Entry tags:

*fic/art collab, 2008-01, artist: twilightsorcery, author: misfit_ragdoll, author: ragdoll, character: hermione, character: pansy, character: ron, character: tonks, content: femmeslash, content: fingering, content: lesbians, content: lingerie, theme: everything old is new

Fic/Art: From Out Of The Past (Tonks/Hermione, NC-17)
Title: From Out Of The Past
Author/Artist: story by ragdoll & twilightsorcery, written by ragdoll, illustrated by 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 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 twilightsorcery who I couldn't have done it without.

Art Preview:




By the time I got back to my office, my head was a bit clearer. That wasn't necessarily a good thing. I was already starting to regret our little alleyway tryst. Not that I hadn't wanted it. Hardly. It was just that it went against everything that a good private investigator should do. The first rule is never get emotionally involved with your client. Of course, I had already broken that one and it was making me feel as guilty as hell. Not only was she six years my junior and recently widowed, but she was also paying me to prove she was innocent. I was pretty certain there was something in the PI handbook about 'conflicts of interest' when it came to snogging one's employer.

I knew I needed to back off, the sooner the better. But knowing it and wanting to act on it were two totally different things. The problem was I fancied her like mad and now that I knew she felt the same way about me, it was going to be bloody torturous to give that up. But, I had to. I needed to keep my head if I was going to solve this case and get Hermione off the hook. No one was going to listen to me or take this case seriously if there was any question of collusion between us, especially the emotional sort. If I couldn't be objective, we were both screwed royally.

I had to give her up. At least for the time being. It was times like these when I wished I could be a cold, logical Ravenclaw rather than an desperately devoted Hufflepuff. I sighed and dug out a bottle of Firewhisky from my bottom desk drawer, pouring myself a drink, trying to remind myself that seducing a client wasn't just a terrible idea, it was also damned unethical. Sadly, I was never very good at taking my own advice.

* * *

I knew I needed to get back to the Cunt to check out Ron's rooms. I'm no Seer but I had a gut feeling that there had to be something that the Aurors had overlooked. With twats like Williamson on the case, it was a fucking forgone conclusion. I just had to be extra careful in doing it. Goyle wasn't the brightest pumpkin in the patch but I reckoned he'd be able to hear a pathetically uncoordinated git like me tripping her away up the stairs, pranging into everything in her path. I couldn't just go popping on in on him on some pretence so I was going to have to wait until it was late enough at night that he might actually be otherwise occupied. This was going to take some careful and clever planning and some very good timing to make certain nothing went wrong.

I waited until midnight before leaving, feeling like a walking Advanced Defence Against Dark Arts text book, covered from head to toe in assorted spells. There were silencing spells on my boots and my gloves, muffling charms on my clothes, Disillusionments on m'head. I wrapped myself in my fairly new Invisibility Cloak and Apparated off to the boarding house, reappearing down the street, hoping I was far enough out of range for any security spells Goyle might've had put on his premises. I'd tried to check before I'd buggered off from there earlier but nothing had shown up. I just prayed there weren't any active now or any that I'd missed entirely.

I snuck up to the front door, somehow managing to make it up the stairs without any mishaps, then checked the lock for any protective spells. There didn't seem to be any, so I used my copy of the key and let myself in. So far, so good. However, my luck didn't last very long as I immediately tripped on the loose edge of the fraying hallway carpet, and went sprawling face first onto the tile floor. Thought I was done in at that point, especially since the door to Greggy's office was ajar and there was light pouring out of it. Held m'breath for a few minutes, but didn't hear a thing.

I got to my feet and peeked into the room. There was Goyle, passed out on the sofa in his office, an empty bottle of booze clutched in his huge hand. He was snoring loud enough to shake the walls, although he stirred and snorted as I stuck my head in. My heart was pounding like a drum as I prayed he didn't wake. This time my luck held and all he did was roll over on to his side and let out an earth-shattering fart. I held my breath, trying not to gag from the stench. Definitely a sign that I needed to move on.

