not of her, never of her, but rather of his own ability as a mentor. No sixteen-year-old should possess that kind of grasp on Occlumency, and yet she did. For all her natural talent, Severus knew that his teaching had much to do with that, and through all the guilt that somehow coursed through him at having pushed her limits that much today, he felt his chest swell with what he felt was much deserved pride.

If they could not work on her abilities as a Mind Mage, however, Severus would have to think of something else they would be doing that night.

Perhaps, he thought, they might address that favour.

When Hermione knocked on the door to the dungeon classroom, entering the room when the door swung open in silent invitation, it was with much trepidation. Professor Snape might have stopped the nosebleed and vanished the red that had spilled all over her mouth and chin, unbeknownst to her as she had mentally battled him, but she had been wracked with a violent headache all day, and was unable to say how she'd made it through her lessons without throwing up once from the severe pain.

To say she held little positive anticipation towards their Remedial Potions lesson, would have been a gross understatement.

"Miss Granger," the Potions Master greeted her as she walked up to his desk, and wasn't that unusual in and of itself? "I noticed you'd fulfilled my demands from when we began these little lessons."

Hermione felt more than a little confused. It was true that he hadn't been his usual self on their Thursday period, but had he actually been beside himself to a degree that he hadn't noticed how she'd hemmed her skirt?

"Yes, sir," she answered dutifully, "a full six inches, as per your demand. Is that to your satisfaction?"

"Miss Granger," he suddenly thundered, his face twisted in a rage that Hermione could not understand, nor could she find the reason for it, "I did not ask for such details. How you rid yourself of your barrier holds little – meaning none at all! – interest to me, and you will refrain from further statements of this nature or you will find yourself scrubbing Mr Filch's shackles for the rest of the school year. Am I understood?"

Hermione swallowed thickly, trying to reign in the tears that were pooling in her eyes from the fright that his unexpected outburst had given her.

"In fact," she pressed out between tight lips, "I must admit that I do not understand, sir. At the beginning of the schoolyear, you demanded that I hem my skirt by a full six inches, half an inch per lesson, and I fulfilled that demand. You may have been too preoccupied to notice last Thursday, but I had my skirt fully shortened by Hallowe'en, as you'd asked. So I don't see how I deserve your ire now, by doing what I did, specifically as you'd asked I do it."

The professor, still sitting in the high-backed, wooden chair behind his desk, leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk and pinching the bridge of his nose. His head tipped forward, Hermione could not see his face anymore as his hair fell into his eyes. There was no way for her to guess his expression, but if she was forced to guess, it would have been that no good could come from his showing any kind of exhaustion with her.

"Miss Granger," came the accusation – for that was how her name sounded, coming from his lips –, "do not play dumb with me. Were you, or were you not, enjoying another individual's company in the prefects' bathroom yesterday morning? And were you, or were you not, engaged in sexual activities?"

Hermione found herself swallowing thickly once again. Was she in trouble? Had she gotten Angelina in trouble? If he knew that she herself had been there, then surely he knew who had been with her – didn't he?

"Not that I know what business of yours that would be, professor," she spoke with as much respect in her voice as she could muster for this sensitive a topic, "but to answer your questions, yes, I was in the company of a House mate yesterday morning, and she taught me a thing or two about my own sexuality. Nothing else happened. And if I may be so bold," – they both knew she wasn't allowed to be so bold, but once she'd found the courage to be so bold anyway, who was there to stop her? –, "that still does not explain how I have come to deserve such an outburst, sir."

She?!

Had the girl actually said that a female had taught her understand her own sexuality better?

Sweet Morgana, Severus cursed, if the girl was, in fact, a lesbian, then he really was in trouble.

"Miss Granger," he began for the umpteenth time that night, "do you or do you not remain innocent?"

If the situation allowed even an iota of humour, he might have laughed out loud at the girl's startled expression. As it was, he didn't.

"If you're asking whether I'm still a virgin," she replied, "then yes, professor, I am."

This time, she did not point out how that was none of his business, and Severus found himself wondering for a moment whether that alone carried some kind of significance.

"It is time to advance your training, Miss Granger," he stated.

"I had gathered as much from the exercise this morning," the girl had the gall to answer.

"Yes," Severus agreed, "that would be one aspect of how we will progress in these lessons. However, it is only one of three aspects in which we will be practicing. If you would be so kind as to name the other aspects?"

"Physical torture, sir."

"As announced at the beginning of this little course," Severus sneered at the latter words, "this will be the main way for your captors to press you for information – or merely to entertain themselves. In the upcoming weeks, I will be putting you under growing amounts of pain, and you will withstand it. Most pain will be dealt magically. I will see about physically causing you pain in the future. What else?"

He saw the girl worrying her lip. About both of the remaining aspects, he had forcefully or elaborately stated that he would not be teaching her in those. For her to guess now which statement he would refract was a thankless task.

"Psychological torture?"

If Severus was one to make a wish, he might have wished for the girl not to be wrong in her guess. Alas, there was nothing he could do about it now.

"No," he said, and watched her face fall through the strands of hair that hid his eyes from her view. "As stated before, I do not believe that the Dark Lord's followers will have the patience to deal with the elaborate art of psychological torture. Most of them are rather lacking in subtlety, and are more likely to plough their way through your pain in order to make you talk, or scream, as they like."

"Then…"

The girl swallowed thickly.

Rarely before had Hermione found herself having to swallow as often as she did this night. Although, some macabre part of her mind supplied, if they were progressing to that last aspect, she might be swallowing more than was healthy in the near future, depending on how much the professor would feed her. That same part of her mind brought forth the memory of a few minutes earlier, how he'd gone completely over the top with his rage as she'd mentioned six inches, and suddenly she had to fight the urge to double over in laughter.

