A/N: From time to time, there are a few reviews asking for certain things to happen, or wondering about certain aspects of the plot that I haven't been putting into the spotlight so far. I appreciate the sentiment behind that as it shows that you are actually spending time to think on my work, and I take that as a huge compliment, so thank you. Often your ideas go pretty much exactly against what I've planned for 'Accommodations', but sometimes there's a suggestion that I take time to think on.

Today, I present to you a chapter where a reader or two might have gotten what they wanted - or have they?

First comes what tinkdst2 has been waiting for. It's probably not what you wanted, but I hope it answers a few questions (and creates some new questions that I will love to hear!).

And afterwards, I processed avidprof's plea for Hermione and Severus to have a fun discussion, possibly about Umbridge or Moody. Well, this is what I made of that idea - sorry, not sorry. :)

Have fun reading and, as always, I greatly appreciate you taking the time to let me know your thoughts. Thank you!

Marcella xxx

Saturday, February 14th, 1996

The girl had seemed happy at breakfast.

Happy.

Well, no, that was not quite right. The girl had seemed exhausted in a rather relaxed way, if such a thing was possible, but had also appeared to be on edge. Until an owl had arrived, that is. At receiving that message, she had become excited, talked onto the Potter boy in such urgent a manner that he had looked ready to promise her anything as long as she stopped pressuring him, and then she had hurried off, the letter still clutched in her hand.

Yes, in a manner she had seemed happy. Now, what was he supposed to make of it?

There was nothing wrong per se with the girl being happy at times, of course. It was the timing itself that made Severus suspicious. What was the girl doing, being happy on this cursed Valentine's Day, of all days? Was there a paramour she was hiding? Had that owl had she had received come from a secret lover?

Naturally, the girl was free to heap her emotions onto whomever she liked, as long as it wasn't the Potions Master. There was just that simple manner of teenage girls forcing their emotions on some poor wizard who would then presume that the witch's feelings meant he would get some, and teenage hormones would usually dictate that said wizard was perfectly correct to think so.

There was no reason for the girl to be unsatisfied with what Severus had to offer her, of course. He had certainly been seeing to her sexual needs over the past few weeks, and satisfactorily so, too, if the deep moans escaping her throat and the ecstatic twitches of her body and the words 'oh yes, sir, yes' repeatedly tumbling from her lips were any indication, which they most clearly were.

No, Severus was not the girl's lover, nor would he ever be. He had no tender emotions to offer her. Tending to her as he had done the weekend prior was the maximum of comfort he was able to afford giving her, and there was nothing more to be had. The girl was well aware of that fact, he knew. She would be receiving no heartfelt declarations from the Potions Master, but he had so much more to give her than other wizards did: he could stimulate both her mind and her body, and he did so with both passion (though he hid that rather well most of the time) and with an expertise that she would be hard-pressed to find in any other.

So how dare the girl seek out another man? How dare she smile and get excited about a fucking note on fucking Valentine's Day of all days? Could she not appreciate what she had? Had she no taste? Had she no manners? Did she not know that it was bad form to entertain one wizard while stringing along another?

The girl was his, and he would make certain that she knew it.

Looking up from where his eyes had been directed at his feet, staring but unseeing where he was going, Severus found that he had climbed to the top of the Astronomy tower. That was just as well. Perhaps he might find some peace in the quietude and the wide view. Perhaps he might have a few undisturbed thoughts while he was here.

Perhaps he might throw himself off of the tower. At least that would free the girl, and the poor sod she was stringing along might have an actual chance. Not that he cared. The girl was his, Severus's, and death was too easy a way out of her commitment to him now.

"What a rarely peaceful Saturday, would you not say, Severus?"

Severus cursed inwardly. Of course his luck, dubitable as it already was, would have to come to an end at some point. The old man would always, always see to that.

"As rare as seventy percent of the school body leaving Hogwarts grounds, Headmaster," he replied to the wizard stepping out of the shadows. "The village of Hogsmeade might disagree with you on the issue of the peacefulness of this particular Saturday, however."

Dumbledore had the audacity to chuckle.

"Miss Granger appeared to find it peaceful," he continued as if Severus had not spoken. "She did certainly seem happy at breakfast."

