A/N: Hello lovelies and welcome back to Chapter Twenty-two! Now, I've been getting some reviews, all this time, that ask me to update soon. In case I haven't been quite clear about that, and for that I would like to apologize, please know that 'Accommodations' will be updated weekly, on Mondays. If I have to deviate from that schedule, I'll let you know in the Author's Note of the previous chapter. So far, I am confident that I'll be able to provide you with weekly, mondaily updates until the beginning of March.

Also, I appreciate the notion that you like my story and are impatient to read more. However, asking for more/sooner updates when I've just updated is somewhat upsetting. This isn't addressing anyone personally, but I just had a guest reviewer demanding an update soon because they wanted to know what happens next. No "I love this story arch", just "tell me what happens next". So there's a world of difference to be found in phrasing. In case you're not sure about how to word your review, have a look at Shaya Lonnie's Review FAQ (can't post the link, not even in a sneaky way, because FFnet is cleverer than me, but any search engine of your choice will lead you to the correct website) - it gives plenty of advice and is a great read in general.

On a much brighter note, I wish to thank you for your continued support! Reading your thoughts on my work is a new highlight of my day every time I receive a review, and it means the world to me to know that people out there actually read and like what I'm writing. So thank you, so much, for your many reviews!

In case you haven't noticed, I've published a little one-shot about Severus, so maybe give it a try and check it out. It's called "The Irony in Coming Home" and can be found among the other stories in my profile.

I hope you'll enjoy this one. Year 1995 is nearing it's end in great steps, so soon we'll be getting where I know you're all waiting to get to. ;) Enjoy!

Friday, December 6th, 1995

Their gazes locked.

Too late, Hermione realized that her Occlumency shields had come crumbling down at the bottom of the pool, and she had failed to re-erect them in the time it had taken her to surface again.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" the Potions Master asked.

Too late, Hermione realized that she had been practically screaming her professor's name over and over in her mind.

"You have my full attention," the wizard in question practically purred. "What is it you wish to tell me?"

Too late, indeed.

A million thoughts shot through Hermione's head at once, and from the way Professor Snape's eyes narrowed just in the slightest, she knew that it was impossible to read anything clear from the jumbled mess that her mind had become in her panic. That reminded her to avert her gaze from her professor's face, and she pretended to study the foamy pool surface in her embarrassment.

The embarrassment in itself was no pretence, it was very real judging from the heat that had crept into her face. Studying the bubbles surrounding her own figure was a good pretext for both raising her Occlumency shields and for quickly making up a reason why she had been repeating his name in her mind.

When she felt she had reached a nice balance of a good enough excuse and a short enough reaction time between his question and her answer, she spoke.

"I apologize for letting my Occlumency shields slip, sir," Hermione began, "but it should be of no surprise to you that your name is constantly on my mind."

"Is that so, Miss Granger," Professor Snape replied, his voice dangerously low and his expression unreadable. "Explain."

"Well, sir," she continued, now looking up once more, "my life these past couple of days has evolved thoroughly around your person. Every step I took, every breath I inhaled, every laugh, every single movement, be it sudden or controlled, has made me think of you. My thoughts towards you grew especially intense while undressing in the evenings, sir, when taking off my blouse caused formerly unsurpassed amounts of pain, because ripping the blood-drenched fabric away from the only just closed wounds would rip them open again."

Severus tensed. He felt all his inner organs clench at the accusing words the girl had thrown at him with all the confidence that she felt. Her mind, now more effectively closed to him than before (when, admittedly, it had been wide open), showed him that this was not her real reason for why she had practically been chanting his name in her mind, but a quick reading told him the truth behind her words nonetheless.

'Reading', of course, was not the proper word for Legilimency. A mind was not a book, not even an open one like he had compared the girl's mind to earlier, to be opened and read at one's leisure. No, as a Legilimens, one would gain impressions of another's mind, images, scenes, sounds, and faint emotions, but there was no transcript of one's thought to be found in the mind, no written archives of every incident and every feeling a person had ever experienced.

