Hello!
Thank you so much for sticking with it, I am enjoying your comments and reviews immensely. As usual, I own nothing.
To address a few comments from this last round:
-OllyOllyOxycodone: If armpit hair makes you go soft, then the ramblings of my brain are definitely not for you. You are dismissed.
-YuriHentai641: Magic is pretty cool, but I don't believe that even Harry Potter universe magic could give Tonks the ability to create something like sperm where there weren't any; Tonks is female, even if she morphs herself a nice dick, at least in my version of this universe.
Read, enjoy, and review!
"Do you think he likes me?"
Hermione lowered her book to peer at Ginny across the living room; the red headed witch was curled on the edge of the sofa with her chin in her hand, gazing dispiritedly out the window at the Quidditch scrimmage in full-swing above the neighboring wheat field. Setting aside the book, Hermione carefully extricated herself from the over-stuffed armchair and flung herself onto the couch next to Ginny, coming to rest with her arm around the younger girls' waist, head on her shoulder. The pair watched the game, laughter and disconnected words floating in to them on the thick summer breeze.
"I think he does" Hermione muttered distractedly, her eyes tracking the vision of Tonks sitting on her broom guarding the rotting telephone pole currently in use as a goal post; the witch was wearing her baggy black pants and a sports bra, pink hair shining like a beacon in the sun.
Ginny grunted and flipped onto her back, spluttering when their combined hair frizz ended up in her mouth, sticking to the sweat on her face. Eventually the pair settled again, Ginny stretched out on her back with Hermione's head on her shoulder. The clock in the kitchen struck 2:00 in the afternoon; outside the sound of revelry as a goal was scored. "Did Remus sleep in with Tonks again last night?" Ginny mumbled, eyes closed.
"Yeah, he's been in there the last few nights, sleeping on a cot at the foot of her bed," Hermione sighed, sitting up a bit and propping her chin on Ginny's chest with her hand, "Tonks has told me that if I want to stay down there, that he can move to the other 'room', but - I don't know-" Hermione's eyes flickered out the window to track Tonks' floating form, "It's kind of weird."
Ginny grunted again, eyes still closed, "Definitely weird." The back door slammed, the sounds of Molly bustling around the kitchen filtering down the hall. "I mean, it's not like you can get it on with one of your professors lurking outside the door."
"Right?" Hermione chuckled, trying in vain to tuck her frizzy hair behind her ear, "I mean I don't even want to, well, get busy every night. Some space to be alone and cuddle would be nice though."
One green eye cracked open, "Oh come on; at least naked cuddling" Ginny's eyebrow crept up lasciviously.
Hermione grinned, "Definitely, especially in this heat."
The pair devolved into giggles.
Ginny wheezed, throwing her arm over her eyes, "Merlin, I could really do with some naked cuddling with Ha-"
Hermione poked her hard in the ribs, "No, NOPE, that's where that sentence ENDS" She choked out, grinning from ear to ear, "I refuse to see Harry in that way. I saw him in his knickers once and it -nearly- killed me,"
"Well, you're gay so I wouldn't exactly call you an expert!" Ginny scoffed, dumping Hermione off of her and tickling her with ardor.
Hermione shrieked, flailing futilely, "NO NO NO IT'S TOO HOT!"
Molly strode into the living room, wisps of hair escaping from the kerchief wrapped around her sweaty brow; she paused in the middle of the rug and watched as Ginny wollaped a squealing Hermione with a pillow. "Right! I have too much on my plate and I see that you girls need something to do!" Molly enunciated each syllable, unyielding. "Don't argue!" Molly's finger came up to wave at them, Ginny gathering herself for a huff; "I have a cake to bake - you know that your father has that big meeting at work and I want to have something nice for his afternoon tea, but I also have to do the laundry and weed the herbs, which have started to go migratory so that is a FULL afternoons work-" Molly paused, hands on her hips, her lips working like a raspberry pip was stuck in her molar.
The three starred at one another, the sounds from the Quidditch match filtering in through the window; Molly's foot began to tap on the rug.
"We'll bake the cake!" Hermione declared, slightly too loud; her palms had begun to sweat as soon as Molly's expectant stare had landed on them. She could feel Ginny's glare boring a hole in the side of her head, white-hot and itchy. Without breaking eye contact with Molly she jabbed a finger into Ginny's side, her ridged smile curling a bit at the younger witches yelp.
Molly scanned the two girls on the couch, her piercing gaze landing on each of them in turn; suddenly her face cracked open into a beaming smile, "That's wonderful!" She crowed, turning to walk back down the hall, a receding "I'll be with the herbs!" punctuated with the back door banging shut.
Ginny threw herself backwards onto the couch, groaning like she had eaten one of Fred and George's Puking Pastilles, "Uuuuuggggghhhhh…'Mione! Why did you DO that?"
"I don't know! I panicked!"
Ginny put her hands in the air, eyes wide, her lips screwed into mock rage, "Whhhhyyyyyy?!"