So he was not the only one to have noticed, Severus mused.

All the while, the headmaster's eyes twinkled with a furore that Severus felt the sudden, desperate need to Occlude his mind so intensely, to enforce his mental walls to such a thickness that he himself would have trouble reading his own thoughts. He suppressed that need but remained on his guard. One always had to be on their guard when in the presence of Albus Dumbledore.

"I have noticed nothing of the sort," he stated instead.

"How curious," the headmaster noted, "for someone as perceptive as you, Severus, not to have noticed something like this."

"Perhaps," Severus countered, "the emotional rollercoaster rides of pubescent Gryffindor witches hold so little interest for me that they manage to escape my mind."

Dumbledore remained silent, as if waiting for more to come. More did come, indeed.

"Or perhaps," the Potions Master continued vehemently, "the mere notion of cluttering my mind with such mindless observations as the sensitivities of a teenage student is so abhorrent to me that my eyes know to filter the sight and ensuing recognition of such sensibilities out of my perception before they can reach my memory. In fact, I find this possibility the more plausible of the two."

"I will freely admit that I find that remarkable," the headmaster said. "Your ability to form such a strong opinion on a matter of such professedly little importance to you, that is."

He let that sink in for a heartbeat or two before continuing.

"Nevertheless, I am glad for Miss Granger to have found some happiness in her life," Dumbledore insisted. "There is so precious little of it to be found these days, and Miss Granger did appear stretched rather thin these past few months. Between the everyday struggles, the lingering stress, and the constant mental pressure," there was a strange emphasis on that last part, "she often looked as if in physical pain."

A battle of wills ensued. Fixed under Dumbledore's heavy gaze, Severus found himself staring into the headmaster's all-seeing eyes, both serious with the gravity of what they were discussing, and twinkling with all the benevolence the elder wizard had to portray if he wanted to continue the charade of kindly old man.

Severus felt conflicted. On the one hand, he wanted nothing more than to prove his strength by holding the headmaster's gaze, proudly maintaining his shields, unwilling to back down and break the connection. On the other hand, it might be wiser to follow his role of faithful servant and bow to the headmaster, thus withdrawing the challenge to break into Severus's mind.

Fortunately for the Potions Master, that decision was taken from him when the headmaster faced the banister, gazing out onto the greenery surrounding the castle.

"This schoolyear has proven rather stressful for everyone so far," Dumbledore admitted. "Threats are sprouting of the ground from all sides. Tom's return, the Ministry's stubbornness, and now Madam Umbridge's teachings - Miss Granger is not the only one stretched rather thin, I'm afraid. And thus, the individual's needs must often take a step back and allow the needs of the Greater Good to come first."

Severus was beyond astounded. Another inch and his chin would audibly be hitting the floor. Albus Dumbledore did not falter. Albus Dumbledore did not doubt himself, nor did he admit to any levels of stress, neither high nor otherwise. And above all, Albus Dumbledore did not confide in the likes of Severus Snape.

"Shouldn't those two be the same?" Severus asked, uncertain of what to say in response to the old man's confessions. It was often better to pose a question, anyway.

"In general they should, yes, my boy," the headmaster agreed. "It is the peculiarities in which they often differ. I cannot always care for everyone's individual needs, much as I would like to see to them. That is why it makes me all the more happy to see a talented, capable, bright, determined student such as Miss Granger attend to their own needs, or to see them find a person who will take care of those needs."

He turned his back to the scenery in order to face Severus once more.

"Do you think me wise to put my trust in Miss Granger's ability to make the right decision in finding a suitable caretaker?" he asked.

For once, that question appeared to be a genuine one, and the headmaster's longing to hear an honest answer seemed real.

"People often call you wise, Headmaster," Severus sidestepped before plunging right in. "But I have frequently found that you are too trusting. And if you believe Miss Granger to be in need of a 'caretaker', as you say," he spat, "then perhaps you need to rethink the wisdom in placing your trust in Miss Granger's decision-making abilities."

Dumbledore smiled, although the expression was tainted by a small tinge of sadness.

"I have yet to misplace my trust, Severus," he proclaimed.

