Disclaimer: Hogwarts, Harry Potter, and all characters/things related to the Harry Potter universe belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers.

A/N: This story takes place during Ginny's 5th year and Draco/the trio's 6th year. It's GoF compliant but not compliant with the last three books. Comments greatly appreciated. Also, if you'd be interested in being a Beta reader, please message me.

She lay sideways in the chair, her legs thrown over one of its arms. The rest of her body was nestled deep in the cushions. She sighed and ran the fingers of her left hand through her scarlet curls. Dark circles smudged under her eyes. Spread over her lap was a copy of Dangerous Wizards of the Dark Ages. She had an essay due in two days for Professor Binns but had yet to do any significant work on it.

The fire flickered in its grate. No one else was in the common room this late. No one ever was. Since her first year, Ginny had taken to staying up all hours of the night. Originally, it had been a fear of going to sleep; when she started at Hogwarts five years ago, there had been no guarantee that once she went to bed, she would stay there. She awoke at different times in different places, sometimes covered in paint and feathers, on a few occasions covered in blood. The possession may have stopped, but the nightmares hadn't. Even now, two nights out of three she would wake up sweating and breathless, his name bubbling over her lips. Tom.

The dark lord wasn't only visiting Harry in dreamland. Not that anyone had ever cared to notice.

Ginny had long ago decided to simply stop sleeping. It was possible, she discovered, though it did take a lot of work. Once a month she slipped off to a seemingly long-forgotten alcove of the dungeons to brew a batch of what she dubbed Sleepless Spirits. It was her own combination: a blend of Wakefulness Draught, Pepper-Up Potion, and a bit of Odgen's Old Firewhiskey.

Early batches omitted the whiskey and caused her hands to tremble uncontrollably, making it difficult to even hold a quill steady. The Odgen's helped take off the edge. It required a bit of bribery on her part to get it, but luckily Fred and George were more than happy to help their little sister stray onto the path moral ambiguity. She told them she and her roommates would have a nip on the roof some Saturday nights. They accepted this explanation, as it was the type of thing they were likely to do. In reality, half a bottle got dumped into her potion every month.

She did sleep upon occasion. She had to, after all, or her body would eventually give out on her. But those nights were painful affairs. She'd be down in the chamber, flat on her back with the frigid stone floor underneath her. Tom would stand over her and laugh, the youthful and infectious laugh of a joyful young boy in the peak of health, a laugh that made her shiver from the tendrils of her fiery hair to the tips of her toes. He'd kneel down next to her and stroke her cheek with one long finger. His face would hover over his own, lips coming down to hers, and then –

Ginny shuddered. She'd never told anyone about her dreams, and certainly couldn't after third year, when they had taken a decidedly inappropriate turn. Her roommates had accepted her silence and had long since stopped remarking on her night terrors, for which Ginny was grateful. Waking up with her heart thundering against her ribcage and her breath coming in sharp, painful gasps was enough; she didn't want the added embarrassment of explaining just why she was feeling that way – terrified to the bone, sick to her stomach, but unbelievably, incredibly… exhilarated.

A disturbing thought, that. Ginny shook her head and tried to push the subject far out of her mind. She avoided closer examination at all costs.

A log broke in the fireplace, making sparks fly from the glowing embers. The noise brought Ginny back to reality. She sighed, picked up her book, and tried to finish the chapter before daybreak.

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"As the name suggests, the Ageing Potion will cause the drinker to increase in age in direct proportion to the amount consumed…"

It was Monday morning. The eyes of the fifth year Gryffindors glazed over as Professor Snape explained the day's assignment. Ginny watched the professor through lazy, half-lidded eyes. Class would be even easier today than usual; Ginny had brewed this exact potion two years earlier for her brothers and Lee Jordan when they wanted to trick the Goblet of Fire into accepting their names. She remembered the long white beards that had sprouted from the twins' chins as the Goblet through them back from the age line; she sniggered.