The lift was still broken so I legged up several flights to Ron's room on the fourth floor, number seventy-six, once again checking to make sure there were no security spells before going in. This time I found 'em, mostly room sealing spells, but they were bog-standard for Aurors and easily dispensed with. It all seemed a bit too easy so I checked and checked again for something a bit more insidious, but came up with fuck all. To be honest, I was deeply disappointed by the lack of a challenge. Of course, that was the main reason I'd buggered off from the Department in the first place — lack of imagination from the lot of 'em. Any halfway clever criminal with some knowledge of Department procedure could've broken in without any effort at all. Pitiful.

The room was small and dingy, the walls cracking and peeling, the floor covered in yellowing lino. Most of Ron's gear was still there; some clothes, some shoes, an assortment of Quidditch and naughty magazines, and very little else. His tea things were still on the premises, including a half filled teacup which I assumed had to have contained the fatal dose. I heaved a sigh, feeling sorry for the poor bastard. I took a sample just to set my mind at ease that the Aurors hadn't bollixed their toxicology report.

There wasn't much else to go through; Ron hadn't had much to his name, and wasn't one for material things. The fact that he was living in such rotten digs kind of proved that. Still, I had a butcher's in every drawer, cabinet and space I could find, hoping that something would turn up. Finally it did. Hidden in the back of one of Ron's cabinets was a small Pensieve. I made sure I wasn't going to be disturbed and then helped myself to the memories inside...

Goyle was busy meeting some dodgy looking characters at the back of the boarding house, collecting a few crates from them. It was dark and quiet, with no one else around. He brought them into his office with a flourish of his wand and began to rifle through them, pulling out what looked like a few magical artifacts, some Class A Non-Tradable Goods and some Class C Non-Tradable Substances...

"So, Greggy old son, you've been up to some very naughty things, haven't you?" I murmured, putting the memory back into the swirling silver light of the stone basin. I pulled out a few more which seemed to have similar outcomes. It seemed as if Goyle had been up to his bull-like neck in a smuggling operation. I'd definitely have to tip off Kingsley about that when the opportunity presented itself.

I was ready to give up when I noticed one last memory floating about. I'd nearly missed it, and considered just letting it alone, but I was growing desperate. This time, however, it paid off.

Goyle was at his desk, shuffling through some papers when Hermione came barrelling into the office, her eyes blazing, her fists balled in anger. "What do you want, Granger?" he asked disdainfully.

Hermione came up to him, bristling. "I need to get into Ron's rooms. Now. And you're going to let me."

He scowled, then laughed. "And why should I do that? I don't take no orders from any Mudblood bitch."

"Because," Hermione said with a growl, wincing as she heard the insult, "if you don't, I'll go to the Aurors Department and tell them who you really are, Mr. Aloysius. They might not take it too kindly to know a former Death Eater's pretending to be something he isn't."

Goyle narrowed his beady eyes and grunted. "Who says they'll listen to you, Mudblood?"

"I've still got a better reputation than you, Goyle. Now let me up there."

"Fine," he muttered, then reached for his keys.

I couldn't bear to watch any more, wrenching the memory out of my head and back into the basin. Hermione had told me she hadn't been to Ron's rooms at all, hadn't seen him since he'd moved out. She'd had his gear sent to him, unable to face the fact that they'd split up. If that was true, then what had she been doing in Goyle's office, threatening him in order to get into Ron's bedsit? And if Ron had been expecting her, why had she needed to strong arm Goyle at all?

I felt a bit sick, needing some fresh air. I shoved the Pensieve back into the cabinet, planning on leaving immediately. As I turned, I tripped over a small chest, tumbling arse over elbow on to the lino. As I struggled to my knees, swearing under my breath, there was a strange flicker of light from the chest along with a momentary vision of Ron and another woman in an intimate embrace which then winked out of existence. That certainly piqued my curiosity.

