I was suddenly inspired by all the wonderful reviews I've been getting! Another chapter soon, I promise. Enjoy! I'm so impressed that so many musical readers are reading along. I happen to think that this story goes well with most anything by Bach, though I tend to play any various instrument that lies in reach while I read fan fiction, so I make my own soundtrack. In answer to your post, potions mistress, please! go ahead and write the characters as musicians! I'm thrilled that you're taken with the concept as I was, and I look foreward to reading it if you chance to post it in my regular haunts. It feels really good to be reviewed, especially by such brilliant reviewers! ahem. and yes, I will agree with a great many of you, Dumbledore needs to be kicked for what he did in the other chapter! I don't know what came over him! -Iphy

On the fifth day, came the conflict. Posing as a prospective parent for the school had been difficult, especially considering the fact that the polyjuice potion wore off so readily. It had been endlessly tedious listening to the droning headmaster and the smug teachers prattle on about their school's high standards and rigorous testing, but little had surfaced to put the school in a particular bad light.

Severus was beside himself missing Hermione. The dank room where he was staying only added to the tedium, and the curt professionalism of the other two wizards who assisted him on the mission gave no balm to his loneliness. It had been a sierise of visits during the day, disguised as a pureblood wizard parent who wished to send his child to "Darmscouth School," that had taken up his time, and all in all, he was sick of the sight of the place.

Finally, on the fifth day of his tour of the campus and facilities, a faculty member had let slip that their students were learning more than the normal curriculum of magic. Apparently, the parents were not even informed of their child's tutelage in the dark arts, and children by the score were being pruned for futures as death eaters. The three wizards planned their attack for the following day, informing the ministry to arrive with a number of aurors in order to perform the takeover smoothly.

And now, Severus was trying to find something that would take up the remaining hours before the attack, to occupy the void of Hermione's presence. He conjured a ball, and threw it against the wall, the rhythmic thudding lulling him into near-catatonia.

He was bored, and lonely. He missed her, the way her eyes would flash merrily as they talked, and her gentle and perfect sensuality that clung to her and caused in him near-madness. He thought of her body, the way it had felt against his that night before he had left.

His room had been warm and lighted, then, scented with her own smell, rose oil, and the incense of plants and herbs. A drastic change, he thought, surveying the darkened, chilly room he stayed in. The walls were plaster, and plain white, without a speck of decoration, and the carpet, wall-to- wall, was a dull shade of grey.

He sighed, shifting on the hard mattress beneath him. He had fared worse, he supposed, in his time during the wars, but all he wanted was to be home, in his rooms full of his books and his paintings and his furniture and his girlfriend.... He paused.

Since when had she become his girlfriend? A girl, yes, and his friend? He counted himself lucky enough. But girlfriend? They certainly weren't JUST friends, though the term, as many in the English language seemed to do, served poorly. She was his love, the light of his life, the calm at the end of the day, safe harbor, his potential lover (he should be so lucky) and the woman who he lusted after and adored.

He smiled to himself, leaning back against the headboard and crossing his arms behind his head. He would be home soon, and they would "talk."

Though the concept of them hashing out a relationship with terms and confessions frightened him, he still found himself looking foreword to the meeting with relish. Would they make love afterwards? The thought seemed ludicrous at this point. Frowning suddenly, he realized that he wanted it to be more special than that. He wanted, he realized with sudden chagrin, romance. He wanted spontaneity and passion, not a civilized conversation that would lead to planned sex.

An idea began to form in his mind, born from years of loneliness; he formulated a plan that would be ideally suited to them, to their likes.

He imagined what she was doing at that moment, paused to consider the prospect that she was taking a bath. She had confessed, early on, that it was one of her favorite ways to release stress. Would she be stressed by his absence? He liked to think so. Would she light candles and sink into the bubbles, or was it a more conventional bath with simple hot water? Was she listening to music?

Feeling himself harden at the thought of her dipping her toes into the bathwater, he touched upon the idea of checking up on her. He certainly wouldn't want her to be completely lonely, as he was, during his absence, and he did not relish the thought of coming home to find that she had not slept nor eaten in all the time he was gone.

And why not? He was a wizard, and wizards can do things that others cannot. And if a muggle husband can call his wife at home across the globe, he certainly could take a mini-visit to her side to reassure himself that she existed.