Where he had earlier contemplated throwing himself off of the Astronomy tower, Severus was now weighing the pros and cons of doing that same thing to the headmaster. Either the old man was purposely forgetting Peter Pettigrew, or the whole swapped Secret Keeper business had been an elaborate plot to - what? Get Severus's childhood love killed? To entrap him into eternal service to the white-bearded megalomaniac who called himself the Leader of the Light? To groom the Potter boy into the perfect little child soldier by robbing him of both his parents?

History might disagree with Albus Dumbledore on whether his trust had ever been misplaced or not, but Severus chose to keep that observation to himself.

"Seeing as Miss Granger has neither approached Minerva nor has she made any attempt to approach me, nor do Harry or the youngest Mister Weasley appear unusually worried about her, I will assume that she is handling her life quite well. As such, I will continue to place my trust in Miss Granger's decision, whichever that may be. After all, she has often proven to know exactly where and when to seek outside help."

"I wonder," Severus mused aloud, "why you would seek my opinion in the correct or misplacement of your trust, Headmaster, when you have no intention of heeding said opinion anyway."

"Because, Severus," Dumbledore insisted, "you have always thought too lowly of yourself."

"Most people will disagree with you there, Headmaster," the Potions Master countered. "Tales of my arrogance seem to precede me wherever I go."

"Lesser minds will find arrogance in anyone cleverer than them," the headmaster stated boldly. "Most will not recognize brilliance, neither when it sticks their nose in their faces nor when it penetrates their very minds."

A pause ensued in which Severus decided not to comment on the headmaster's assessment of his nose. After all, it went with a rare compliment to his intelligence, and little as though he might like the older wizard, his brilliance was not to be denied, and it made the compliment all the sweeter.

Still, a few kind words every few years would not sway the Potions Master's opinion of Albus Dumbledore.

"So," the old man opened in what he probably thought to be a casual manner - as if there was any such thing as innocent small talk with the headmaster -, "your quarters have been seeing their fair share of activity lately."

If Severus had been drinking red wine, the headmaster's long white beard would now be sprinkled in pink. As it was, there was no wine to be had atop the Astronomy tower, and it was better this way. It would not do to become intoxicated in the formidable elder wizard's presence, nor would it be wise to tip one's hand by spraying fermented grape juice all over the man. Instead, the only outward sign that Severus had heard the headmaster's observation showed in his eyes that jumped to meet Dumbledore's piercing gaze. Other than that, not a single muscle in Severus's body dared to move.

"Those visits from Wiltshire have been surprisingly frequent recently," the headmaster continued.

"It does appear that even the company of a dour Potions Master is preferable to the alternative of remaining in one's own home in certain circumstances," Severus replied.

Of course it was more pleasant to sit drinking in sophisticated silence, rather than to subject oneself to the incessant chatter of a certain mad witch, the insanity of her mind only increased when adding alcohol to the equation. He elected not to mention that two visits could hardly be called frequent, nor was it possible to derive a pattern from them. Unless, of course, Dumbledore suspected that Lucius might come calling that night, and was talking to him because of that assumption.

"I will not presume to know what pleasures an accomplished wizard from Wiltshire might find in an old, draughty Scottish castle," the headmaster commented, "neither in matters of company nor otherwise. I will simply trust you, Severus, to take care that said wizard does not overindulge in those pleasures."

If Severus had entertained any doubts before that the headmaster knew nothing more than he let on, those doubts would now have been eviscerated. It did not matter how much exactly Dumbledore knew of was going on between Lucius and the girl, or between Severus and the girl for that matter. It was enough that he did know that something was, in fact, going on.

Apparently, though, it was not enough to set the older wizard into action. Severus felt bile rise in his throat, thoroughly disgusted that the benevolent, kind, light Albus Dumbledore would allow a known Death Eater to abuse and violate a teenage student under his care. Then again, what was Lucius doing that differed so greatly from Severus's own dealings with the girl? Shouldn't Severus be glad that he himself had not be called out on the arrangement he had trapped her into?

No, he thought, determined to persist in his anger. To think that the headmaster knew what was going on and was doing nothing to intervene -

But looking at the greater picture, when had Albus Dumbledore ever supported Severus in his pursuits of the one witch he wanted for himself? When had he ever saved the object of Severus's desire from their darker fate?

