Author's Note: Last chapter, I got a review commenting on how defensive Hermione was over what she perceived as someone putting Harry down. Hmm, I can't think why, in the immediate aftermath of Order of the Phoenix, she might be a little sensitive over people talking shit about him…
ANNOUNCEMENT: I have decided that, going forward, I'll be releasing on Saturdays instead of Fridays. This goes both for here and on , it just gives me a bit more breathing room.
In other news, I'm now posting twice a month on , so I'll be making my next post there tomorrow: 14th December.
Harry hadn't known quite what to expect when Tonks invited him to go to a muggle nightclub with her. Either from the invitation or from the club itself.
It had quickly become clear that the invitation was purely friendly, which had honestly come with mixed feelings.
On the one hand: Tonks was a very attractive witch, and the idea she might be interested in him had been more than a little flattering. She was also fun and very capable of standing up for herself, which he liked.
He could be a bit of a self-centred prat at times, and nothing was ever going to work out with someone who couldn't stand up to him and make him pull his head out of his arse when the occasion called for it.
On the other: he'd already had his friendship with Hermione change into whatever the fuck was going on between them since she'd got down on her knees and let him use her throat like a sex toy.
He paused for a moment, closing his eyes and counting to ten as he felt the first stirrings of arousal against the fabric of the jeans Tonks had chosen for him after seeing what he was originally planning to wear.
"Harry," she'd said, looking over the baggy jeans and four-sizes-too-large shirt he'd thrown on disapprovingly. "If you wear that they're gonna think you're trying to sell drugs and you'll have a bouncer up your arse the whole night."
Harry flushed and looked away, "'S'all I have." He mumbled, scuffing the ground with one of his badly worn trainers. The sole caught and peeled away slightly before snapping back into place as he lifted his foot.
"Aren't you rich?" Tonks asked perplexedly.
"Not here." He shrugged, gesturing at the neat, and extremely muggle, houses lining the street. "The Dursleys would rather gnaw off their own hands than give me any pocket money."
"Never thought about getting a summer job?"
"Apparently I'm a 'bad sort,'" he kicked a pebble into the street and watched it sail unerringly into the gutter opposite them. "Most people 'round here think I go to 'St. Brutus' Secure School for Incurably Criminal Boys.'"
Tonks sniggered and he couldn't help but crack a smile at just how ridiculous the story really was.
"Well then, Mr Criminal," she drawled, throwing an arm around his shoulders and steering him toward the alleyway leading to Magnolia Crescent. "Let's get you looking like a proper bad boy, shall we?"
Harry spared a glance for Tonks' spiky bright pink hair, taking in the multitude of piercings in the ear closest to him and the stud in her nose. Her definition of 'looking like a bad boy' didn't seem like it would really suit him.
Also, "Have you always had piercings?" He could've sworn he'd never seen her with any before.
"Well," Tonks drew the word out languidly, "sort of? I can give myself a piercing anytime I want using my powers," she demonstrated by reaching up and plucking the stud from her nose, the flesh parting and then closing to seal the hole once it was removed. She returned it to its place with equal ease.
"That's honestly a bit gross," Harry's mouth said before his brain could do anything about it.
"I know, right?" Luckily, Tonks seemed more pleased than offended by his assessment. "You should see the stuff I do for Halloween." He laughed; Merlin, she'd be an actual nightmare.
"Anyway," she bumped him with her hip, "I don't normally wear any because they can get messy if I need to morph in a hurry. Buuut, since we're strictly muggle for the night, I figured it was time I break 'em out again."
"They look good," Harry complimented. They really did, combined with her spiky pink hair and general attitude, they made her seem younger and wilder than she normally did. A fierce kind of freedom that reminded him of flying.
It suited her.
"Yeah?" Tonks preened a little, "I do make 'em look damn good, don't I?"
"They're very… Tonks." He agreed, grinning.
"Oi!" She squawked good-naturedly, taking her arm from around his shoulders and shoving him gently. "Whatzat supposed to mean?"
He laughed, pretending to stumble across the alley from her shove and crash into the opposite wall like a drunkard. Or like Tonks when she ran into an umbrella stand.
"Nothing bad!" He chuckled, straightening up even as she mock-scowled at him for his imitation of her clumsiness. "Just," he took a moment to piece the words together in his mind, turning them over and examining them until he was sure they'd convey his meaning properly.
