Daily Deviant
- there is no such thing as 'too kinky'
Fic/Art: From Out Of The Past (Tonks/Hermione, NC-17) 
30th January 2008 13:34
Title: From Out Of The Past
Author/Artist: story by [info]misfit_ragdoll & [info]twilightsorcery, written by [info]misfit_ragdoll, illustrated by [info]twilightsorcery
Characters: Nymphadora Tonks/Hermione Granger, past mentions of Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger, Nymphadora Tonks/Remus Lupin, Ron Weasley/Pansy Parkinson
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: femmeslash, fingering, desk!sex, character deaths
Themes/kinks chosen: Everything Old Is New, lesbians, lingerie, kinky collaboration
Word Count: 18,650 (no, that's not a joke)
Summary: When Ron is murdered, Hermione turns to Nymphadora Tonks, P.I. to help her solve the case.
Author's/Artist's notes: At long last, it's finished. Much thanks from [info]misfit_ragdoll to everyone who read through drafts, shook their pompoms and generally kept me going when I didn't think I was ever going to get this finished. And to [info]twilightsorcery who I couldn't have done it without.

Art Preview:


I knew she was trouble as soon as she walked into my office. There she was, Hermione Granger, all lips and hips and tits and curves. Even wrapped in her widow's weeds, there was no way to hide that she was a looker.

I'd known her since she was 15 years old: a scrawny, bookish girl with bushy hair and no real sense of style. But, I knew that was all an act, had done since I'd first laid eyes on her. I'd seen photographs of her at the Yule Ball in her fourth year, hanging on the arm of Viktor Krum, the most popular Quidditch star of his day. You don't land a man like him by being mousy, that's for sure. The girl had known exactly how to drive men wild when she'd needed to. I should have remembered that.

There she was standing before me, every bit the grieving widow. Even in funereal black, she was stunning, although she'd clearly been crying judging from her red-rimmed eyes. Her dress clung to every curve of her body, seamed stockings and heels showing off her long legs, her hair curled softly around her face. Some people might think brown hair was drab, but Hermione's suited her colouring. It was glossy and a rich, dark brown like the fine polished wood of an expensive wand. Oak, or perhaps walnut. I've never been too good at discerning those things. "Oh, Tonks," she told me, choking back a sob. "I need your help..."

I hadn't seen her in some time. Probably since she and Ron Weasley got hitched. I hadn't seen most of my old mates since then. We'd all gone our separate ways after the War. That's when everything—and everyone— changed. Me, I couldn't stand working for the Ministry any more and went into business for myself. A private eye in the Wizarding World. Not many of us around seeing how most of 'em wind up in Magical Law Enforcement or the Aurors' Office. I could've worked for Shacklebolt if I'd wanted, he was a decent sort of chap (even if he ha a penchant for some things that would even make my hair stand up on end), but I needed to get away from all those rules and regulations and strike out on my own. It was a good life, even if the pay was crap and the cases sometimes lousy. I did anything and everything: checking out cheating spouses, finding lost family members, looking for Dark Wizards before the Aurors' did. Hell, I'd even tracked a few lost pets when I'd needed the money. It could've been worse. A lot worse.

"What's happened?" I asked.

Hermione pulled out a black silk handkerchief, edged with expensive lace, and dabbed her eyes. "Ron's dead. Someone's m-murdered him."

That took me by surprise. I'd known Ron Weasley and his family ever since I'd been a kid. I'd gone to school with his older brothers. I'd never quite known what Hermione'd seen in him since they seemed to get on like oil and water. He was a good bloke but hardly in her league. Hermione could've had any man she'd wanted, just by crooking her little finger. Like I said, the mousy schoolgirl thing was just a front, probably to distract people from realising just how clever she could be. Brainy girls who blended into the background were acceptable, but brainy girls who were bombshells were lethal. Maybe she just wanted to be noticed for her mind when she was younger. It was hard to tell. Especially when she'd pulled all the stops out today.

"What?" I stared at her, trying to take in what she was on about. "What do you mean Ron is dead? When? Where? How?" Of course, in retrospect, she was there asking me to suss out that very thing.