"Your mom's intimidating!"
Ginny whined.
"Come on, I'll show you how to make my mom's Victoria Sponge!" Hermione slapped Ginny on the thigh, the red-head's whine unwavering, "Do you even know how to bake?" Hermione chuckled, continuing to pat Ginny's leg.
Ginny expelled her pent up breath in a huff, spitting her wandering hair out of her mouth, "No, I don't actually" Ginny grumbled, "I've helped mom in the kitchen a lot, and I know the spells, but I haven't practised them outside of school…"
"No, like baking" Hermione interrupted, her hand flying to her chest in mock stupefaction when Ginny's eyebrows stayed perplexed. "Like, muggle baking. Hand-written recipes? Dough on your hands? MARY BERRY?"
Ginny stared at her, blank.
"Seriously?! Not even Mary Berry?" Hermione's voice cracked, incredulous and amused. "Okay, we're going into the kitchen and not coming out until I have taught you every damned step of this recipe AND you are covered head to toe in flour."
Ginny put her hands over her face and groaned, though Hermione could clearly see the smile not quite hidden by her palms.
"Come on! No arguments! We're doing this. Now!"
Tonks touched down, muttering to herself as her feet sunk into a boggy patch in the reeds; the sun was beginning to swing towards the horizon, but the wind had died and the afternoon was sweltering. Shouldering her broom, she slogged towards the edge of the field, seed heads as dry as sand sticking to her sweaty skin. Further down the gravel drive, Fred and George were arguing with Ron over the final play, their broom-handle beater sticks swinging noticeably at their sides. Tonks stood for a moment and watched the brothers, fingers casually brushing the end of her wand in it's holster at her thigh; Fred gesticulated loudly, drawing the younger Weasley's attention enough to give George a chance to drop something down the back of Ron's shirt. The effect was immediate, and apparently invigorating as Ron shrieked and high-tailed it into the field, arms flailing in vain at his shirt, leaving Fred and George in fits.
Tonks chuckled and turned towards the Burrow; she didn't have any siblings, but there was something about watching the Weasley clan that made her both long for them, and thank a the stars that she didn't. She left her broom leaning against the garden wall and caught a glimpse of Molly bobbing about in the herbs as she knocked the dirt off her boots and shook errant grass seeds from her hair.
Stepping into the Burrow's mudroom was like walking into a cave; the afternoon was waning hot and still, and the contrasting shadow within made Tonks rub her eyes; Merlin was she sticky. Following a murmur of voices, she wandered down the hall and turned into the kitchen, still blinking the film of dust from her eyes.
"If you stop whipping that you're not getting any cake!" Hermione trilled, brow furrowed as she fought with the oven door on the Weasley's ancient Aga cooker; Ginny's eyes landed on Tonks from her perch on top of the counter, a large bowl of cream in her lap. Without breaking her desperate eye contact, Ginny jabbed her whisk into the bowl, her lips curling into a snarl as she began to beat the contents, tiny freckled arms straining, a breathy growl emanating from her thin lips.
Tonks grinned and leaned against the door jamb, snickering quietly as she took in the battered kitchen and their flour-smudged cheeks; Hermione was on her knees in front of the Aga, the giant metal contraption squeaking and shivering as Hermione attempted to get the roasting oven door to close.
"Oh to Hell with it!" Hermione spat, levering herself to her feet and sweeping her disordered hair from her eyes, "Gin, I absolutely cannot understand these Aga cook-" With a loud bang the roasting door crashed shut. While Hermione was still stiff with shock, Tonks swaggered up behind her and kissed her on the cheek, "All you needed was a little lubricant, my love," Tonks rumbled, patting Hermione on the shoulder and smirking over to where Ginny sat like a statue on the counter, the beginnings of whipped cream dripping off of her whisk; "Victoria sponge, yeah?" She nodded in the direction of the full cake pans and jar of strawberry jam on the kitchen island, "Personally, my dad always preferred buttercream to whipped cream in a sponge."
Hermione visibly shook herself, the hairs on her arms still standing at attention; as quick as a snake she grabbed a wooden spoon off the counter and spun, the spoon coming down with a soft smack on Tonks' forearm, the older witches finger hovering just over the cream in Ginny's bowl. "None for you," She barked, severity seeping from her pores, "And don't. Stop. Whisking." Hermione turned on her heel and, picking up the cake tins, swung them into the Aga, and stalked out the back door into the garden.
Tonks and Ginny eyed each other for a second, the grandfather clock ticking in the background over the pops and hisses of the Aga; with measured movements Tonks raised her wand and tapped the whisk handle with a whisper, her gaze swinging to the empty kitchen door.
"Don't let go" Tonks murmured out of the corner of her mouth, and hurried out into the hall towards the garden door; behind her, Ginny suddenly found the whisk spinning around the bowl in increasingly hectic circles, her hand merely hanging on for dear life, a thin whimper gaining octaves as the cream thickened