A skilled Legilimens, such as Severus, would be able to 'leaf' through another's mind, if one wanted to maintain the more than lacking metaphor. With as much experience as he had in the Magic of the Mind, he had the ability to quickly grasp the concept of the underlying structure of his target's mental organisation, and as such, he was able to understand if a memory was to his benefit or not at the fracture of a second's glance, discarding thoughts or deepening his perusal accordingly as he went. Even more so, Severus could pick up a strand of a thought, figuratively speaking, and if he saw that it might be leading somewhere interesting to him, he would tug on said strand and see what might pop up. There was an art to Legilimency, and Severus was both a connoisseur and a luminary.

The skill could be a menace at times, as well. When others focused so much on a single thought that they were practically screaming it in their mind, Severus could hear it. Much as with the girl who had been entranced by his name for whatever reason, intense thinking was audible to the Mind Mage. Severus avoided Hogsmeade trips for that reason alone, just like he did Quidditch games and other occasions that led to loud thoughts. The weeks leading up to Valentine's Day were torture every year, and Severus already felt a migraine building when the Headmaster only announced that he would have him supervising exams. He had wanted very much to hex Dumbledore when he'd first brought up the topic of the Yule Ball the previous year.

And now he knew that the girl's excuse was not the real reason for why she'd been repeating his name over and over in her mind, but he also knew her pain had been very real and that she had likely been cursing his name every second of the past week, but her well-kept Occlumency shields had prevented him from hearing her.

Rationally, of course, Severus knew that keeping the girl in pain for several days in a row was necessary training, for none of the Dark Lord's followers would whip her for ninety minutes, heal her immediately afterwards, and allow her half a week's rest from the scare before hauling her out again. That was simply not how torture was done. The girl, he was well aware, knew that, too, but that had not lessened the pain for her. Sometimes Severus tended to forget – voluntarily and very much intently, if he had to admit it – that the girl had grown up in a sheltered, loving environment where money was not an issue and excessive drinking and violence towards weaker family members had not been part of her everyday life. As it was, the girl was not used to pain, and the thankless task to teach her had fallen to him. So teach her, he would.

The professor's eyes did not widen, nor did his breathing change, nor did he shift in his posture, but Hermione felt that her words had hit their mark nonetheless.

"I see," he eventually said, and the emotion in his voice was indiscernible.

"Do you, sir?" Hermione pressed, now crossing into dangerous territory.

Of all the things she might have expected the Potions Master to do, he chuckled. It was a deep, dark, rumbling chuckle that felt to Hermione as if it enveloped her in molten, bittersweet chocolate. She kept her gaze fixed on his, and when his eyes widened just the fraction of an inch, she knew that he had seen the pleasure that had poured through her body at the sound of his voice.

"Yes, Miss Granger," he replied, "I believe I do. I also believe that this will be enough for tonight. Do practice keeping your shields in check even in surprise situation. Others might not allow you a moment to collect your thoughts when your Occlumency slips."

Hermione barely managed to accept the task with a polite 'yes, sir' before her professor was out the door.

"Well," she said loudly to herself, "that went surprisingly well."

The mermaid in the stained glass window giggled.

When Hermione made it to her bed that night, once more undetected thanks to the Disillusioning Charm, she knew that she would not be getting any sleep. Too distressing were the implications of what might happen – or what had to happen, rather – before the year was out.

Adding Professor Snape to the list of men who might be the best choice in her first sexual partner, and to the top of the list at that, had thrown all her meticulous planning out the window. Since the top three on her list – her professor was followed by Sirius, because he was important to Harry and probably easy to seduce, with Kingsley Shacklebolt bringing up the rear, if only for his mere, pure sex appeal – would all be most likely found at Number Twelve, Hermione had one major issue: convincing her parents to allow her to skip out on their skiing vacation in Switzerland and have her stay at Headquarters instead.