"They're unique. They're not what most women have, or even what a lot of people think someone should have. They're the kind of thing people will stop and shake their heads at, tutting about 'how much prettier she'd look without them.' But they're amazing, and you wear them like you've just stepped off a punk album because you're amazing. You're Tonks, and anyone who can't recognise how cool that is can go fuck themselves."
By the time he finished, he realised Tonks was no longer walking beside him, and, turning to look, he found her staring at him from several steps further back down the alley. She looked contemplative, her hair somehow seeming an even brighter — almost neon — pink in the dim illumination of the nearest lamppost.
The silence stretched out for a long moment, long enough to make him run a sheepish hand through his messy hair. He opened his mouth to apologise for getting too serious and ruining the relaxed mood they'd both been enjoying.
"Huh," Tonks said, interrupting him before he could speak. She sauntered over, a lock of hair lengthening enough for her to flick it over her shoulder with dramatic elegance before returning to its former length. "I guess they are."
She hooked her arm through his and grinned her familiar impish grin at him, "Ever apparated before, Juvie?"
"Juvie? What happened to 'Mr Criminal?'"
She reached out and tapped the end of his nose with a finger, "Too long to use in conversation." With a wink, she added, "Besides, you're much too sweet to be a proper criminal. I'm sure it's just a phase!" This last was spoken with a melodramatic air that wouldn't have been out of place on one of Aunt Petunia's soap operas.
"Oh yeah?" He teased, playing along. "I'll have you know I broke into the Ministry of Magic a few weeks back."
Her grip tightened around his arm, "Maybe I should arrest you."
He gave her clothes a studious glance, taking in her black combat boots, fishnets, very short skirt, distractingly tight shirt, and spiky leather jacket.
"You got a pair of handcuffs in there?" He asked, looking at her sceptically.
She met his gaze challengingly, "Maybe. Wanna find out?"
She was very close to him, he could smell the leather of her jacket and a hint of her heady perfume.
"Hold your breath." She instructed.
He didn't.
Instead, he opened his mouth to ask, "Wh-" just as the world was ripped away and he was forced into a suffocating tube that crushed the remaining air from his lungs in a choking gasp.
He was suffocating, caught in the cruel grasp of a giant gleefully squeezing tight to keep him from drawing breath. He could feel Tonks pressed against his side, her warmth a cold comfort as black spots began to swim before his eyes.
As suddenly as it had come, the sensation vanished.
He gasped, letting go of Tonks' hand and collapsing to his hands and knees in the filthy alleyway he belatedly realised she just apparated them to. The air stank of petrol fumes and the sour tang of old alcohol, but it tasted almost as sweet as his first breaths after emerging from the lake during the Triwizard tournament.
"Wotcher!" Tonks cried, seizing his arm and hauling him back up onto his feet. "I told you to hold your breath, dinnt' I?"
"Half-a-second before you apparated, yeah!" Harry complained, pulling his arm free and trying to brush the muck off his hands and knees.
"Ah, leave 'em, Juvie," she caught his hands to stop him from wiping at his jeans and pulled him out into the street. "You'll be taking them off soon anyway."
"Wow, Tonks," he snarked, "at least buy me a drink first."
She laughed, "We'll see how well you dance, Juvie." She then laughed even harder at the look of abject horror on his face at the revelation that people were expected to dance at a club.
"Not much of a dancer, eh?" She bumped him with her hip again, this time holding her hands up and leaning her arms the other way as if she were dancing.
"You could say that," Harry winced, remembering his disastrous performance at the Yule Ball. He really should apologise to Parvati for that. And Padma, for saddling her with Ron.
"Well, at least you'll-" Tonks began with the dramatic air of a backstreet conjurer unveiling their latest trick, "look good!" She gestured grandly at the shop she had led them to, its windows filled with mannequins modelling outfits of varying degrees of punkiness.
"Are you sure about this?" He asked, looking down at himself and then back up at the outfits on display. "I don't know if this is really my style."
"Trust me," Tonks commanded, pushing him through the door and into the shop without giving him the option of refusing. From there, she dragged him around the shop, nodding at the two employees who both seemed to know her well and grabbing a series of clothes seemingly at random.
Before he knew it, they'd arrived at a pair of small changing rooms near the back of the shop and she was pushing both him and the clothes into the nearest.
"Try those on, then tell me you don't think they suit you." She instructed as she yanked the curtain shut, leaving him alone with his new clothes. Sighing, he pulled Dudley's oversized shirt off and kicked off his trainers before undoing his belt to allow his jeans to collapse to the floor in a heap.
Pulling on the clothes Tonks had selected for him, he was pleased to find they fit much better than his old ones, although that really wasn't saying much.