"T-two nights ago. At the Crup & Kneazle," Hermione said with another sob. "H-he was staying there." Her cheeks reddened and she looked at me with some embarrassment. "We...we'd split up and he'd taken a bedsit there. At least until he got a new place of his own."

That was news to me. Then again, I was pretty much out of the loop with most of our old colleagues. Like I said, the War changed all of us and not always for the better. "When did all this happen? The break up, I mean."

She looked down at the toes of her shiny black pumps. "A few weeks ago. It's—it's very complicated."

"Is it now? Perhaps you'd better tell me all about it."

It seemed that Hermione and Ron had had quite the blow-up recently, their always volatile relationship finally reaching the boiling point and exploding beyond all repair. She was somewhat elusive about why they'd fought, but after one last heated row over dinner at the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione had thrown him out for good. Ron had collected his gear from their house and moved into a room at a boarding house not far from Nocturne Alley called the Crup & Kneazle, although on the street, it was commonly known as 'the Cunt & Nuzzle'. She hadn't seen him since.

I was definitely sympathetic to Hermione's plight. I'd been married and in love once too. Well, thought I'd been, at any rate. Sometimes I wonder if I was under Imperius during the war, but I can't kid myself for too long. I'd been young and stupid —and in serious denial. So had my husband. At least we split up amicably and we got a great kid out of the deal. Poor Hermione clearly hadn't been that lucky.

I pressed her for why they'd split up. It's when she laid the Dung Bomb on me — turns out she and Ron hadn't seen eye to eye on the future of their relationship. Hermione had discovered that she fancied girls, perhaps more than she fancied boys, and poor Ron hadn't taken the news very well. He loved Hermione and wanted her and only her, but she...needed something more. Yeah, that sounded a bit familiar as well. They were supposed to keep things open — Hermione swore she still loved Ron more than anything, even if he was a bloke. But he hadn't dealt well with his wife wanting other birds. It was all on the hush-hush because it would jeopardize her job. She worked as an advocate to change our laws on Non-Human Sentient Beings: werewolves, centaurs, goblins, House-Elves, the like. Some people thought she was just pissing in the wind, but she and her mates had made some headway, and refused to give up trying. Seeing as my ex-husband's a werewolf and knowing what he's gone through over the years, I reckoned they were doing some real good. If the wrong people got wind of her proclivities, they might use it against her. Wizarding society isn't quite as open as Muggle society, no matter what some people might think.

Hermione had been home, doing some work on another case when she'd been contacted by someone at the Aurors' Department, telling her Ron was dead. He'd been found alone in his room, stone cold dead. He'd been dead for several days, his face was black and it was evident that poison had done him in. The toxicology spells had proven it was some sort of super dosage of Belladonna, something that only an expert Herbologist or someone with black market contacts could have obtained. No one had been seen going in or out of the room and the rooms were all covered with anti-Apparation wards on every room to keep people from doing a runner and not paying their bills. The landlord at the Cunt was clearly a clever bastard. After a brief investigation, The Auror in charge had insisted that Hermione was the most likely suspect, even though there was no evidence to prove it. Then again, Williamson had never been the quickest wand in the case.

Hermione, on the other hand, swore that couldn't have been possible.

"I couldn't have done it!" she exclaimed, heatedly, her eyes bright with more tears. "Someone's set me up, Tonks. I just know it. I l-loved Ron more than anything. I could never kill him. It's bad enough I hurt him the way I did."

"I dunno," I said. "I don't like crossing the Aurors' Department if I can help it. Yeah, most of 'em couldn't find their own arses in the dark, but..."

Hermione cut me off, looking at me desperately, her chest heaving. She moved in closer, so close I could smell her perfume: something green and fresh with just a hint of spice. "Tonks, they think I did it... Please, please help me. I-I need someone on my side."

At that point, she had me hooked, wriggling like a Plimpy on a line. I never could resist a pretty face or a damsel in distress, could I? That's one of the main reasons me and the ex weren't together any longer. Pretty birds were my weakness, just like pretty boys were his. When we finally got around to admitting it to one another, we'd had a good laugh and set things straight. Sometimes we still got together for a round and challenged one another to pick out potential partners for each other. I was usually better at spotting his type than he was for me, but if he'd been there at that moment, I'm certain he'd have targeted her immediately as my sort of woman. Before I could stop myself, I found myself telling her I'd take the case.