"Does something amuse you, Miss Weasley?" asked Snape coldly. "Interesting as you undoubtedly find my instructions, I don't believe they warrant such mirth."

"Sorry, Professor," mumbled Ginny, blushing. The Slytherin students threw triumphant smirks at her.

"Now that Miss Weasley has regained her composure, you may begin," Snape snapped. "For each drop of potion you drink, you will age one month. At the end of class, you will consume a fourth of a beaker of your own potion. If successfully brewed, you should appear approximately ten years older than you are now. The effects of the particular brew listed in your textbook will wear off in three hours unless you consume the antidote. Any questions?" The twisted scowl on his face suggested that, had there actually been any questions, they would have resulted in immediate points from whoever dared to ask them. "Good. Instructions are on page 342 of the text. You may begin."

Ginny flipped to page 342 and began to unpack her ingredients. Two black caterpillars, powered doxie wings, a drop of essence of belladonna…

She mixed the ingredients carefully and left her potion to simmer. After forty minutes, she added the belladonna and stirred clockwise. The potion, which had been a sickly puce, faded to a very light, clear pink. She smiled, satisfied.

"Time!" said Snape loudly. "Beaker your potion and prepare to be tested. Mr. Aymslowe," he glared at a Gryffindor boy in the first row. "You first." Arnold Aymslowe lifted his beaker to his lips, fingers trembling. The solution inside was purple. He carefully swallowed and put his beaker down.

It was as if someone had given the rest of the class a time turner. Arnold shot up three inches and back down four. His troubled skin became clear and firm and then started to sag and wrinkle. His back twisted upon itself, and a light grey beard shot from his chin. He looked at least eighty.

Snape looked at him with contempt. "Disappointing, Mr. Aymslowe, as usual." He turned to the rest of the class. "Do any of you know why he failed so abysmally?"

No one answered. Sighing inwardly, Ginny raised her hand.

"Miss Weasley?"

"The belladonna." She said. "He added too much essence of belladonna."

Snape narrowed his eyes. "And how did you come to that conclusion?" he asked nastily.

God, the man was such a prat. "He's far older than he should be, but fine otherwise, which suggests the only part of the potion that was misbrewed was the aging agent. Traditionally, belladonna is used to bring one closer to death." She gestured at Arnold. "He obviously got a bit closer than he was supposed to, so it must be the belladonna."

"Correct." He glared at the rest of the class. "It would do you all good to remember that we are not in your mother's kitchen making Christmas cookies. We are concocting dangerous potions that may make you seriously ill if brewed incorrectly. You can't just go tossing about whatever you wish." His eyes glittered. "Mr. Aymslowe, ten points from Gryffindor, and next time check your measurements. You're lucky you're not dead."

Arnold paled beneath his wrinkles. Snape smiled wryly, and Ginny rolled her eyes. Though it was true that essence of belladonna, if taken in extreme amounts, could actually kill someone, the amount they were allowed to carry in their potions kit would scarcely even put anyone in a coma. Still, Ginny couldn't blame the man for his exaggeration. He had to get his kicks somehow.

Snape must have noticed the eye roll. "Miss Weasley, perhaps with your advanced understanding of the potion, you'd like to be next?"

Ginny stood up, unafraid, her face indifferent. She swallowed the contents of her beaker in one gulp.

Without warning, she shot up an inch. Her hair grew longer and turned a deeper, more luminous red. The youthful softness of her face melted away to reveal high, artistically chiseled cheekbones. To her extreme embarrassment, she felt her chest and hips swell under her robes. She could feel the buttons of her shirt digging into her chest. They strained and threatened to pop off. No wonder Snape told us to wear loose clothes today, she thought.

Just then, the door to the potions classroom banged open. "Professor," drawled a lazy voice. In walked an older boy with a pale, pointed face and blonde hair. "McGonagall wants to—" Draco Malfoy stopped mid-sentence. His icy grey eyes widened in shock as he locked eyes with Ginny. "Holy shit." He blinked. "Weasley?" Her face flushed, but she didn't look away.