Images of Lily danced through Severus's mind. Lily - her green eyes wide as she stared into his face when they'd first met. Lily - her green eyes sparkling with laughter as they gossiped about their fellow students in those first years at Hogwarts. Lily - her green eyes narrowed in fury as she warned him to stay away from her. Lily - her green eyes unseeing as she lay limply in his arms, tears rolling over her rapidly cooling face that were not her own.

No, Severus knew, there would be no help to be had from the headmaster.

"Does he trust you?" the man in question cut through Severus's internal musings.

"He trusts me enough to let me know the depth of his hatred for his sister-in-law's company," he replied.

"Nothing else?" the old man queried.

"Barely."

"Are there any doubts in his mind?"

"Certainly," Severus confirmed, only to tone the statement back down. "Any wizard as entitled as Lucius Malfoy will be prone to doubting everything and anything that so much as hints at posing even a minimal threat to their luxury and privilege."

"But is there any substance in his doubts?" Dumbledore pressed. "Anything solid?"

"Solid as a wisp of smoke in the autumn mist," Severus stated.

Let the old man have the drama he loved so much. A little poetic waxing wouldn't hurt him.

"No, less than that even," he reassessed. "A whisper of the wisps of smoke. The Dark Lord is travelling much of the time, seeking out places Morgana knows where. The amount of immediate involvement that Lucius shares with the Dark Lord has been minimal up until now. He is yet to be engaged in the Dark Lord's current agenda, and with the minimal exposure comes minimal doubt. Lucius is merely annoyed at the unwelcome house guests he has been forced to entertain; nothing more so far."

"Smoke," the headmaster mused. "Smoke, one can work with. What one lacks in smoke, one might make up by strengthening the fire."

"Even the strongest fire, if burning correctly, will not emit much smoke, Headmaster," Severus countered.

"Ah, yes, I'm afraid you are too right there, Severus," Dumbledore amended. "But the crux of the issue is how to define 'correctly'. In this context, for example, it would be 'correct' to burn some greens."

Greens, Severus thought to himself, almost choking on the strong inhale that he did not allow himself. Surely the tottering old fool didn't mean to -?

"I should not think that Lucius will care much about what happens to Potter," Severus drawled, hiding his rising bile at the mere notion of using children to lure out one of the Dark Lord's henchmen.

"Not Harry, no, I don't believe he would care much about him," the headmaster agreed. "But I am thinking of another boy – close in age; peers, in fact –"

The knut dropped, and it created a tsunami in Severus's mind.

"I will not allow my godson to come to any harm, Albus," the Potions Master stated, his rage glacial and barely contained, threatening to freeze the older wizard into a statue made of the same material as his oh-so-benevolent heart. He hoped beyond hope that using the headmaster's first name might cut through to him.

It did not.

"Then save him, if you must, Severus," Dumbledore said, and a dismissive wave of his hand accompanied that idea, "save the young Mister Malfoy from the fire. But rest assured: the boy will be licked at by the flames first."

And with a swish of his disturbingly brightly coloured robes, the aged wizard was gone from the tower, and Severus was once more left alone in the furious flurry that were his thoughts.

Did something happen today, Miss Granger? Severus found himself asking later that day.

The watch in hand that the girl had gifted him for his birthday, he ignored the fact that the article held a diamond of immeasurable worth, at least in sentimental value, although many a wizard might pay good galleons to own what the girl had given Severus so willingly.

He had fought with himself whether to contact the girl via watch. It had a struggle that he had ultimately lost (or won, depending on how one looked at it - a constant dilemma with inner arguments), as evidenced by the fact that he was now sending a message through the encrypted Protean charm.

You seemed more smug at dinner than usual, he added when a few seconds had passed without answer.

He chose not to dwell on the fact that he had just implied that he was making a habit of watching the girl at dinner, which he decidedly did not. It was simply a matter of being a staff member at this illustrious institution, because as a member of the Hogwarts staff one should always be prepared for anything to happen during meal times in the Great Hall, and as such it was wise to constantly be keeping one eye (or better yet, both eyes) on the student body. That the girl happened to be one such student and he had no choice but to keep said eyes on her, as well, as part of the collective whole, was inevitable.