She managed to reign in her hysteria, but barely.

"Sexual torture?"

As the Potions Master nodded his confirmation, Hermione wanted nothing more than to finally give in to her faucial reflex that couldn't solely be contributed to her migraine anymore, and expel all the food she had managed to keep down so far.

"I will ask you again to rid yourself of lingering barriers that you do not want to be forcibly rid of, Miss Granger, for those would be little inductive to these lessons."

Rid herself of…?

Suddenly everything clicked. The pieces fell into place, and Hermione could see the bigger picture that the finished puzzle now formed.

"You asked me to give away my virginity weeks ago?" she found herself giving in to her hysteria now. "And you thought that I did so yesterday morning? Why would you even spy on me in the bathroom at all?"

It mattered little to her that she left out all the 'sirs' and 'professors'. What mattered to her was getting answers.

"Yes, Miss Granger," Professor Snape began, "I did suggest you lose your innocence if you did want to lose it in a way that you had some semblance of control over, rather than lose it to an opponent in this war who would show little consideration for your pain, or your virtue.

"As to my presence in the prefects' bathroom yesterday, I do not need to explain myself to you. I will, however," he said in a raised voice when she made to argue, "be so forthcoming as to explain that I was looking for stragglers from any late-night parties in that bathroom that might not yet have found their way back to their common rooms. Finding merely you and your… companion, I did not assess either you or Miss… Jones, wasn't it? – to be lingering party guests who had fallen asleep in the tub. From the way things sounded, certainly neither of you was asleep. Or was I wrong in my assessment?"

In her astonishment over the fact that Professor Snape had, indeed, given her some information, Hermione almost forgot to answer. First and foremost, this sign of goodwill, for there was no other category Hermione could fit it into, was so staggering for her mind to stomach that she had problems remaining upright.

"No, sir," she eventually answered, "we were merely taking a morning bath."

"From what I overheard and from what you yourself have told me, Miss Granger, that was a little more than a mere morning bath."

Oh, but the girl blushed so beautifully. She certainly was no beauty, not in the conventional way that the Gryffindor Quidditch team captain – and he had been right with that guess as to her companion, it seemed – was, but that did not mean that she wasn't magnificent to Severus. Whether it was because she was so like his childhood friend in spirit and he had fallen back into old patterns, or whether it was because he'd learned from his mistakes and she was so unlike her in looks, he did not know. He only knew that the girl held a fascination for him that he could not explain nor reason away.

"To be clear, Miss Granger," Severus circled back to the topic of torture, "I will not be forcing myself on you. It will be your decision to elect whether we will continue these little lessons in the new year or not. I will be teaching you in physical pain for the remainder of this year. Should you wish to continue these lessons, the new year will see us progressing to how to integrate sexual relations into other aspects of torture. Those might include experiments with Occlumency under loss of control over your air supply, and teaching you how Unforgiveables will be influenced by simultaneous acts of sex. If you are uncomfortable with that –"

"Will you be sleeping with me?" the girl blurted out.

At long last, Severus raised his head from where it had before rested against his hands, elbows on his desk before him. Fixing the girl with his stare, for uncomfortable as he himself was with this topic, and certainly not because he owed her this, or because she deserved it, but merely because he felt that perhaps it was reasonable to look her in the eye as he told her, he said, "There is no way for us to integrate somebody else into these lessons without compromising the secrecy of these little tête-à-têtes, so yes, Miss Granger. If you wish to continue learning under me in the new year, you will be engaging in sexual intercourse with me."

If there was a way to faint while standing upright and staying in that position, and maintaining one's awareness to one's surroundings, Hermione was sure that at the professor's words, she had reached that state.

She felt strangely lightheaded at his announcement, and, surprisingly enough, not in a bad way. In fact, her most prominent emotion at that exact moment was fear – fear that the Potions Master might discover how much moisture was collecting between her thighs at the thought of being bedded by him.

"Yes, professor," she found herself saying. "Yes, I believe that would be agreeable."

If there was a way for him to lose his mind and hear things that were certainly not said instead of what had actually been said, Severus was sure that he had managed to do so.

"Hear me out first, Miss Granger," he found himself saying. "You offered me a price for these lessons, if I may remind you. If – and only if – you decide to carry on with this arrangement in the new year, I will be calling in your debt. If you elect to end our lessons by the end of this year, I will forego my price and never ask that favour of you."

"Anything you ask," the girl eagerly offered. After a thought, she added, "Within reason, of course, as agreed."

This was it, Severus thought. The great suspense that the previous weeks had led them to. The moment of truth. The tipping point, at which anything might happen. He might fail, and spectacularly at that, and when he met his end, his only wish would die with him. On the other hand, though, he might actually succeed, and the girl would be his ticket to a better world.

It was the girl's voice that drew him back to the situation at hand.

"Professor Snape?" she asked, almost hesitantly, considering her bravado in promising him a favour of his choice before. A carte grise, she had called it. He remembered. "Might I know what favour you would ask of me, sir?"

"From the first day of 1996 until the last day of this war, your only sexual relations will be with me. Any sexual relations outside of this will have to be approved by me, both pertaining as to the person you wish to engage, and as to the kind of sexual endeavours you wish to engage in with them.

"Anything you imbibe throughout that time will have to be approved by me, starting at the amounts of alcohol you consume, reaching from simple pain relief potions against headaches to the potion you take to control your cycle, and stopping at nothing. Any kind of medicine or anything influencing your medicine, will have to go by me. Either you will receive it directly from me, which will usually be the case, or, when that isn't possible, you will see to it that any Healers you deal with, including Madam Pomphrey, can't give you anything before you've asked my permission. None of this is negotiable.

"What do you say, Miss Granger?"

Coming up: Christmas and New Year's Eve, and suddenly - 2017! See you next year. ;)