* * *


I went down to Knockturn Alley to have a butcher's at the Cunt & Nuzzle, hoping to find something that might let poor Hermione off the hook. As of now, she was just a suspect, but hadn't been charged with anything. We both had to hope that it would stay that way. I knew the place from my sordid youth; it had once been run by an ancient hag named Hollingshead who'd turned a blind eye to any sort of illegal activity that might've taken place there, and believe you me, there was plenty to be had. I wasn't quite sure why Ron Weasley of all people had chosen to live there, other than the proximity to Aurors' HQ and the price. Hermione had said Ron was utter crap when it came to dosh so I supposed it made some sort of sense. When I'd been an Auror, we'd nicked our fair share of Dark Wizards and Witches on the premises; of course, Madam Hollingshead had never known a blessed thing about them.



I'd heard the old dear had retired, taking up her savings and moving out to a place in the country after the War. A lot of people with questionable pasts did. Made it easier for them to just drop out of sight and not deal with Ministry Inquiries. Kingsley was clever enough to know the game; as long as they weren't war criminals or Death Eaters and didn't aid and abet any further, most people were willing to turn a blind eye, to forgive and forget. It wasn't a perfect system, but if they'd gone after everyone who'd had a hand in Voldemort's business, half the Wizarding Population would've had their arses in Azkaban. Kingsley reckoned they had bigger Shrakes to fry than Wizards working within the grey area of the law.

"G. Aloysius" is what the sign over the proprietor's office read, so that's where I went. Mr. Aloysius was a big hulking brute of a bloke, with a head like a boulder and a body to match. His shock of white hair reminded me of the snow caps on mountains, at least the snaps I'd seen of them in books. I couldn't quite place his age, but he looked older than me, although it was hard to tell these days. The War had prematurely aged a lot of people out there.

"Mr. Aloysius?" I asked.

He replied with a grunt, then said "Yeah. Tha's me. Who's askin'?"

I introduced myself, giving him my most charming smile. Not that Aloysius really looked like the sort to be charmed by anything other than a large slab of raw meat on a plate. Maybe I ought to have tried that instead.

"What c'n I do for you, Miss...Tarks, was it?"

"Tonks." I scowled. It was a damned sight easier to remember the name 'Tonks' than my bloody given name, 'Nymphadora'. Clearly Aloysius was as stupid as he looked. "I'm here to investigate a murder, Mr. Aloysius. Ron Weasley? Tall ginger chap who was renting a bedsit from you until he wound up with something nasty in his cuppa?"

I got another grunt from him. "Yeah. Bloody Aurors've been crawling all over the place since then. S'bad for business. Wot about 'im?"

"I've been hired to represent someone who was accused of doing him in. I'd like to see the room if you please." I pulled out my i.d., showing him I was a bona fide private investigator.

He glanced at it, then shrugged. "Nah. I don't please. Bloody Aurors 'ave already been up there. They got what they needed. Don't want you nosin' about too."

"I want to see if I can find anything that might exonerate my client." I had a feeling that 'exonerate' was too big a word for the geezer to fathom. "I've got a right."

"An' I got a right to tell you to piss off. Which is what I'm doin' right now." Aloysius glared at me, cracking his knuckles in a threatening manner.

I reckoned he had the advantage on me in terms of size, but I could probably get off a Stunner first if necessary. I might be clumsy but I still had to be faster than the big lummox. Luckily it didn't come to that. There was definitely something dodgy about the bloke, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I knew I had to do some digging and find out more about him in order to get what I was after. "I'll be off then, shall I, Mr. Aloysius? Oh, what's the 'G' stand for, mate?" I indicated the sign over the door with my chin.

"'Gregory'," he said without a flinch.

"Right then. Be seeing you, Gregory." And in a flash, I was out of there.