And indeed, the girl had seemed happy, even more so than she had at breakfast. The headmaster might not care that the girl had been forced to give herself to a Death Eater that was not incidentally a double agent of the Light, but Severus had very much a vested interest in the girl's sexual life where it did not include him. They had an arrangement, after all, and as such it was his right, his duty, even, to know of every man in her life.

Finally, after more than ninety seconds had passed - what had the girl been doing that it took her so long to reply? -, the watch gave a flare of heat.

I had a very productive day in Hogsmeade, the runes spelled. That is all, professor.

So you are not simply overjoyed, Severus asked, waited a few seconds for the message to go through, and then continued his thought, at the obnoxious amounts of pink today?

Again, more than a minute passed before a reply was forthcoming from the girl. Perhaps she had been having trouble to close her mouth after it had fallen open from the shock of the dour Potions Master's attempt at dry humour.

I'm afraid there's only so much pink, the ciphers read, that I can take in at any given time.

The High Inquisitor will be sad to hear that, Severus replied. Or overjoyed to be the only pink in your life, he added.

At the other end of the castle, Hermione was lying in her bed, the curtains warded firmly shut. Harry had still been pouting about his horrible date with Cho when she had left him and Ron alone in order to answer the burning locket hidden underneath the high neckline of her sweater. It had been difficult to disentangle herself from the boys, and she had had to hurry in order not to let the professor wait any longer than usual.

She had been stunned when he had inquired about her acceptance of the abhorrent amounts of pink that seemed to permeate the very air on Valentine's Day, too shocked to think that perhaps the remark had been intended in the professor's own brand of humour. His following comments as to Umbridge's assumed reaction to Hermione's distaste of the colour left little doubt as to his mood, however. It seemed that the Potions Master wanted to play.

If there was one source of pink, Hermione replied, that I had to content myself with for the rest of my life, - the limited space of the messages might be an issue that would need to be addressed at some point, she mused - it would not be the Madam Undersecretary's.

A pause followed.

Carry on, Miss Granger, the professor prompted.

If the professor wanted to play, then play they would.

It would be yours.

Now it was Severus's turn to be stunned.

Mine? he asked, then cursed himself that the question had slipped from his mind and into the charm that connected the watch in his hands to the locket around the girl's neck. He had not meant for her to know that question. He caught himself before his next question, 'how so?', followed.

Elaborate, he demanded instead.

I appreciate the pink you bring out in me, sir, came the reply, almost immediately this time.

It did not slip Severus's notice that the girl had reverted to the title she was to address him with when they were… extra-curricularly engaged.

When I make you blush? Severus queried, knowing full well that this was not what the girl had meant, but wanting to make her spell it out, most literally.

That too, she evaded his implied question.

When I make you bleed? he provoked further.

Say it, girl, he chanted internally. Go ahead and say it.

Not so much, but that too, came the surprising reply. Or rather, I appreciate the noble cause behind it, the girl amended soon afterwards.

Noble cause, Severus scoffed to himself. Yes, the girl was still training for withstanding torture, but that did not mean that his intentions were always equally true, even when they coincidentally worked towards the girl's goal. He could not place a name to the emotion he felt when painting the girl, and even if he had been able to do so, he might have hesitated. All he knew was that his chest swelled with unwanted pride when the girl took everything he had to give her without complaint, with ever-increasingly stable Occlumency shields, and with minimal tells of her pain.

Which pink then, Miss Granger? Severus spelled.

Another pause followed. The girl knew the answer to his question, Severus was well aware of that, but it appeared that she was hesitant in her choice of how to spell it out.

The one I was allowed, the ciphers around the watch's face spelled, to take back to my dorm last weekend.

There it was, finally, all out in the open. Severus felt strangely elated by the knowledge that the girl must have enjoyed her spanking almost as much as he had. Of course, he had noticed that she had seemed hesitant when she'd thought that he had healed her skin of all trace of his hand's imprints, but to have her go ahead and actually admit to the fact -

Would you like me to replicate that pink? Severus asked before he could stop to wonder how it was that the girl made him forget himself this way.