Of course, the chances of finding Professor Snape at Grimmauld Place were rather low, considering he hated Sirius more than anything and was a little-liked character himself, even though the Weasley parents tried to welcome him with open arms. Mutual disdain was no good basis for a visit at Headquarters during the holidays. After all, he had said himself that he had no plans pertaining to a stop in London during Christmas break.

There was no way, however, that Hermione might be able to stay at Hogwarts. Much as her parents knew that she would be sitting her most important exams up to date the following summer, they would never allow her to spend the holidays locked into the school library, as they knew she would. Mind you, getting them to let her stay in London would not be much easier, but easier nonetheless. Also, if anything (and everything) went wrong with Professor Snape and he did not agree to participate in the necessary act for the ritual, the only other male Order members at Hogwarts would be Professor Dumbledore and Hagrid, neither of whom were an agreeable, much less a desirable, option.

No, Hermione would need to be at Grimmauld Place. With the best of luck, she might be able to chance upon the professor there, and if Eros or whatever deity smiled upon them, she might even manage to convince him to join her in bed. In case those two very big Ifs failed, there would still be Sirius, and alcohol and the general Christmas joy should put him well into the mood to bed her. And in the relatively low possibility that Plan B should fail as well, there was always Kingsley, who would probably help her if she reasonably explained to him why she needed his participation.

Now, the question was of how to approach her parents about this. Confident that this last remaining problem would pose no problem any longer in no time at all, once Hermione set her mind to it, she finally gave in to her body's exhaustion and fell promptly asleep.

Thursday, December 19th, 1995

When Hermione awoke that morning, it was to the insistent tapping at her elbow by a house elf.

"Oh, hello," Hermione greeted the small creature with a smile, once her brain had shaken off its sleepiness and she was better able to focus, "and who might you be?"

"I is called Tinky, miss," the elf whispered, and even in the hushed tone, Hermione almost flinched at how high the elf girl's voice was, "I has a message for you."

And suddenly, there was a note in her hand and the elf in her room was gone.

Looking around to the others beds confirmed Hermione's suspicion; the two other girls were still fast asleep.

Unfolding the little note, Hermione deciphered her Head of House's unmistakeable handwriting, asking her to come to her office at once. A quick Tempus showed the time to be just before six. Just enough time to splash some water in her face, throw on the first clothes she could find, and head out through the portrait hole at the full hour, when curfew was past.

A few minutes later, her knock at Professor McGonagall's office door was met with the invitation to come in. Ushering her to a seat, the professor threw up a whole number of charms and wards at the door Hermione had just closed behind herself, and to her surprise, at the fireplace as well.

"Arthur Weasley was attacked last night," Professor McGonagall said without preamble once they could be sure nobody would be listening.

"What?" Hermione almost shrieked in her shock, making the elder woman flinch at the high note. "What happened? Is he alright? Do his children know? Is there anything I can do?"

"Miss Granger," her outburst of questions was firmly stopped in its tracks, "kindly allow me to finish, please. Mr Weasley has been brought into St Mungo's and will be staying there for a few days. His condition was highly critical a few hours back, but by now he has recovered to a degree at which there is no doubt as to whether he will live."

Hermione drew in a deep, ragged breath. The way her Head of House phrased it, it seemed that the Weasley patriarch's injuries had been much more severe than she would have imagined.

"The Weasley children and Mr Potter have left Hogwarts immediately following the attack, so as to avoid unnecessary attention and discussion," Professor McGonagall continued. "They have been excused from their lessons for the last two days of term and will be residing in London. With tensions running high, might I suggest you join them for the holidays?"

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. She had yet to bring up the topic with her parents, much to her embarrassment, as she had found neither the right words nor the right time to approach them about Christmas break.

"I will, professor, thank you," Hermione answered. "If I might ask, would it be possible that you write a short missive that it would be best if I stayed at Hogwarts? We had a vacation planned, and to cancel now, at the last minute, might be easier to achieve if I had something to back me up."