I went back over to the chest, examining it carefully. At first glance, it was just an empty chest, but as I began to fiddle with it, it became apparent there was much more to it. I hit it with a Revelio and suddenly, a silent ghostly scene was playing out before my eyes, like an image coming from a Muggle film projector. There was Ron, very much alive and well, snogging a dark-haired woman with great intensity. She was wearing what looked to be expensive lingerie while Ron was as naked as the day he was born. The woman pulled away, letting Ron slide her chemise over her head, revealing a pair of exquisite breasts beneath. I tried to keep my attention on her face, although it wasn't easy. She was aristocratic looking, her features sharp but attractive. Her hair was worn in a sleek bob, her eyes were dark, her lips full and lush, her makeup impeccable. Definitely a posh bird, hardly the type to be messing about with a poor sod like Ron Weasley in a place like this. In any event, she looked very familiar although I couldn't put a name to her right away. Whoever she was, Ron was clearly entranced by her. He could barely keep his hands off of her.

As I watched the two of them continue to go at it, I tried to suss out what the point of it all was. The chest was clearly some sort of surveillance device, and a clever one at that, but who the hell had set it up and for what purpose? Had Ron known about it? My thoughts kept going back to Hermione's conversation with Goyle and her insistence about going up to Ron's room. Had she known about this affair or at least suspected? Some things were just not adding up. Like it or not, I was going to have to confront Hermione with the evidence, even if I didn't like where the signs were pointing. With a bad feeling in my bones, I picked myself up, grabbed the chest and scarpered out of there, determined to get to the bottom of this as soon as I possibly could. Unfortunately, as much as I wanted to demand answers from Hermione this very minute, I was going to have to wait for the sun to come up at the very least.

* * *

It was just after dawn when I fire-called to Hermione's flat, still angry from the night before. I'd been unable to sleep, going over the evidence repeatedly, trying to suss out just who Ron's mystery woman was and where I'd seen her before. The surveillance equipment showed a lot more than snogging and I'd gotten an eyeful of more of Ronald Bilius Weasley than I'd ever thought I would. Same went for his companion. I had to give both of them top marks for effort and ingenuity; they certainly had gone at it in every way imaginable, and a few I certainly hadn't imagined before this. I knew something was radically wrong here but I couldn't put my finger on it.

"Hermione!" I shouted in the fire. "Hermione Jean Granger, wake up! I know you're in there!"

It took several minutes before I saw Hermione's face in the flames. She was still in her dressing gown, looking half asleep, her hair more the way I remembered it from the past: bushy and in disarray, pulled up into a makeshift bun. "Tonks?" she said, groggily. 'You do know it's not even six yet. Have you found out something important?"

"You might say that," I retorted, gruffly. "I want your arse in my office as soon as you can get there. We've got some things to discuss."

"Tonks, what—" she started, then clamped her mouth shut. "I have to go into work. Meet me at my office? Give me a few minutes to get myself together. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"You'd better, or I will drag you there kicking and screaming if necessary." With that, I pulled my head out of the fireplace, and went to freshen myself up before leaving.

She kept me waiting for what seemed like an eternity but was probably closer to about ten or fifteen minutes. I paced back and forth outside the door like an anxious Kneazle waiting for his suppoer. Finally, she arrived, looking as bandbox fresh as she had the first day she'd come to see me, and then let me in. "What's all this about, Tonks? What have you discovered?"

I didn't even dignify her with a response, just pointed to the surveillance device I'd found, fighting to keep my expression impassive. Her first reaction was surprise, then she tried to cover it up, feigning confusion.

"Wh-what is that?" she asked, voice quavering, eyes round. "What's a chest got to do with anything?"

"I know what it is, Hermione," I sneered. "And so do you."

"I-I do?"

"Pull the other one, my girl. It's got bells on." I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to look menacing, although I doubt it was working. "I found it in Ron's room. I know what it does. Only someone as clever as you would be able to put together something that clever. It's like a bit like a Muggle video, isn't it?" I'd encountered one of those before on an Aurors' case. A Muggle tabloid reporter pretending to be a Squib had been making recordings of witches and wizards casting spells in order to "prove" we existed to the Muggle public at large. We'd caught him, confiscated his equipment and Obliviated the bloke before he was able to release any of his findings. I never did understand how he got the pictures into the little box, but then again, Muggle contraptions never were my forte.