Something did happen today, though.

Hermione had just been sending off the message when the locket heated, displaying the professor's latest text. She wondered how the Protean charm would react when two messages were being sent at the same moment, and from opposite ends.

A silence followed that could either mean that the professor was waiting for her reply to his question, not having received her statement of something happening, or that he was waiting for her to elaborate. Usually he would not hesitate to demand she elaborate, of course, but considering even the possibility that he might be upset enough to simply wait for Hermione to elaborate rather than outright demand it, was frightening enough that she decided to be proactive and tell him everything, whether he had received her message or not.

I happened upon Angelina this morning, Hermione confessed. Or rather, she happened upon me, in the prefects' bathroom. I left as soon as was polite.

Once her last message was through, the reply was almost instantaneous.

Need I remind you of our agreement, Miss Granger? the locket read.

Hermione's hands were very almost shaking when she made to reply, afraid that the professor might break off her lessons simply because he assumed she had been unfaithful to their deal.

You need not, sir, hastened to reply. I have been and will be sticking to it.

Another pause followed in which Hermione hardly dared to breathe. So much hinged on the professor's acceptence of her answer, or on his lack thereof. When her locket finally burned, she almost ripped it from her neck in her haste to see his response. What she read had her want to jump in joy until her bed broke.

Are you attempting to distract me from my question, the runes spelled, by mentioning Miss Johnson?

Hermione managed to reign in her urge to physically celebrate the professor's reply. Only her face split into a huge grin in her relief. If the Potions Master could still tease her, then he would continue to teach her, as well.

It has worked once before, after all, she wrote back.

If he could tease, then so could she. After all, it was him who had brought up distraction by mentioning Angelina, even if nothing of the sort had been Hermione's intention. But she remembered all too well that images of her interactions with the dark skinned, beautiful Quidditch captain could capture the professor's attention on occasion, to such an extent that he forgot to secure his Legilimentic hold on her mind. It had been what had enabled her to cast him out of her head in December, after all.

I have since learned to maintain constant vigilance around you, the heated locket read.

Constant vigilance, you say, sir? Hermione countered with a smile playing about her lips. I would be most sad to see you lose a leg and an eye.

Somehow, Hermione failed to imagine the professor with physical disabilities such as the retired Auror was burdened with. Then again, acquiring a magical eye such as Alastor Moody used might be the only way for the Potions Master's gaze to become any more piercing than it already was.

You are free to check if all legs are still in place, the locket challenged.

Hermione hesitated. Pleasant as sexual intercourse with the professor was, she had no appetite for engaging him tonight. Her heart was still rattled in the most beautiful way by the moving letter Kingsley had sent her, and she wished to preserve that feeling for at least the duration of the weekend. As such, she would have to decline the professor's challenge.

I would beg off for tonight, sir, she wrote back.

The ensuing pause lasted for only a few seconds before the accusations began.

So something did happen to make you forget our agreement.

The message stung.

I have not forgotten, Hermione argued. Besides, the agreement requires both parties to be in the mood.

So it is simply a matter of mood, the Potions Master's response deduced. I could help you with that, Miss Granger. You need not even ask.

Of all the moments for the professor to show generosity –

There is no sense for me, she said, in getting used to spending Valentine's Day in company.

You might come after midnight, he suggested.

It appeared that Professor Snape had an answer for everything. Hermione knew she should not have been surprised.

I would not want to dishonour our agreement, she now tried a different tactic. I've been amiss in getting a full eight hours of sleep on the past two weekends already. It would not do to knowingly do so again.

Hermione was on the brink of breathing a sigh of relief after the locket had remained cool for several seconds. The professor had been countering her arguments as he would do curses: rapid-fire and without hesitation. She was already preparing herself to draw a deep breath that would beg to be let out in a whoosh of relaxation. Then –

It had taken Severus several seconds to calm down. He had almost laughed at the girl's attempt to counter his pressure by turning his own arguments around on him. Almost. But he would not be denied tonight. Not by this mere slip of a girl who had in the past been so eager to find herself underneath him, open and accommodating.