Say one word, Malfoy. She thought viciously. Say one word and I swear, I'll-

"Mr. Malfoy!" shouted Snape, over the students' smothered laughs. "Please refrain from that language in my classroom. Now, what is so important that you find it necessary to interrupt my class with your obscenities?"

"Professor McGonagall," he said, still staring at Ginny. "She wants to see Colin Creevey."

"Creevey!" snapped Snape. Colin Creevey, whose attention had also been captured by his suddenly-voluptuous classmate, shot up out of his seat. "Go." Colin grabbed his bag and ran out of the classroom, anxious to leave before Snape asked him to test his potion. Draco was still standing near the doorway. "Mr. Malfoy, unless you have anything else to say, please leave."

"What? Oh, yes, Professor." He shook his head, as if to clear himself out of a daze. He furrowed his eyebrows and left the class.

Snape cleared his throat. Ginny suddenly became aware that the whole class was staring at her; the boys' mouths were half-open in shock. She blushed again and fervently wished she were at the bottom of the lake.

"Tolerable," said Snape. "If you would take the antidote, Miss Weasley." He dropped a small vial into her hand. She looked up. Her eyes met his, and she thought she saw something there– not quite pride, but certainly not the hatred he usually reserved for students in her house. It was as if he had received an affirmative answer to an important question.

She uncorked the vial and drank it. Even after her usual appearance had been restored, a few people were still staring at her. She tried her best to ignore them. The rest of the class passed uneventfully, although most of the students had missed the correct age by several decades. When the last student had been tested and poor Arnold Aymslowe had finally been given his antidote, Snape dismissed the class.

"Miss Weasley, please stay behind. I'd like a word."

Ginny froze with her hand half-stretched toward her bag. She turned to look at Snape. He had returned to his desk and was calmly marking down notes on a sheet of paper. He didn't look at her.

Her roommates threw sympathetic glances over their shoulders as they left the room. She nervously approached Professor Snape's desk. She was the only one in class who hadn't ended up as a grandmother or a baby, so it couldn't have been about the quality of her potion. Perhaps he remembered the eye roll and was going to give her a special lecture on decorum?

She stood in front of him. He looked up at her. "Miss Wealsey," he began. His tone was one of cool indifference, and it lacked the malice he usually reserved for lectures. "I have been watching your progress over the last few years, and it has come to my attention that you seem to be unusually gifted in potions."

Ginny blinked in shock. This was the closest to a compliment she had ever heard him utter. "Professor?"

He continued in the same bland tone. "On Thursday evenings I instruct a special potions course for selected students. We research and brew advanced and experimental potions. We also keep the infirmary well-stocked in basic medical potions such as Pepper-Up and Dreamless Sleep."

Ginny's eyebrows perked up. She had been prevented from brewing Dreamless Sleep because several of the ingredients were not allowed in the basic student ingredient kits. The potion was highly addictive, and Madam Pomfrey didn't just casually give it out to any student who said they had trouble sleeping. If she had a definite access to Dreamless Sleep, maybe she'd be able to have a normal schedule again…

"The class would not be for credit. Rather, the experience and knowledge would serve as its own reward. And, of course, if you intend to attempt the NEWT in Potions, you'll find the practice invaluable."

Ginny frowned. "It's only for selected students?" asked Ginny. "So the best of all the classes, right? Why haven't I heard about this from Hermione, then? Shouldn't she be in it?"

Professor Snape raised his eyebrows. "Miss Granger," he said dryly, "was not invited to partake in the class. Suffice to say that some great things can be achieved through practice, but others require skill." He pressed his lips firmly together, unwilling to say any more.

"So you think I have this skill, then?" asked Ginny.

Professor Snape looked at her calculatingly. He clasped his hands on top of his ledger, his long, slender fingers interlocked. "As much as it is a science, potion making is an art, and it requires a certain amount of intuition. The difference between a stir and a half stir, between twenty seconds and ten. I've watched you very carefully. You know what to do and when to do it, even if no one has told you. That's intuition."