"I don't know what you mean." Hermione fiddled with the edge of her skirt, her face blanching. "Tonks, I don't know what you're accusing me of but—"

"Save it, Hermione!" I shouted, causing her to jump. "I could force you to watch the bloody thing—but I'd rather save you the trouble if it's all the same to you. Personally, I've got no interest in seeing Ron take his little girlfriend up the arse again. If you do, I suppose we could..." I moved to pull out my wand, as if I was going to start it up again.

"All right, all right. It's—it's mine!" she blurted. "I set it up!"

I cocked an eyebrow at her. "But, why?"

"I-I knew he was having an affair. I just...had to prove it." She went on to tell me that shortly after Ron had moved out of their place, he'd been seen all over town with Pansy Parkinson, a Pureblood bitch I remembered from the War. No wonder she looked familiar. She'd been the one who'd walked out on Harry Potter in the middle of the Battle of Hogwarts, taking the entire Slytherin student population with her like so many sheep. Hermione had been appalled that Ron had gotten involved with her; from all she told me, Parkinson sounded like her polar opposite: a self-absorbed, vain, pampered little princess. Why she'd chosen to get her hooks into Ron Weasley of all people was beyond my ken. I suppose the fact that he was a Pureblood wasn't to be overlooked. These days, with so many Pureblood families wiped out or on the brink of extinction, even blood traitors were in high demand as long as they had the right bloodlines.

"I was jealous!" Hermione continued, choking back a sob. "I couldn't bear to see him with a woman like that. Pansy Parkinson! If it had been some other t-tart, I suppose I could've managed, but not with her. It's true — I went to see Goyle and got him to let me into Ron's room to set up the equipment, to gather some evidence. When I s-saw what they'd been up to, I just lost complete control, Tonks. I-I went home and planned it all. I made the poisoned belladonna, I planted in his tea...b-but I hadn't meant to kill him. Just to make him so ill that he wouldn't see her for a bit, to—to make him suffer the way he was making me suffer! I d-didn't realise it would be that strong! You've got to believe me, Tonks! It was an accident!"

I didn't know what to say. She looked so pitiful and so lost at that moment, all I wanted to do was put my arms around her and tell her it was going to be all right. But I couldn't. Not yet. I drew in a sharp breath and then let it out with a sigh. "You've got to turn yourself in, love. It's the only way. I can't help you any longer."

Hermione nodded her head slowly, wiping away a stray tear. "You-you're right. I will. W-will you take me to the Ministry? Perhaps they'll give you some sort of commendation for getting me to confess."

"For fuck's sake, Hermione, I don't want any damned commendation. I just wanted you to tell me the bloody truth, not mess me about. I just wanted..." Before I could stop myself, I was kissing her again fiercely, my mouth clamped upon hers. Hermione clung to me, kissing me back with equal intensity. It was as much an act of desperation as passion; if she was found guilty, she would be sent to Azkaban as a murderer and I might never see her again. Yeah, things had gotten a bit better now that there were no damned Dementors on the scene, but she'd be on the godforsaken rock for the rest of her natural born days.

Hermione moaned against my lips, yielding as I forced my tongue in her mouth, duelling with her own. I pulled her towards me, fumbling back towards her desk, drawing her between my splayed legs, not protesting as she rubbed herself against my thigh. Her hands were already unbuttoning my shirt, skimming over my bared skin, practically burning me wherever she touched me. While she made short work of my shirt, I worked my kisses over her chin to her throat, nipping and licking at every square inch I could reach. She smelled so bloody good, spicy and earthy and feminine, her skin tasting just the same.

As she stripped me of my shirt entirely, I began to work on her blouse, tearing at it when the buttons would not give way. They flew in every direction as I yanked at the delicate fabric, then tossed it carelessly to the ground. Her bra was black and lacy, barely containing a pair of plump, pert breasts. I dipped my head down and buried my face between them, lapping at her décolletage greedily, biting at her through the layer of lace.

