Author's Note: Enjoy!

Disclaimer: The following characters belong to J.K. Rowling, and this story derives from her original works, storylines, and world. You can tell I am not she because #transrights

Warnings: NA

This week's AU: Roaring Twenties!AU

Speakeasy and Hold Your Tongue

Remus saw her crossing the dance floor through all the smoke and the shimmying, dancing crowd. It wasn't just that she was the most beautiful girl in the speakeasy, tucked away in the basement of the old family home Sirius had put up as their cover. Well, yes, she was beautiful. But more importantly, she was most definitely a cop. And they couldn't have cops around here.

Remus was suspicious as soon as he saw her. The speakeasy was, in every way that mattered aside from its dull and boring lighting, loud. There were bright colours, there was loud jazz music, the smell of bad bathtub gin and moonshine was obnoxiously powerful too—but nobody in the space actually seemed to notice it, aside from Remus. Everybody else was lost in some song or in someone's arms or in their own drink. Nobody came to The Marauder's with that much clarity and focus, and if they did they were trying to peel it all away as quickly as possible. They didn't run a clean establishment, of course, but they ran a very efficient one. It was part of why he and the boys were on such a lax leesh from the boss and tucking away such a nice cut of The Marauder's profits.

He could have sounded the alarm right away. He, James, Sirius and Peter had a system in place for occasions just like this, and it was one of the reasons that they always made sure that one of them was behind the bar to keep an eye on the place.

But it wasn't every day that the cops sent in an undercover agent, especially one who was a woman and whose disguise was as good and daring as hers was. So Remus decided to investigate, and simply smile at her as she took a seat at the bar. Her headband had beautiful crystal flowers interrupting the black band and it held her short, honeyed curls away from her face. Black gloves covered her arms from fingertips to elbows, but otherwise her arms were bare and her dress was short enough to be as bold as the rest of the dancers and drinkers they were playing host to tonight. Remus blushed a little at the thought, but there was nowhere on her where she could hide a gun—that was for sure.

"What can I get for you?" Remus asked.

"The night's special," she said. "Mind if I smoke?"

"Of course," Remus said as he went about making her drink.

Strike two. Nobody who actually spent this much time in the undergrounds asked to smoke anywhere—not now, not before prohibition had really started, not ever. Remus had never been the most adventurous of their little gang and he had never been the boldest, but even he knew that.

He slid her drink across the counter to her and she just managed to catch it instead of crashing to the floor.

Remus grinned.

"I'm such a clutz," she said, clicking her tongue and batting a hand towards Remus. And her eyes. There was no denying that those blue eyes were on the electric side of things.

"Don't worry," Remus told her. "Practise makes perfect, you'll see."

"I'll see?" she smiled, bringing the glass to her lips and taking a careful sip. "Got a lot of regulars, here?"

"That's the question everybody asks," Remus said. Actually, nobody was asking that question and nobody needed to ask that question unless they were a cop.

Strike three.

He knew exactly how many bullets he had in the gun at his hip, and today's safeword was on the tip of his tongue. Remus only had to ask one of the other bartenders to go grab extra ice in the back for him to go alert the other boys. If he wanted to save himself the trouble, he could even add extra ice to the daily specials' menu for the others to see and immediately lock the place down. They had rarely had to do it, since old family money from James could usually buy a petty cop's silence and since they largely stayed out of trouble by doing their own rum-running. But Remus knew they could.

"And what's the answer?" she asked with a mischievous half-smile.

"You'll have to become one to see," Remus said.

She laughed into her glass—a big, genuine laughter that obviously came from deep within her belly.

"Unfortunately, I don't look nearly as good in the other four dresses I'd have to wear to make coming here my full-time job," she said.

"Do you mean to tell me that there's a dress in this world you don't look wonderful in?" Remus asked again, leaning on the counter.

"Keep talking like that and I'm sure I can be tempted to let you find out," she said. She winked at Remus as she put her glass back on the table, empty. He nearly believed her, as he got busy making her another drink, despite his best instincts and all the years of experience he had that should make him better than this.

She was definitely with the police. But…

Well, she was pretty and she was light and she was witty. Maybe Remus could keep investigating some more…

WC: 875