The Great Hall thrummed with the kind of energy that only a party could muster—a glittering chaos of students in swirling gowns, with witches pushing the edge, showing as much skin as they could without breaking the rules; wizards in polished robes; and the faint clink of goblets echoing under the enchanted ceiling, which tonight swirled with a perpetual snowfall that dusted the air without ever settling on the floor.
The string quartet in the corner struck up a lively waltz, the notes lilting and insistent, pulling couples onto the polished dance floor where they spun in a kaleidoscope of colors. I stood off to the side near one of the massive oak doors, playing the part of the dutiful chaperone—wine glass in hand, nodding politely to McGonagall as she herded a pair of giggling Ravenclaws back toward the tables—but my eyes kept drifting to the crowd, picking out familiar faces amid the whirl.
As I was here as a chaperone and a teacher, I was unable to dance with the girls in the public eye; while they might be of legal age, they were still students, and I was a teacher, and I wasn't in the mood to deal with that shit. Luckily, though, since the Crouch murder, Tonks was working a shift at the castle today in their attempt to beef up security as another chaperone/security, so I should still be able to have a good time. Just as I was thinking of her, I felt a light tap on my arm as I turned to look.
Tonks sidled up beside me as she wrapped her arm around mine, looking every bit the rebel in her silver robes that hugged her lithe, pixie-like frame as if they'd been tailored for mischief. The fabric slit high on one thigh, revealing a glimpse of pale skin inked with swirling tattoos—runes and thorns that snaked up from her ankle like living shadows, catching the candlelight in subtle glimmers. Hmm, who knew magical tattoos could have such varied effects? Her hair was a cascade of shimmering silver tonight, falling in loose waves that framed her face and made her look like some punk-rock siren who'd wandered in from a Muggle concert. She nudged my elbow with hers, grinning wide.
"I didn't know you had so many tattoos."
"You're not one of those people who have a problem with them, are you?" she asked, giving me a wary look.
Laughing, I answered, "Not at all. I like my punk girls and goth mommies. I was just surprised; maybe later you can show me the rest of them?" I teased her while waggling my eyebrows jokingly.
"You just might, if you play your cards right..." she said, her voice low and teasing over the music, close enough that I caught the faint scent of vanilla and something sharper, like fresh ink or gunpowder. "Chaperone duty's a drag, isn't it? All these kids fumbling their first dances."
"I didn't notice them. I was busy looking at you," I joked.
She laughed, a bright, unfiltered sound that cut through the din, and twirled a strand around her finger, letting it shift to a streak of electric blue for a second before fading back. "Flattery'll get you everywhere, Professor. But if we're stuck playing wallflower together, might as well make the most of it. Dance with me? Strictly professional, of course—McGonagall's watching."
I set my glass on a passing tray and offered my hand, her calluses rough from wand work against my palm as she took it. "My lady?"
"Oh, good sir," she said, eyes sparkling with that Auror mischief, and we slipped onto the floor as the quartet picked up the tempo, the waltz edging toward something more upbeat, strings vibrating with a playful urgency.
Tonks moved with all the grace of a fairy, surprising me with how clumsy she normally was, as her lithe frame synced to mine with an ease that felt natural, her hand light but sure on my shoulder, the other clasped in mine. Up close, I could see the details I'd only glimpsed before: the light dusting of freckles on her face that only added to her appeal, the tattoos peeking from her collar, delicate lines of thorns and stars curling over her collarbone like a secret map, her silver hair brushing my cheek with every turn, soft as silk and carrying that vanilla edge that made me want to lean in closer. She was all sharp angles and soft curves—punk beauty wrapped in a fighter's grace, the kind of woman who could disarm you with a grin or a spell, and damn if it didn't make the dance feel like foreplay.
Later in the night, as the music swelled, the beat quickening into something more excitable—as The Weird Sisters played a lively song, the bass thrumming low like a heartbeat that you could feel with your whole body—Tonks leaned in, her body pressing closer in the turn, ass grinding against me in a subtle rhythm that sent a jolt straight through me. It was deliberate, playful, her breath warm against my ear as she whispered, "Oops—crowd's tight." But her eyes said otherwise, dark with that tipsy spark from the spiked punch, her thigh brushing mine through the slit in her robes, firm and teasing.
I gripped her waist a fraction tighter, pulling her through the next spin, the heat of her body seeping through the fabric like an invitation. "Tight's one word for it," I murmured back, my hand sliding low on her back, thumb tracing the edge of a tattoo I could see under the silk. She laughed low, the sound vibrating against my chest, and ground again—slower this time, deliberate, her curves molding to me in a way that made the room's warmth feel stifling.