* * *


One of the good things about being a former Auror was I still had contacts on the street who were more than willing to give me the low-down in exchange for a little lolly. For a few galleons, I knew as much as the Aurors still on the force, perhaps even more as people were more inclined to talk to me than someone official. This time, my informants didn't let me down. A questions dropped here and there and I'd learned more about the suspicious Mr. Aloysius than he'd wanted me to — or anyone else for that matter.

Turns out that Aloysius was an assumed name. Well, not very assumed. Turns out it was the bloke's middle name. As in Gregory Aloysius, Gregory Aloysius Goyle. Son of Aloysius Goyle, one of the Dark Lord's Death Eater most devoted servants. Former chum of my cousin, Draco Malfoy. Schoolmate of both Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. After the Battle of Hogwarts, he'd tried to go underground but some people were not so forgiving as others. Ron had gone on to be an Auror, along with Harry, and they'd systematically hunted down the people they'd known to be Death Eaters or active sympathizers. Goyle had been one of them. He'd been sent up to Azkaban, but with the new more lenient policies in place, had got out after a few years on good behaviour.

Goyle had quickly dropped out of sight, spending a fair amount of dosh buying himself a new face and a new identity, trying to separate himself from his Dark past. He'd wound up buying the Cunt & Nuzzle from old Hilda Hollingshead, blackmailing her into letting him have it for a lot less than the place was worth. Since then, he'd kept his head down and his nose clean, at least to the outside world. Rumour also had it that Goyle blamed Ron for the death of his mate, Vincent Crabbe during the Battle of Hogwarts. From what little I knew, Crabbe sounded like a nasty character who managed to get himself killed in the midst of things. Ron was the last person I'd have thought capable of cold-blooded murder, unlike the proprietor of the Cunt which wasn't any less teeming with vice than it had been in Hilda Hollingshead's day. I still didn't know why Ron would've chosen to move in there rather than some other, posher place, but he had. And fallen right into Goyle's big fat waiting hands. It looked like I had another suspect on my list and a ripe motive to explain just why Goyle might've wanted to off his new tenant.

Armed with this new information, I went back to the Cunt & Nuzzle to have another little chat with the charming Mr. Aloysius.

* * *


"I thought I told you to piss off," Goyle said as I came into his office again. "I've got nothing to say to you."

"Oh, I dunno about that, me old china," I replied, nearly tripping over the corner of the worn rug. "What's the matter, Greggy, don't you love me anymore?"

"Listen, you mad bitch, I warned you to keep yer nose out of my business. I don't want the likes of you poking about here, yeah?" he growled.

"Well, Goyle, I think you might want to reconsider." I was pleased to see the bastard blanch as white as his hair. Good to have your adversary's unsettled when you need something from them. "Especially seeing how you just might be a suspect in this little investigation of mine. You've got plenty of motive for wanting Ronald Weasley dead, haven't you?" Goyle's fists clenched and for a brief moment, I was afraid he might try swinging them at me. Luckily, he kept them at his sides.

"What's it to you? I didn't kill 'im. Even if I can't say I've shed a single tear for his passing," he said with a scowl. "It was that Granger bitch. It must've been. She's the only one whoever visited Weasley. Well, other than—" Goyle cut himself off.

"Other than who?"

He looked at me stonily, his heavy jaw clamped shut.

My wand was out and at his throat in an instant. "Other than who, Goyle?"

His eyes locked on mine, but he didn't say a thing. I saw him swallow down and then relax very slightly. "He had visitors from time to time. Lady friends, if you get my drift. He and Granger were on the outs. A bloke's got needs. Even a pathetic excuse for a man like Weasley." Goyle spat.

"Any idea who these 'lady friends' were?"

Goyle let out a laugh. It sounds like someone was strangling a walrus. "We're in Nocturne Alley, Miss Tonks. What kind of lady friends you think he had?"

I prodded him harder with my wand. "Where are the keys to Ron's room?"

"You...you can't have 'em. Aurors have got the place locked down tighter than a hag's twat," Goyle replied. I suppose he thought he was being clever. "I don't want them sniffing around here anymore."

I could see the skewed logic in that. Not that it was going to stop me, although Goyle wasn't going to know that. "Right. Then I'll have a shufti around your rooms instead, Greggy me lad. We both know you'd have been more than happy to see Ron Weasley dead."

