Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, because that wonderful Creative Smoothie belongs to J.K. Rowling, who is more wonderful than 32 flavours and then some, because SHE MADE UP Harry POTTER!

AN: I was reading through this, and I AM going to write more. It's just doing this Matrix-ish sort of beckoning with its hands (if it has hands...do fanfics have hands?) and I was like, whoa. Maybe three chapters. Three. That's it. And I'm not sure about a happy ending, because all my fics have happy endings, and I want some Angst in my life. :)

~Fic Starts Here~

Ten years had passed since that fateful day in the dungeons. A decade aged a person, and Virginia Weasley had the timing of a fine Chardonnay.

She had grown, of course-every girl will grow in that time frame-but she wasn't straight.

Heaven strike down any person as a liar who called Ginny Weasley straight.

She had hips, and breasts, but not overly so. They were there, and they let their presence be known, but they didn't scream as a whore's figure does.

Oh, yes, the little Weasley girl had changed from the bland flavour to the lust inducing, dark side of vanilla.

Her hair contrasted vividly with her skin-it had the crimson Weasley tinge along with some deeper golden highlights-slight, like sprinkles on a hot fudge sundae.

Her skin, well, it had a glow, but not necessarily a healthy one. Rather, it was the glow of someone otherworldly. Someone whose heart has been broken several times. Sad, ethereal, and soft. That was Virginia.

Or rather, that was the image that she liked to imagine herself as.

Yes, she was tall. Yes, she was slightly curvy, and yes, her heart had been broken several times.

Sad, ethereal and soft sounded so THRILLING. Like a romance novel. One where the hero picks up his fair maiden and walks strongly off into the sunset, and into their bed-

Not that she read those novels. Oh no. Ginny Weasley read Shakespeare and Gaston Leroux, and she was PROUD of it.

Of course, she was slightly confused about some things the Bard said and what he meant, but those sonnets were so THRILLING. Not thrilling in the bodice-ripping, passionate orgy of a romance novel, but the thrilling of a well said-well, something.

She was 28. TWENTY EIGHT! Heavens, it had been ten years since she had attempted to seduce her Potions Professor.

She still cringed at that memory.

I never loved you, I only loved your voice?

Now that was something to write down and BURN.

Snape would be-well, that was 10 years ago-so-45?

Heavens, well-he was like fine wine. Getting better as he aged.

But she was Twenty EIGHT!

Did she still love him?

Yes.

Did Draco Malfoy just get her knocked up and leave her with a 1 year old baby?

Yes.

Did Hogwarts need a new Muggle Studies Professor?

YES, YES, THRICE YES!

Well, at least, it was supposed to work that way.

The poison, that is.

Would Snape be there?

Er, uhm-

Well. That would be a problem.

You couldn't have a romance novel without a hero.

It just wasn't done.

And so Virginia Weasley squared her shoulders, picked up a quill, and wrote a letter to Hogwarts.

Snape or no Snape, Remus Lupin was still there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AN: Well, you have to admit, IT STARTED OUT AS ANGST! It will get plenty angsty as it goes on, I promise. I just-well, have YOU ever read any of those annoying, cliché's fics?

:) it's OK, I take guilty pleasure in them sometimes, too!

But yesh, this will have angst. And change what I said about three chapters to 5, OK?

~LW