The jeans were a little tighter around the crotch than he would've liked though.
Still, he couldn't deny, these clothes looked good. Far better than he'd have ever expected.
This whole night was going better than expected.
Which was what had got him thinking about what he had been expecting, and then back to remembering how Hermione's lips had felt wrapped around his cock.
He felt himself stir again.
Fuck, you're supposed to be NOT getting hard here, Potter! He berated himself, glaring down at the bulge in his new jeans that was already obvious enough without any excitement.
"You alright in there, Harry?" Tonks' teasing voice interrupted his reverie. "Need some help with your zip?"
I bet Hermione would love to help with my- A voice in his head started to whisper.
No! He scolded, cutting himself off before he could finish the thought. Bad Harry!
"I'll be out in a sec!" He called back.
"Need some help with your zip?" Tonks winced as soon as she said it. She also did her best to ignore the knowing look the assistant, Clara, was giving her as she hung around pretending to rearrange some of the nearby clothes.
Turning to the mirror next to her, she mouthed, "What is wrong with you?"
Neither she nor her reflection had a good answer.
"I'll be out in a sec!" Harry called from inside the changing room, thankfully not having seemed to understand how flirtatious the words could've been.
Had been.
Merlin's balls, Hermione, why d'you always have to be bloody right about things? Pulling a face in the mirror — figuratively since she was in front of muggles — she mouthed, "Harry is mature!"
The sound of the changing room curtain being pulled aside had her hurriedly schooling her features into what she hoped was an expression of studious consideration.
She was good.
Maybe too good.
The Harry Potter who stepped out of the changing room was not the same man who'd entered. Gone were the too-large faded t-shirt, peeling trainers, and jeans so baggy you could hide a small country in them.
In their place were sturdy black boots, the tops hidden beneath dark jeans that fit him well — highlighting his long legs and leading up to nothing that she was going to be looking at right now — and a white t-shirt with a black album cover emblazoned across it. The shirt was tight enough to show off that all the quidditch he played had done him good, very good, but not so tight it looked painted on.
The simple leather jacket that stretched across his broad shoulders was just the cherry on top.
Like she'd told Hermione: Harry was hot.
"So?" He asked, a bashful grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "How do I look?"
Reaching out, she accepted Clara's offer of a fist bump.
"Yeah, I'm good," she nodded to herself, grinning at the way Harry flushed and looked away, trying and failing to hide his pleasure at the compliment.
"We'll take 'em." She said to Clara, who nodded absently without taking her eyes off Harry. Rolling her eyes, she grabbed him by the arm and pulled him out of the store, waving goodbye to Vera as they left.
"Uh, don't we need to pay?" Harry asked, gesturing back toward the shop.
"They'll put it on my card," she shrugged, steering him back toward the alleyway that served as her preferred apparition point for the area.
Harry seemed to recognise where they were going because his pace slowed precipitously, "We're not apparating again, are we?"
His obvious hesitation made her grin, "Oh, come on, you big baby! It's not that bad."
"I strongly disagree."
"I don't believe this, you can apparate!"
"That's different! It's not so bad when I'm doing it," he huffed, crossing his arms and looking away like a petulant child.
"At least you'll know to hold your breath this time."
"Can't we just walk?" She stopped for a moment and considered the question. The club she'd been planning to take them to was only a few blocks away. It would only take a couple minutes to walk.
But that would mean not getting to laugh at Harry trying to handle side-along apparition again.
Decisions, decisions.
"Did I mention I really appreciate you doing this for me?" Harry offered, beseechingly.
"Trying to butter me up now?" She teased.
"Maybe," he admitted ruefully, his ruse seen through. "But, seriously," he stopped, turning to face her so she was looking up into his piercing green eyes.
"I really appreciate this, Tonks. Not just this," he gestured at his new clothes, "this." He gestured between them this time. "Thank you for being here for me."
He was looking at her very intently, with an intensity that stole the teasing response from her lips.
"I know I haven't always made it easy for the people who care about me, but someone made me realise recently that I can't do everything on my own." He leaned in closer, and her eyes fluttered shut without any conscious decision.
His arms wrapped around her, pulling her in against his chest as her own looped themselves around his neck. She could smell his aftershave and the faint hint of an earthy cologne under the distinctive leather of his jacket. She felt his breath ghost against her lips and they parted eagerly, wanting.
Then he moved and his next words whispered against the sensitive flesh of her ear, "So, will you walk to the club with me?"
The sensation made her shiver.