"Hogwarts?" Professor McGonagall asked, astonished. "Miss Granger, surely you would not ask me to lie to your parents?"

"I wouldn't, professor," Hermione replied. "I merely ask that you state how helpful it would be to stay at the castle over the holidays, considering that OWLs will be soon. Make it sound like every student's parents received the info. I will do the lying myself."

Professor McGonagall's lips disappeared into a very fine line, and the tightness in her eyes showed a remarkable likeness to the tabby she could change into. Without a word in agreement, obviously still torn about helping a student lie, even if it was for that student's own security, the elder woman sat down at her desk. Her quill flitted over a piece of paper once, twice, three times, before the short note was signed with a flourish and thrust out towards Hermione's patiently waiting person.

"Thank you, professor," Hermione said. The witch in question merely nodded.

"Miss Granger," the professor called her back when Hermione was almost out the door, "have you been studying the extracurricular reading I recommended?"

"I have, professor," Hermione said, blushing profusely.

"Do remember, Miss Granger," her Head of House continued, "that you are still under the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery."

Hermione nodded, not quite certain where her professor was going with this.

"I will love welcoming your children to Hogwarts, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall impressed, "though I will be well able to be patient and wait for longer than only twelve years. I will not presume to know your plans for the holidays, but if I might recommend a visit with Madam Pomfrey?"

Hermione's eyes widened, and she was certain her expression might look quite comical.

"Of course, professor," she answered. "Thank you."

And with that, she exited the office and was on her way.

Penning a letter to her parents took far less time than Hermione had feared, with Professor McGonagall's note increasing her confidence and strengthening her plight with her parents. Why, after two weeks of decisiveness in telling them that she wanted to stay in London, she wished to ask them to allow her to stay at Hogwarts now, had several reasons. One, convincing them to let her off their skiing vacation would be complicated enough, whether she asked for Hogwarts or London. The note her Head of House had penned for her would encourage them to give in to Hermione's plea.

Why she had not simply asked Professor McGonagall to write her a different message, brought her to reason number two: neither Hermione nor her professor could hardly reason with them that London was a safe place for her, as letters were heavily monitored and such information could not be trusted to be delivered via owl.

Hoping for a positive reply, Hermione went about her school day as she normally would.

Breakfast had been strange, sitting with Neville and Dean, none of whom knew why Harry and Ron had vanished over night and who were asking Hermione all kinds of questions, none of which she could answer – either for lack of information or because she wasn't allowed to give anything away.

The same might have happened during lunch break, if Hermione hadn't skipped off that. Instead of joining her remaining Gryffindor yearmates in the Great Hall, she made her way to the Infirmary instead. Her hopes for a quiet hospital wing were answered when the only person there was the one she wanted to talk to.

"Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey greeted her briskly, in her usual manner, "what can I do for you today?"

Suddenly, her reason for being here made Hermione inexplicably nervous. Or maybe the reason for her nervousness was not too difficult to explain, considering that she was a sexually shy teenage girl asking for contraceptives.

"I –" Hermione stuttered, but told herself to just get through with it. She was almost an adult, after all, and should be able to be mature about this. "I was wondering if you had any advice for me in the way of contraceptives."

"Perhaps we should have this talk in my office, Miss Granger," came the short reply, and without waiting for an answer, the school nurse led the way.

Hermione gratefully fell into the offered seat, not sure this was a topic she could manage to discuss standing up, while Madam Pomfrey took her usual measures to ensure healer-patient-confidentiality.

"Now, Miss Granger," the nurse began, "I assume your choice of time in asking this question means that you know the Contraceptive Charm but would like to take additional measures over the school break?" At Hermione's nod, she demanded, "Demonstrate."

An intricate little wave of Hermione's wand over her abdomen produced a pleasant sunshine yellow glow, and the elder witch nodded once in approval.