And if your mentor – he did not dare call himself her professor or her teacher, lest he spoil his own mood – could be convinced to give you leave from that particular part of the agreement for just one weekend?

He would need to research how to lengthen the maximum number of letters that could fit in one message for this watch, he mused. Or better yet: he would have the girl do it.

I would still beg off, the girl violently ripped him from his musings. I would be too sleep-deprived to be good company.

Severus scoffed. It was not her company he wanted, although it was not as unpleasant as it had once been. Still, what was she thinking? That he wanted to engage her in conversation, of all things? No, there were much more pleasant engagements to be had.

But there had to be a reason why she was evading him. The letter from breakfast popped into his mind, as did the ensuing expression of satisfaction that had spread all over the girl's face and posture at reading the slip of parchment. What had happened?

What happened today? Severus demanded to know.

No more playing games. It was time for answers.

I received a letter, came the girl's reply after a moment's hesitation.

As if he didn't know that already.

A secret admirer, Miss Granger? Severus queried.

Secret, yes, the ciphers spelled, but not to me.

And now you are suddenly up and about to abandon our agreement?

Severus should have expected such a thing. Witches were fickle, he knew, and teenage witches even more so. To trust in the girl's fidelity, if he wanted to call it that, to trust in her loyalty, to trust in her proclamations of respect, had been foolish. Had he been so starved for pussy that he had allowed the girl to wrap him around her finger? Had he lost all sense, all mind for propriety? Even if he had been unable to keep his hands off of her, as he had obviously been, he should have just shagged the witch and be done with her. To wrangle some kind of commitment from her had simply been begging for her to break it.

Yes, Hermione Granger was just as fickle as all the other witches in the world. Severus may have been stupid enough to trust that she wasn't, but the proof was glaring him right in the face: silence.

There was no reply.

Hermione cursed the wizard. How dare he question her integrity? How dare he question her honesty, her loyalty, her commitment? How dare he?

She was tearing through the castle, hurriedly making her way down to the dungeons like an avenging angel. Only, Hermione was no angel. Not anymore. Not for one Severus Snape.

How dare he rip her from the loving fuzziness that was buzzing around her heart after Kingsley's letter? How dare he disregard her boundaries? How dare he dishonour their agreement?

How dare he?

She pounded against the door to the professor's office that had appeared in front of her much earlier than usual. For a moment, Hermione was surprised at her own speed, but there were more important matters to focus on now. Somebody would need to have their arse handed to them on a Slytherin-silver platter.

"Go away," the least welcoming voice she had ever heard shouted from within.

Hermione wanted to laugh. First he had done his best to convince her to come to him, and now he wanted her to go away? That would not do.

The professor's voice may have sounded less welcoming than ever, but fortunately, Hermione did not need his welcome in order to enter.

She simply barged right in.

"Miss Granger," Severus sneered when the door to his office banged open. "Ever heard of knocking?"

"I did knock," the girl had the audacity to sneer right back.

"I did not hear you," he lied without any finesse. Sometimes the girl needed a message to hit her in the face like a brick. This was such a time, he assessed.

"Well, I did not hear you yell at me to 'go away', sir," she seethed.

The girl had some nerve. If he hadn't been so enraged just then, Severus might have been impressed. As it was, he did not only have to hold on to his fury regarding the girl, he also had to fight the urge to curse himself for not adjusting the wards that allowed her in.

"Considering how willing you were to avoid my presence, Miss Granger," he countered, "one might wonder why you would seek me out now?"

"I am not abandoning our agreement," the girl insisted. "Nor have I ever abandoned it, nor will I ever abandon it in the future."

"So you are here to offer yourself up to me now?" Severus scoffed. "What makes you think I still want you, Miss Granger?"

The girl ignored him.

"I wanted just one day to myself," she said, more to herself than to Severus, but he heard her nonetheless. "Just one day of pure joy."

"You speak of purity," Severus spat. "And what would I do to impede that? Would I disturb your precious purity? Am I defiling you, Miss Granger?"

"Those are your words, not mine," the girl countered. "But if you want to put it that way, then yes, sir. Yes, you are defiling my joy right now."

"You wanted it," Severus accused. "You begged for it, begged for me to give it to you."