She forced me farther back against the desk, draping one leg over my still-covered thigh to straddle me, grinding herself against the coarse material as I hiked up her skirt over her hips. My breath hitched as I saw she was wearing silky black thigh-high stockings, dark seams running up the back. My fingers were immediately drawn to the lure of her bare, tanned skin at the tops of her thighs. Hermione guided my hand back to her arse, urging me to caress her. I ran my fingers against the edges of her barely-there knickers; it seemed obvious to me that she'd been intent on some sort of seduction based on her pants, or lack thereof.



Those managed to tear under my grasping hands, sliding down her legs to pool at her feet. Hermione sighed, raising herself up just enough to allow me to slide my hand between us, my arm bracing her back. I could feel the soft flesh of her slit against my fingers, hot and slick as she mewled and rocked against me harder in encouragement. One of her hands found its way to my breast, closing in on it, twisting and tweaking at my already hard nipple. I hissed in approval, biting my lip as I slid two fingers up inside her, feeling her constrict around them.

"Oh, Merlin!" Hermione gasped, writhing against my hand. "Feels so good..."

I chuckled low in my throat, and pushed in deeper this time. I was rewarded with another loud cry from her.

Pressing her thigh harder between my legs, Hermione undulating in response to my touch, moving in rough time with the thrust of my fingers. I found myself moving along with her, the crotch of my trousers coming into contact with my throbbing clit through my own knickers. It certainly wasn't the way I'd have chosen to make love to her, or the optimal place, but at the moment, it was all we had.

Hermione's breath was coming out in erratic, rasping moans as she thrashed frantically in my lap, increasing the already unbearable pressure against my crotch. She squeezed her eyes tightly, throwing her head back and letting out a guttural cry, sending shivers up my spine. I was pretty close to the edge myself at that point; having a beautiful girl wriggling in my arms like that will do every time. She dug her nails into my breast as she tensed, then shook, her cries growing louder and louder.

"That's it," I managed, barely able to get the words out. "That's my girl...unnnngh..."

"Tonks...oh, Tonks...," she moaned in my ear, her breath hot and moist.

At that moment, the dam broke, the orgasm surging over and through me like a tidal wave of pleasure. Wave after wave rushed over me, sending me into a state of utter bliss. I could just feel Hermione's lips on mine, brushing over my face, her hands in my hair as I came back down. My eyelids fluttered open and I was barely aware of her there with me.
"Hello," she said softly, tracing my lips with her fingers.

"Wotcher," I whispered back, still in a haze. As awareness came flooding back, I felt my stomach lurch. Despite what had just transpired between the two of us, Hermione was still guilty of a terrible crime. She was going to have to face the harsh reality of her actions, but I couldn't bear to let her go just yet. I reached up and kissed her tenderly, my fingers catching in the now loose tendrils that had escaped from her well-pinned coiffure.

Hermione looked at me sadly, her cheeks still flush with arousal, then kissed me again. "We ought to..."

I nodded, then sighed, slowly withdrawing my hand from her. "Yeah, we do. Do you...do you still want me to go with you?" I asked awkwardly. I knew that Hermione would turn herself in. She wasn't the sort who would do a runner. At least, I hoped not.

"P-please," she stammered, pulling out of my embrace with reluctance. "I don't want to face them alone. I know I l-lied to you, but Tonks, I promise you. I didn't mean to kill him. I," she hung her head in shame, "I loved him."

"I know, sweetheart. Don't let's talk about it now, yeah?" I looked around for our clothing, which was strewn about the room. I had a feeling a number of Reparo spells were going to be needed to sort things out. It had been worth it.

"Of course. Save it for the courts," Hermione replied.

"I'll do everything I can to help you," I said lamely, handing her torn blouse over to her. "You've got to know that."

Nodding, she accepted the garment from my hand. "I do. I just—let's just get it over with. Please?"

On To Part III