She opened her mouth to speak again, and he held up his right hand, palm flat and facing toward her. "Miss Weasley, I am not here to pander to your teenage vanity." Ginny's mouth clamped shut. "I feel you have the potential to be a very skilled potions maker. If you choose to join my class, you can cultivate that potential. If not, I will be disappointed in you, but you are the only one who will suffer. You will have squandered an opportunity to increase your skill set and better yourself." He put his hand down. "I will give you a week to think it over."

Ginny blinked. She didn't particularly like Snape, but she was flattered at what he had said. While she realized she had a knack for making potions, she had no idea she possessed any potential to be profoundly good at it. Everyone else seemed to be profoundly good at things – Fred and George had quidditch, Harry had beating dark wizards and saving the world, and Hermione had… well, basically everything else. Even Ron, when he wasn't being a git, was incredibly loyal and brave. She suppressed a grin. Maybe she had a niche after all. Not to mention the easy access to the medi-potions to reclaim her sleep.

"I don't need a week," she said, her eyes narrowed and her face determined. "I'm in."

Professor Snape smiled thinly. "Thursday at 7:30, here, Miss Weasley. Don't be late."

Ginny nodded sharply, turned, and walked out of the dungeon. She smiled, anticipating the look on Ron's face when she told him she was taking extra potions and the look on Hermione's when the girl learned there was an advanced class she had not been asked to take.

Ginny glanced down at her watch and yelped; five minutes to Transfiguration. She sprinted down the corridor. If she hurried, she'd still be on time.

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Draco Malfoy was not a man who liked to be surprised.

Cool. Calculated. Suave. Those were words he would have used to describe himself (He also would have picked "devilishly handsome" and "sex god," but that wasn't related to the issue at hand). He prided himself on his ability to control his emotions in any situation. As his father always said, one must be in control or they would be controlled. Draco was in control.

Which was why he was so irritated today. He angrily stabbed a sausage. It was dinner; he was sitting at the Slytherin table, surrounded by his usual crowd. Pansy was telling some sort of inane story to the other girls. Crabbe and Goyle were noisily stuffing their faces, as per usual. Draco sat silently, thinking about what he had seen earlier that day.

That damn red-headed chit of a girl. Who did she think she was? Making him look like a fool in front of all those students! Making a professor, the only one Draco respected, speak sharply to the boy! It was inexcusable. He was angry at himself for letting her catch him off guard. He was angry at her for doing it. He speared a boiled potato.

What made it worse was that he couldn't seem to get her out of his head. Hair like blood spilled across flagstones, blazing like fire in the semi-darkness of the dungeons. Eyes the deep brown of strong tea, sharp and embarrassed and defiant. Those curves, round and hard like Fuji apples; her crisp white flesh something he'd like to sink his teeth into and get a juicy taste of. His heart quickened, and he could feel his blood shooting through his veins to all parts of his body. She had been positively… ethereal.

His flicked his eyes over to the Gryffindor table. She was sitting with her brother, Potter, and Granger. She casually spooned potato soup into her mouth. Underneath the softness of her face, he could see traces of the woman she would become. He watched her as she ate, the spoon rising and going into her mouth (a perfect cupid's bow with plump, girlish lips). He was hypnotized, watching her bring the spoon to her mouth, then back down to the bowl, then to her mouth again. When she had finished her soup, she licked the edge of the spoon. Draco felt the little hairs on the back of his neck bristle. It was obscene. How could her brother sit there and allow her to exhibit such lascivious behavior?

"Don't you agree, Draco?" Pansy's voice cut through his thoughts like a hatchet. He turned toward her, eyes cold. Her hard little face looked at him expectantly. She raised both her dark brown eyebrows. "Well?"

"Pansy, darling," the endearment was dripping with contempt. "I haven't been following your conversation."