"I have never denied that," she confirmed. "But I also do have the right to decline your attentions for one single day."

"Ah, but you wanted two days, Miss Granger," Severus argued. "I offered to let you come to me tomorrow, but you insisted on having Sunday 'off' as well."

"How preposterous of me," the girl exclaimed, "to want one whole weekend off!"

They stood facing one another, both of them seething. A few moments passed in which neither of them spoke. Eventually, the girl seemed to deflate a bit. Her defensive stance vanished, but the defiant sparkle in her eyes remained.

"You know what, sir," she challenged, "you want me to give myself to you? Well, take me, then. But don't take my body. Take my mind instead."

Her shields came down the moment Severus's mind pressed against them, but of the girl's own accord. She wanted him inside her mindscape, and he tumbled right in.

It took Severus a moment to orient himself. Before he could discern up from down and left from right, pictures began to assault him. The girl was hurtling herself at him.

The sheer number of images and the strength of emotion that lay behind them overwhelmed Severus as the girl started to broadcast impressions at him. Heart-to-hearts with Shacklebolt. Shacklebolt guessing about the older man in her life. Shacklebolt discerning that the girl wasn't free to entertain him. Shacklebolt accepting that limitation. Shacklebolt promising to wait for the girl. A number of memories of Shacklebolt pressing his lips against the girl's forehead, and the heat that coursed through her whole body after such kisses. Runes written onto a parchment flower that decrypted themselves in front of Severus's eyes, holding words of devotion. The girl, practically skipping through her day on an emotional high from the curious letter.

There was nothing of the note she had received at breakfast, Severus noticed. Whatever had happened in Hogsmeade had nothing to do with her reluctance to come to him. Was that supposed to satisfy him? He did not know.

He was being thrown out of her mind again. He did not fight it. There were more important things to attend to than the girl's ability to control his venue into her brain.

"You are mine," he stated with all the vehemence he was feeling.

"I have never disputed that my body is yours, sir," the girl amended. "For now."

"You. Are. Mine," Severus insisted.

The distance between their bodies, small as it was, was crossed with just a few long strides. The girl found herself backed against a bookshelf, her body caught between the wealth of knowledge hidden therein and the hardness of Severus's body against hers. Her hair was tangled around the fingers that held her head to his with both hands as his lips clashed against hers.

The kiss was as rough as Severus was feeling, his lips against hers as grating as the memories of another wizard's claim on her heart had been against Severus's mind. He did not want her emotions, but that did not mean anybody else was allowed to own them. Severus was a possessive man, and the girl was his, mind, body, and soul. There was no place for anyone beside him.

He did not know how long the kiss lasted. All he knew was that he was thrown back by a burst of magic, aided by two tiny hands pushing against his chest. The girl was panting. With a start, Severus noticed that so was he.

"How dare you," she cursed, although it sounded almost like a sob. "You just had to go and destroy this day, didn't you?"

"You are mine," Severus repeated hotly, scorchingly. "If I cannot have you, Miss Granger, then nobody will."

"Then nobody will," she stated, "at least not for this weekend. I will continue to honour our agreement. Good-bye, professor."

And with that, she was gone from the room.

Her passing words felt like a slap to the face. They turned his blood to ice. With a single word, a single manner of address, the girl had effectively destroyed his mood and had put Severus into place. She knew that she was not to call him 'professor' during their sexual interactions. She had essentially told him that his kiss did nothing for her, and that she would not be subdued by it – as if he had not noticed that by her actions alone.

He had kissed the girl. Why, he could not say, but Severus did notice that it had been the first time that they had kissed. It had not been a gentle kiss, not loving, not tender. It had not been anything a first kiss should be like, because Severus Snape did not kiss. He was no wizard who kissed, nor was he a wizard to be kissed. This had not been anything that a first kiss should be, because it had not been a 'first kiss'. It had been a last kiss, an only kiss.

It had been a mistake.

For all the heat that Severus had felt earlier in his rage, he now wondered at the temperature in his office. Even for a February in Scotland, the dungeons appeared suddenly particularly cold after the girl had gone.

Coming up: Chapter Forty-Two, wherein the similarities between love and blood loss are explained.