"I didn't kill 'im!" he insisted. "Though I can't say I'm sorry he's dead either. Good on Granger for getting rid of the bastard, I say." Goyle spat, a big gob of spit landing near my boot.

"Funnily enough, I am sorry he's dead." I had to fight to keep myself from blasting him with a good strong curse. "So I'll have those keys if it's all the same to you. I want them. Now. And no funny business, matey, or I'll hex you seven ways till Sunday." I tried not to look to smug when I saw the bastard flinch. He knew I meant business at least. I watched him like a hawk as he reached into a drawer and slowly withdrew a ring of keys.

"It's number twenty-eight. Second floor. You've got to take the stairs, lift's broken."

I held out my free hand expectantly. "Give 'em here, mate."

Goyle was smart enough to comply.

Getting up to Goyle's room was simple enough. However, I wasn't about to let the opportunity to check out Ron's rooms go by either. Even if I had to do it on the quiet. Hermione had told me his room number so I used a quick Geminio to make a copy of the key to that room, along with the front door key for good measure. Goyle's own digs were a disaster area. He wasn't the neatest geezer in the world, not by a long shot. There were filthy clothes lying about, and the last thing I wanted to do was rifle through his unwashed pants looking for evidence. Elsewhere, there were used cups and dishes overflowing with half-eaten meals that any Potions Master'd given his right arm to plunder for rare and exotic fungi, along with overflowing piles of used newspapers and other rubbish. Thank Merlin for tracing spells and the like. No telling what I might've contracted if I'd actually had to touch 'em.

In the end, none of that turned up anything. Out of desperation, I finally tried an Accio for his wand, assuming the bloke carried it upon his person like any self-respecting Wizard and that he'd probably wring my neck for nicking it from him. To my surprise, a drawer opened up and it came flying out at me, nearly taking my eye out. The bloody thing was as contrary and hostile as its owner, and nearly as stupid as it missed me by a mile. Of course, I dodged out of the way, wound up tripping on the corner of his axeminster and smashed my elbow into a side table for my pains. Still, I got a hold of it in the end.

Casting a priori incantato, I ran it through a gamut of spells, expecting to see the proof so I could wrap up the case and get Hermione off the hook. Instead, I got a very surprising answer: Goyle had been telling the truth. He hadn't killed Ron Weasley. At least, if he had, it hadn't been with his wand. Goyle didn't have the smarts to grow anything like the poison that had killed Ron and even if he'd had the capability to charm some bog-standard belladonna to something more lethal (which I highly doubted), there was no evidence that his wand had been used. Still, he was in Nocturne Alley, a former Death Eater, and had plenty of opportunity to obtain the right kind of ingredients. Perhaps a search of Ron's room would turn up something more.

I left Goyle's digs and crept up the stairs to the third floor, room thirty-three. Getting into Ron's room wasn't going to be that easy. The Aurors had cordoned off the place, covering it with all sorts of warding and protective spells to keep people out, presumably to stop them from nicking things or messing about with whatever evidence they thought they'd found. Luckily for me, I was a former Auror; I knew how to counteract most of 'em without setting off any alarms. Last thing I wanted was a pack of thicky Aurors converging on me while I was trying to conduct an investigation. I couldn't do it in the light of day anyway. Goyle was waiting for me downstairs and I didn't want him getting suspicious. I was going to come back on the sly later. Still, I didn't reckon Goyle would be that difficult to get by. All I needed was a plan.

Elated with the new bits of information, I went back to Goyle's office, dropped off the keys and legged it to the Post Office to send Hermione an owl, asking her to meet me for a spot of lunch at the Leaky Cauldron. I knew she'd want to be kept up to date on my findings. I couldn't wait to tell her.

* * *


The Leaky Cauldron at lunch time was always a bit of a gamble. The place was packed, as usual, so I asked Hannah Abbott, the landlady, to let me know when a quiet table for two opened up. It didn't take too much longer for her to find me one. Now I just had to wait for Hermione to show. I'd reckoned it would be a good idea to meet Hermione in a public place, a hiding in plain sight kind of deal. It was so loud in the Cauldron that I reckoned no one would be able to overhear any conversation we had (although there were several spells which I planned to use to prevent that at any rate) and it would keep us both on track. I had to admit that since she'd shown up in my office, I couldn't get the bird out of my mind.