"I was just telling Millicent how they shouldn't allow mudbloods to be prefects. It debases the position." She used the sleeve of her school robe to polish the small silver badge on her chest. "I can't believe they still let Granger run around here as if she were one of us."

Draco's attention had already wandered away from the girl. "Quite," he said, hoping to shut her up. She smiled, evidently pleased with his response, and turned back to Millicent. He looked back up at the Gryffindor table.

Potter, Granger, and Weasley were deep in conversation. Ginny was watching then, a mildly irritated expression on her face. She opened her mouth and said something. The other three students immediately stopped talking and turned to gawk at her.

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"Snape asked me to join his advanced potions class."

Ron, Harry and Hermione had been animatedly debating what they were planning on doing next Hogsmeade weekend. Ginny had tried to get a word in edgewise and had mostly been ignored. Now, though, the three all turned to stare at her. Ginny tried to hide a satisfied smirk.

"He asked you what?" asked Ron, incredulously.

"To join his advanced potions class. It meets every Thursday night."

"What advanced potions class?" asked Hermione anxiously. "What are you talking about? Surely I would have heard about—"

"It's only for invited students," continued Ginny. "He told me he thought I had potential."

"Potential? What?" Ron sputtered, spraying the table with tiny bits of chewed ham. "The man's a complete nightmare! I hope you told him he could take his potential and shove it right up his—"

"I decided to join the class."

"You did what? Are you nuts?" demanded Ron. "You don't even like potions, no one does! Do you need extra credit or something? Because if it's your grades, Ginny, we can help you." He gestured toward the others with his fork.

Ginny frowned. "I like potions," she said. "And, no offense Ron, but I don't think I really need any help from you. Didn't you almost fail your OWL? Besides, I've had an A since second year."

"No you haven't. The only person to get a good grade in Potions is Hermione! Well, and maybe Malfoy, that slimy git. Bet his dad bribes the OWL committee…"

"She has, Ron," interjected Hermione. "Ginny's really good. Though I still don't understand why I haven't heard of this class."

Ginny was both grateful for the compliment and highly amused at Hermione's presumptuousness. "Thanks, Hermione. And like I said, it's by invitation only." At this, Hermione looked mildly panicked. "I'm sure Professor Snape knew you were already so busy," she added quickly. "Don't you go to Professor Vector's Abstract Arithmancy lecture on Thursdays?"

"Well, yes, that's true," conceded Hermione, looking less worried. "That's probably it. And Arithmancy's my favorite subject; I can't imagine going to Potions instead! Of course, they're both so incredibly useful…"

"Useful? Potions?" Ron snorted. "About as useful as a hole in the head."

"Just because you don't do anything except sit around blathering on about old Quidditch matches doesn't mean no one else wishes to learn something practical!" snapped Hermione.

"I can't imagine-" said Harry loudly, trying to squash Ron and Hermione's argument before it really got going. "—what would make you want to spend any more time with Snape than you would have to." He smiled good-naturedly. "But he wouldn't ask you if he didn't think you could do it. Congratulations, Ginny. I had no idea."

Ginny smiled broadly. Years ago, the compliment would have turned her bones to butter and caused her to melt out of her seat and onto the floor. She had gotten over the worst of that girlish crush, but there was still a small part of her that adored the Boy Who Lived. "Thank you, Harry," she said. She shot a glare at her brother.

"Mental," said Ron, as he shook his head. "Absolutely mental." He stuffed some carrots in his mouth.

"What sort of things will you be studying?" ask Hermione.

"Oh, well, he didn't really specify. But I do know we'll be making a lot of the potions for the Hospital Wing."

"Wow!" Hermione was clearly impressed. "Those are really difficult to make. I had no idea they were brewed by students! Medical potions, that'll be so fascinating."

Ron made a rude noise in the back of this throat. Ginny and Hermione rolled their eyes.

"Yes, I think it will be," said Ginny, reaching for a roll. "I'm actually really excited about it."

Ron scowled and muttered darkly into his plate. Ginny ignored him.

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