My gaze swept the crowd on instinct, and there they were—watching from the edges like a gallery of jealous flames. Daphne Greengrass, elegant in emerald silk with silver jewelry that made her look like a serpent queen, her cool eyes narrowing as she sipped from her goblet, fingers white-knuckled on the stem. Fleur, radiant in something red and flowing that caught the light like water, while ignoring the date that she had only invited as she was required to open the ball with a dance, her lips pressed thin, a flicker of Veela fire in her stare that promised words later—sharp ones, and probably some steamy alone time to make it up to her. Hermione, tucked against the wall in a small black dress that contrasted with her flawless pale skin, her cheeks flushed not from the dance but from the sight, hands twisting in her skirt like she was holding back a storm. And Pansy Parkinson—red-faced and fuming in the shadows, her dark curls pinned up fancy but her glare pure venom, like I'd stolen something she hadn't even claimed yet. Hmm, her parents must still be pushing her toward me...
Tonks caught the looks, her grin widening against my shoulder. "Got an audience. Should I wave?"
"Let 'em stew," I said, spinning her out and pulling her back in harder, her laugh breathless as the music crested. "I'll just have to deal with them later," I quipped.
The set ended too soon, applause rippling as the quartet bowed, and we slipped off the floor amid the shuffle, her hand still in mine, warm and a little sweaty. "Another?" she asked, but her eyes said more—dark, inviting, the wine loosening her usual quips into something huskier.
"Later," I said, steering her toward the staff table for a breather. "McGonagall's glaring daggers."
She pouted but followed, the sway in her step a little more pronounced now, the punch clearly hitting. The feast dragged after that—platters of roast pheasant and treacle tarts circulating, conversations buzzing about the tasks and dates—but Tonks and I traded glances across the table, her foot nudging mine under the cloth, silver hair falling forward as she laughed at Flitwick's joke a little too long. By the time the dance was finally fizzling out and we were finally let go from chaperone duties—the wine had us both pleasantly fuzzy, the hall's warmth pressing in like a shared secret.
"Walk me to my room?" she asked as the crowd thinned, her voice low, hand brushing my arm in a way that lingered.
"Thought you'd never ask," I replied as I led her toward the temporary lodging for the Aurors.
The corridors were quieter now, the castle's stones cool and echoing underfoot, portraits murmuring goodnights as we made our way to the staff grate. Conversation flowed easy at first—griping about Fudge's latest blunder, swapping Auror war stories—but the wine loosened it, her laughs coming softer, her hand finding mine in the dim torchlight. At the door to her room, she turned, eyes searching mine, the silver in her hair catching the green flames like starlight.
"Thanks for the dances; made the night tolerable," she said, stepping closer, her body heat cutting through the chill like a warming charm, her breath fogging faintly in the corridor's draft as her dark eyes locked on mine with that bold, unfiltered hunger that Tonks wore so well. The silver of her hair caught the torchlight, framing her face in a way that made her look surprisingly innocent.
I tilted her chin up with a finger, my thumb brushing her lower lip—full and soft, tasting of spiced mead and the faint salt of the dance floor's sweat when I leaned in. "Tolerable is a low bar. How about unforgettable?"
R18 Starts Here (It lasts the rest of the chapter) *******************************************
Her breath hitched, a small, needy sound that vibrated against me, and then she was kissing me—tipsy and urgent, lips crashing into mine with the same reckless energy she brought to her dancing, soft but demanding, tasting of mulled wine and the sweet tang of forbidden fruit. Her hands fisted in my robes, bunching the fabric as she backed me against the cool stone wall, the contrast sending a jolt straight through me, her body arching into mine—lithe and firm, all Auror muscle wrapped in soft, yielding heat. I groaned into her mouth, one hand tangling in her silver hair, the strands cool and silky against my fingers like liquid moonlight, the other sliding down to grip her hip, pulling her closer to me so she could feel the growing hardness pressing against her.
She broke the kiss with a gasp, eyes dark and dilated, lips swollen and glistening as she licked them slow, deliberate. "My room, now," she murmured breathlessly against my jaw, voice rough and needy, as she nipped at the skin on my neck just hard enough to sting, her nails scraping lightly down my chest through the fabric. "Now. Can't wait any longer."
The door slammed open as we tumbled through, landing in a heap on the thick rug of her quarters, the fire crackling low in the grate and casting flickering shadows that danced across the stone walls. We barely made it to the bed before hands were everywhere—her fingers fumbling with my robes, popping buttons with impatient tugs that scattered them across the floor, mine pulling her dress above her shoulders, the silver silk pooling at her feet as the lace bra strained against her breasts, tattoos curling over her collarbone like thorny vines claiming territory. She kicked off her shoes with a laugh, low and breathless, as I yanked her panties the rest of the way down her legs, leaving her in nothing but her birthday suit as I took her body in, standing there in nothing but her half-transparent bra through which I could see her pierced nipples stiffening with need. Looking further down, I took in the sexy belly button ring that dangled and the silver-haired pubic patch just above her soaked pussy.
"God, you're gorgeous," I growled, pushing her back onto the tall four-poster, the mattress dipping under her weight as she landed with a soft bounce, silver hair fanning wild across the dark pillows like a halo gone rogue. She looked up at me through hooded eyes, lips parted on a pant, her lithe frame arching slightly as she reached for me, pulling me down on top of her—legs wrapping around my waist, heels digging into my lower back in a demand that made my cock twitch against her thigh.