Like I said, it was the damsel in distress thing. So meeting in public was a good exercise in self-discipline for me if nothing else. Not to mention keeping me from making a fool of m'self. I'd been around the block often enough to know that just because someone fancies people of the same gender doesn't mean they fancy every person of that sex. For all I knew, Hermione only went for scrawny blondes, ginger Amazons or exotic dusky brunettes. Alright, I could change meself into anything she'd like on the outside but it would still be me, wouldn't it? Not to mention she was still getting over the death of her bloke. I knew I had to proceed with caution.

Hermione arrived at precisely one o'clock, Hannah pointing her towards my table looking like she'd just sucked on a lemon. Perhaps she'd heard the rumours about Hermione killing Ron. Or was such a skilled Legilimens that she could see inside my head, watching what I would like to do to Hermione Granger nee Weasley if I ever could get her alone. I really hoped it was the former.

Hermione looked radiant as she approached me. "You said there was good news?" she asked, taking a seat across from me. "Please tell me!" She glanced around nervously, then pulled out her wand. "Muffliato!" she said quickly.

"Nice one," I murmured in appreciation. "Don't think I know that one, do I?"

"It's a very helpful spell created by...well, someone taught it to Harry and he taught it to me," she said quietly. "No one can listen in on us now."

I nodded. I'd have to remember that one in future. Could come in quite handy. "Well, I don't know if I'd call it good news so much as news proper. I've been doing a bit of cloak and dagger for you and found an interesting link." I explained to her everything I'd learned about Goyle; she'd clearly had no idea about his Transformation into Aloysius.

"Geezer seems clean for the moment though I still think there's something very dodgy about him. He might've had a mate who did Ron in for him or...well, not sure yet. But, I'm not giving up that line of investigation so quickly. If nothing else, if we're really painted into a corner, it'll shed some light on a suspect other than yourself. He's got quite a lot more motive than you've ever had. It'll at least make the Aurors consider someone else while we prove your innocence."

Hermione's face lit up. She really was gorgeous when she smiled. "Goyle always was a horrid little bully. Well, not so little. More like extra-large bully, truth be told." Her grin grew wider, and I caught sight of a dimple I'd never really noticed before. "He and his mate Crabbe hated us. I wouldn't be surprised if he had his hand in this after all."

"If nothing else, I reckon he knows far more than he's telling." At that point, the conversation lulled as Hannah came over to the table to take our orders. I got myself a steak & ale pie along with a mulled mead while Hermione ordered a plate of fish and chips and a glass of white wine. The grub arrived in short order, piping hot and smelling delicious.

"Cheers," I said, raising my glass in salute.

"A votre sante," Hermione said in response, tipping her wine glass in my direction, then took a sip. I found myself focusing her lips as they wrapped around the rim, her tongue — pink and pointed—darting out to taste it. I could feel my toes curling inside my boots, thinking about that tongue and just what it could do and where it could do it.

She must've caught me gawping at her cos the corner of her mouth went up into a smirk and she batted her eyelashes at me coyly, causing me to blush. I immediately managed to knock my fork off the table along with my napkin, nearly taking my pie with it. Luckily for me Hermione grabbed it before the whole thing wound up in my lap. It was damp enough down there without the added bonus of a steak & ale pie, and mushy peas. I ducked down under the table to retrieve the fork and the napkin, embarrassed by my habitually clumsiness. Still, it gave me a good view of those amazing legs of hers; she was wearing stockings and heels again today. I could feel my tummy doing flip-flops as I caught sight of them while over a hundred naught thoughts flooded my brain.

"Tonks, are you all right down there?" Hermione asked in concern.

It took me a minute to regain my composure and bring my head up again, carefully avoiding the table's edge from impacting with my skull. "Erm. Yeah. Just..." I held up the fork and napkin sheepishly. "Hadda pick 'em up." I felt like an utter plank, like an awkward, tongue-tied schoolgirl around my latest crush. Well, other than the schoolgirl bit, I supposed that was the truth of the matter. Schoolgirl. I had a brief flash of Hermione wearing a skimpier version of her Hogwarts uniform and had to bite my lip to keep from moaning. I had to stop thinking like this. It was very bad for client relations.