"There are three standard Contraceptive Potions," Madam Pomfrey explained without further preamble, "with differing lengths of effect. For students who have never taken the Potion before, I recommend the Three Month Potion."

"That is the shortest time span?" Hermione asked, and received a short nod in reply. "May I ask what the longest possible time span is?"

A frown edging creases into her stern forehead, Madam Pomfrey answered, "There is the Twelve Month Potion, but that I would only prescribe against my recommendation."

"But you would prescribe it nonetheless?" Hermione urged.

The frown on the nurse's face deepened.

"Miss Granger," she said, "I understand the wish to ensure a childless continuation of your education, but really, there is no reason to jump to the strongest Potion right away. Try the Three Month Potion first, and if there are no side effects during that period, we can see if your body is up to the more potent solution."

Hermione chewed on her lower lip. The school nurse's words sounded very reasonable, but there was the slight issue with her private lessons. If she wished to continue being taught by Professor Snape in how to withstand torture – which she definitely did – there was that little demand that she not take any medicine that has not been approved of by the man. And Hermione had little wish to discuss her contraceptive measures with the Potions Master. So the only solution she now saw was postponing such an embarrassing topic for as long as possible, and that meant getting the longest possible Potion from Madam Pomfrey right now.

"Of all the known side effects," Hermione asked, "are there any you can't cure?" The school nurse shook her head no. "And in case my body shows formerly unknown side effects, is there a way to instantly cancel the Potion's effect?" This time, the reply was in the positive. "Then please, Ma'am," Hermione pressed on, "I should very much like to take the One Year Potion."

Madam Pomfrey emitted a deep sigh in resignation and asked, "Are there any more questions, Miss Granger?"

Hermione thought for a moment.

"Are there any substances I should avoid that might render the Potion ineffective?"

The school nurse nodded in approval at the smart question.

"I would advise not to overindulge in pain relief potions," she recommended. "They may not counteract the Potion, but they will cause unpleasant side effects, such as cramps and irregular bleeding if taken in abundance. That aside, there should be no issues with most usual home remedies and common healing draughts.

"Now, Miss Granger, if there aren't any more questions, I would ask you to undress so that I might examine you, and if everything is fine, I will send you off with your One Year Potion."

Hermione almost didn't make it to Potions on time, as she had not calculated time for a medical examination. The school nurse had offered to have her come back later, but as Hermione would be sitting in Professor Snape's class next, she had elected to rather take the risk of running late than having to answer unwanted questions later, if she came back to the Infirmary with Morgana knows what kinds of injuries.

It turned out that her decision had been the right choice.

"Today, Miss Granger," the professor began when he strode to her work station at the back of the room, after her classmates had already started on their assignments for the day, "you will be defending your information under the threat of exsanguination."

A flick of his wand had her robe off and the right sleeve of her fitted white blouse rolled up to her upper arm. With the speed of a viper preying on a mouse, he had her hand gripped in his, straightening her right arm by pulling at her wrist, and a silver knife saw her bleeding from the inside of her elbow. Profusely.

"Occlude, Miss Granger," Professor Snape demanded, "lie, misconstrue the facts to lead me to a conclusion other than the truth, but don't let me know the correct answer."

Hermione swallowed thickly and tore her eyes away from the gushes of blood running from her arm.

"And if I may ask, sir," she managed with all the politeness she could offer, "what is the question?"

"Who will you be sleeping with over Christmas break?"

His black eyes bore into hers. In her shock, which the Potions Master had probably counted on, an image of the man himself came up in her mind, but Hermione managed to twist it into the memory of him cutting her arm open just a minute ago.

A smirk graced Professor Snape's face, if that smirk could even be considered to be named in any context with grace. Hermione spared it no glance. She knew that her only hope now was to drown in the blackness of his eyes, and pray for Purity.

Coming up: Chapter twenty-three, wherein the appeal of impeccable grammar is discussed.