"Show me," she whispered, voice thick with want, her hands roaming my bare chest now, nails raking light trails that left red lines in their wake, healing just as fast under her Metamorphmagus touch. I kissed her again, tongue delving deep to taste the mead on her, swallowing her moan as my hand slid up her thigh, fingers digging into her wet heat, slick and scorching, her hips bucking up as I stroked through her folds, circling her clit slow before dipping lower, pressing one finger inside her tight warmth, then two, curling just right to make her gasp against my mouth, walls clenching around me in rhythmic pulses that pulled me deeper.
"Ethan—fuck!" she breathed, breaking the kiss to nip at my earlobe, her free hand fumbling with my trousers, freeing my cock with a stroke that had me groaning, her grip firm and teasing, thumb swiping over the tip to spread the pre-cum, stroking slow from base to head as I worked her higher, thumb rubbing her clit in tight circles while my fingers thrust deep, the wet sounds filling the room mingling with her moans—low and broken, hips rolling to meet me, breasts heaving under the lace until I shoved it down, mouth latching onto a nipple, sucking hard as my teeth grazed the peak, drawing a cry from her that echoed off the stone.
She was close—I could feel it in the way her breaths stuttered, thighs trembling against my sides, one hand fisting the sheets while the other pumped me faster, slick with my pre-cum. "Not yet," I murmured, pulling my fingers free with a wet pop, ignoring her whine of protest as I flipped her over onto her stomach, her ass lifting instinctively, the curve of it perfect and firm under my hands—inked tattoos snaking down her spine like a map to pleasure. I slapped her ass once, sharp and resounding, the flesh jiggling under my palm, a red handprint blooming that made her moan low and arch back for more. "Like that?" I asked, voice rough, slapping again—harder, the sting echoing as she pushed back, panties shoved aside, her wetness glistening in the firelight.
"Harder," she demanded, voice muffled against the pillows, and I obliged, hand coming down in a rhythm that had her writhing, moans turning to gasps, the skin reddening under my palm as I kneaded the flesh between strikes, soothing the burn just enough to make her beg for the next. She was dripping now, thighs slick, the scent of her arousal thick in the air—musky and sweet, driving me mad as I leaned down, breath hot against her ear. "On top," I said, rolling us so she straddled me, her knees bracketing my hips, silver hair turned crimson as it fell like a curtain around us as she positioned herself, guiding my cock to her entrance, sinking down slow, inch by inch, her tightness gripping me like a fist—hot, velvet walls fluttering as she took me deep, a moan spilling from her lips as she bottomed out, hips rolling in a slow grind that had us both groaning. While riding me, she subconsciously made her breasts larger with just the right amount of sag underneath their new weight as her pussy magically tightened on my cock, wriggling like a living creature.
"Fuck, you're perfect," I growled, hands on her hips, guiding her as she rode me—slow at first, lifting and dropping with a rhythm that built like a storm, her breasts bouncing with each descent, fuller now as her Metamorphmagus nature kicked in, swelling under my gaze, nipples hard and begging as I reached up to pinch one, rolling it between my fingers until she gasped, arching back, her inner walls clenching tighter in response, squeezing me in a pulse that nearly undid me. "Use it," I urged, voice strained, and she did—her body shifting subtly, pussy tightening like a fist around me, walls undulating in a squirming, rippling massage that milked every inch, the sensation overwhelming, hot and slick as she ground down harder, faster, moans turning to cries—"Ethan—oh God, yes"—her hands braced on my chest, nails digging in as her hair shifted to a wild silver-streaked purple, breasts heaving bigger, bouncier with each bounce, slapping against her chest in a rhythm that matched the wet slap of our bodies.
She leaned forward, hair curtaining us as she kissed me messy, tongue tangling, hips never slowing—riding me hard now, the coil in her core winding tight, walls spasming in warning as I thrust up to meet her, one hand slapping her ass again—sharp, resounding, the flesh jiggling under my palm, red blooming fresh as she cried out, clenching even tighter in response, the squirming pulse around my cock pushing me to the edge. "Cum for me," I groaned against her mouth, fingers finding her clit, rubbing fast circles that had her shattering—walls clamping down in hot, rhythmic waves, milking me relentlessly as she screamed my name, body shuddering, breasts heaving against my chest, hair glowing wild in the firelight. I followed with a roar, spilling deep inside her, hot ropes flooding her as she clenched around me, drawing every drop, the pleasure crashing in endless pulses until we collapsed, tangled and slick, her body still twitching with aftershocks, hair now silver again.
We lay tangled after, her head on my chest, silver hair damp against my skin. "Not bad for chaperones," she murmured, fingers tracing a lazy pattern on my chest.
"Five stars," I said, kissing her temple. "Round two in the morning?"
She laughed, sleep tugging at her. "Deal."
Morning came slow, Tonks slipping out before dawn with a tousled grin and a "Don't make a habit of this—professional boundaries"—but the promise in her eyes said otherwise.