Oblivious to my reaction, Hermione began to tuck into her fish and chips. I turned my attention to my meal, hoping to shake that image out of my head. It worked initially, but soon I was casting surreptitious glances at Hermione, watching her eat, imagining what those lips would feel like on mine...and elsewhere. She nibbled delicately on a chip, and then another, my thoughts wandering yet again to very naughty places.

I squirmed in my seat, tearing my eyes away, trying to focus on my own plate. I managed a few more bites before I was distracted by her again. There was something utterly fascinating in the way she swallowed and the way the droplets of wine shone on her lips. I sat there for several minutes, my mouth hanging open, my food-laden fork hanging frozen halfway up from my plate.

"Tonks?" Hermione's voice shook me out of my reverie. She looked at me a bit funny, making me blush even more.

"Wot's the matter?" I asked, putting my hand over my mouth. "Have I got something in m'teeth?"

"No," she replied. She leaned forward and put her hand over mine. I could feel her trembling. "Nothing like that."

"What, then...?"

I saw her cheeks colour slightly, her brown eyes shining brightly. "I just...I like it when you look at me that way."

That was a surprise, albeit a pleasant one. It's not something I heard very often in my life. "Yeah?"
She tightened her fingers around my own; they were warm and soft. "Yes." The tension between us was palpable, sending a shiver up my spine. I suddenly felt her foot rubbing against my ankle, her toes working their way up my calf sensually.

I bit back a gasp. "Do you—perhaps we ought to go somewhere a bit more private?"

Hermione nodded, setting her fork down. I flagged Hannah down, got our receipt and threw down a handful of coins, Hermione grabbing me by the wrist and dragging me out into the street. We wound up heading into the first empty alley we could find, hidden by the shadows. I pushed Hermione against the cold, damp stone wall, the bricks rough beneath my hands as my mouth claimed hers. Her lips were sweet, soft and warm under mine, her kisses heady and intoxicating. My lips parted as I felt her tongue snake out against them, letting her delicately probe the inside of my mouth. I moulded my body against hers, feeling the heat radiating between us in the chill of the alley.

We kissed for what seemed like eternity, as if there was nothing else in the world but the two of us. It was glorious. I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt so good. A skittering noise behind us made me pull away, gasping for breath. I pulled out my wand, half-expecting to see Goyle looming over us, or maybe a pissed off Auror, but there was no one. I caught sight of a rat scuttling its way along the kerb, towards a sewer grate. "Blimey," I muttered. "That's enough to give a girl a fright."

Hermione's hands were still in my hair, her fingers gently caressing the back of my neck. "I'm glad I've got you to protect me."

"Heh. That's what I'm here for, I s'pose," I replied. She felt so good, smelled so good, tasted so good; I could've stayed there for hours just snogging her. But I knew she had to get back to work and somewhere in the back of my head, a voice was nagging me, reminding me that getting involved with a client was never a clever idea. I told it to shut its fat festering gob.

"I-I know it's a bit awkward right now," Hermione continued, as if she could read my innermost thoughts. "but I'd really like it if we could..." I could see her cheeks flushing in the dim light of the alley. "I want to see you again. I really like you, Tonks. I always have done. I just never thought...well, a lot of this is new to me."

I nodded, my heart pounding in my chest. "It's new to me too, love. I mean, I've had other girlfriends, but not for very long. And I never liked any of them half as much as I fancy you," I blurted.

"When all of this is over, when I've cleared my name, I want to see you." Hermione blushed harder. "See if maybe we could be more than just friends."

That caused me to laugh. "Love, I think we've already crossed that line, haven't we?"
Hermione started to laugh too. "Yes, I suppose we have."

Sighing, I pulled away from her, then offered her my arm. "C'mon then. We ought to get you back where you belong. And I've got work to do. The sooner I get this all sorted, the sooner we can think about better things, yeah?"

On To Part II
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