Though he could not apparate (the others could need his presence quickly) he could remove his consciousness to her quarters in order to see what she was doing.

He tried not to let himself think of his consiousness stumbling upon her in the bathtub.

He would just take a peek, and make sure she was alright, and then quietly spirit-walk back to this cold and lonely room and go to sleep.

Sighing, he closed his eyes, concentrating on the distance between himself and Hogwarts. He felt his awareness travel over the English countryside, up the sides of the old stone building, through the maze of corridors, and pause outside the door to her room.

He listened at the door (though he had no physical presence in this form, he still retained his sense of decorum) and then entered.

Her rooms were simple and elegant, much like herself, and full of books that were stacked in odd places around the stone floor. An old-fashioned green couch with claw feet was placed against the wall, and looked well- lived in. She had large, full-length windows that she must have charmed to be such, on the far wall, and they looked out to a night, which sparkled against the hill. The room was very much like a place a student would live, littered with various parchments and research materials and clothing. Her bed, large and high, was further in, and she was not in sight. As he pondered whether she might be in the dining hall, or perhaps at her practice room, he was startled by a small sound from the well-lit doorway of her bathroom.

Worried, he glanced in. She was there, slumped against the cabinet on the floor, dressed in a terrycloth bathrobe and hugging her knees. He suddenly felt helpless. She was sobbing, quietly, into the robe, and her face, when she looked up, was blotchy and red, as if she had been crying for some time. Her cat slinked around the doorframe to rub it's head comfortingly against her legs.

"Oh crookshanks..." She said, her voice quavering. "What am I going to do about this?" The cat, naturally, made no response. "I mean," she continued, petting the cat as she spoke, "It's good that I'm in love... I've never been in love before..." Severus felt his heart swell. "But he's so far away, and it's so dangerous, and, well, I almost lost him in the wars..."

Severus allowed himself to wonder how often his ladylove talked to her cat.

"And, god, I'm so sexually frustrated, I could kill Dumbledore!" Severus was slightly shocked, and so suddenly aroused he was worried that he might pass out from blood loss. "I know he's coming home soon," she continued, "but not soon enough! Why did he have to leave NOW! Just when things were really getting good! He's gonna come back and we'll go back to just prancing around one another like the other will explode, and you know what? I just might!" She sighed.

The cat had returned the safety of the bedroom, but Severus remained, watching her, seated on the floor of her bathroom, as she closed her eyes.

"And then there's the issue of telling my friends, what little I have of them, and the school, and my parents, and all he needs is more conflict..." She was just sniffling now, and Severus was unable to take his eyes off of her.

He knew that she was just overcome by the magnificentness of falling in love, heaven knew he had had these moments himself over the past few weeks. Moments where everything seems so amazingly huge that it threatens to completely overwhelm them both.

He watched, riveted, as her hand slipped into the folds of her robe, brushing against her chest. Her pale neck tilted, and he recognized the way she had moved when he had sat behind her only a few nights ago. Was she replaying their little adventure? He felt himself grin, miles and miles away, and continued to watch as she smiled, and hummed softly to herself. Her fingers slipped deeper into the folds of her robe, and he watched, in mute wonder, as she fondles her breast. Her head lolled back and forth against the cabinet, and she murmured his name.

He felt himself tense at the mention of his name. He knew he should leave, he had to leave, but here she was, touching herself to his image. It was a breach of her privacy already, he told himself, but still, he could not bring himself to tear his consciousness away. She reached up the hem of her robe with her other hand, and he watched, gaping, as she brought her other hand into play, stroking herself repeatedly, mumbling his name again and again, until Severus was sure his zipper was in great peril back at his body.

"Mmm! Severus!" Ok, enough was enough. He would not stay for her release; he had tortured himself quite enough, already. He brought his mind as swiftly as he could back to the present place and time, and was soon shaking his head to clear it of cobwebs, back on the dingy mattress.

Sighing, he stared down at his crotch, which was elevated several inches above the normal level, and willed his erection away. "Patience, patience," he muttered, thinking of his plans for his return.

Sighing, he refused to examine the elements of her age, and the added reminders that they had yet to inform anyone of their imminent coupledom. They would work all that out later, he promised himself, not bothering to dwell on the potential reactions of her friends to their intimacies.

Smiling to himself, he fixed a light dinner at the kitchenette that was adjacent to his room, and retired, being blessed with dreams of her for the entirety of the night.