"Yes!" She breathed, barely even registering the actual words, too intoxicated by his proximity.
"Perfect!" He chirped brightly, ending the hug and stepping away; wearing the same mischievous grin he had throughout their teasing. "Thanks, Tonks!"
"You're welcome," her mouth said, her brain still busy trying to reboot. The moment over, she couldn't decide whether she wanted to fall over laughing or slap him.
Or push him against a wall and make him follow through with his teasing.
Instead, she poked him in the side before putting her arm through his again, "You shouldn't tease a lady like that, Juvie. She might get ideas."
He snorted, "As if! I doubt I'm going to be giving a woman like you ideas anytime soon."
"A law-abiding citizen and member of law enforcement who wouldn't be caught dead fraternising with someone like you, you mean, Juvie?" She emphasised the nickname playfully, giving his arm a squeeze.
"Of course," Harry sighed, playing along. "Guess I'll just have to settle for the bad girls."
I can be bad, she thought.
"You know, you've matured a lot since last summer." Is what she said instead.
"Yeah," he smiled down at her sadly, "guess I've had to."
She untangled her arm from his and wrapped it around him in a sideways hug, resting her head against his shoulder for a moment.
"I miss him too," she admitted quietly.
"Yeah," he said again, putting an arm around her shoulders.
They stayed like that for a moment, each taking comfort in the other's presence.
Then Tonks slapped him on the arse and skipped ahead, "C'mon, what better way to remember him than finally getting his godson good and sloshed?"
Surreptitiously, she shook her hand out a little. What was that thing made of? Granite?
Harry grinned wolfishly back at her, "An excellent question." Strolling forward, he offered her his arm once more, "Shall we?"
"I do believe we shall, Juvie," she reached out to take it, only to yelp when the arm suddenly disappeared and she felt a sharp smack against her butt.
"Whoops," he was grinning even wider now, "just can't trust these Juvenile Delinquents, can you?"
"Striking an officer of the law is a serious offence, you know?" She smirked back.
"Is that right?" He asked challengingly.
"Mhmm," she hummed her assent, "it really is. Seems like I'm dealing with a hardened criminal here."
Stepping forward, she placed a hand against his chest, "Guess I'll have to keep a close," she savoured the word suggestively, "eye on you, then."
He looked down at her hand, and she took the opportunity to slide it up his chest and flick him in the nose before stepping away again.
His expression was so aggrieved she couldn't suppress a giggle as she danced away down the street toward the sound of distant music.
"You gonna stand out here in the street all night? Or are we going clubbing?" He simply laughed and shook his head, following after her at a more sedate pace.
They walked together in comfortable silence for a minute, the music from the club growing steadily louder as they drew closer.
"Why'd you say that, earlier?" She asked eventually. "About my piercings."
"Cause it's true?" He shrugged as if that really was all there was to it. "I guess they just kinda represent what I've always really admired about you." She stayed quiet, letting him finish his thought.
"You're an auror, you're a woman, you're the only metamorphmagus in- what? The world?" He looked at her for confirmation.
"I think there's three of us," she said, scratching her cheek, "haven't checked in a while."
"One of three, then," he corrected. "Point is: you must have so many expectations, so many people telling you how to act or how to look or how you should be. I doubt any of them are telling you to be this," he waved a hand at her punk muggle clothes, her short, spiky, pink hair, her piercings. "But this is you, and it's amazing, and you're always so confident and comfortable with that."
He grinned down at her, "Unapologetically Tonks."
She was grinning too.
"I wish I could be like that." His smile faded. Looking down, he kicked at the pavement moodily.
Of course, he would know all about having to live with others' expectations, wouldn't he?
"Well," she said, taking a moment to check him out in an exaggerated fashion, he really did look good. "You've got the look down, at least."
He returned the favour, looking her up and down with ostentatious care, "I don't know if I'm pulling it off quite like you." His green eyes met hers and she felt her pulse quicken a little at the hint of genuine desire she saw glinting in their emerald depths.
This was bad.
This was a bad idea.
He was funny and playful and he'd shown flashes of maturity she'd never have expected from a man his age, but he was still much too young for her. Not to mention he was the guy her pseudo-little sister Hermione might have the hots for.
The teasing was starting to feel much too meaningful, and even if that was probably her fault, that just meant it was on her to get things back on track.
Reaching out, she gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder, "Aww, you're so sweet!" She gave him her best 'friendly, slightly-older-female-relative' smile. "I'm so lucky to have a friend like you!" She emphasised the word 'friend' just enough to make it stick out in his mind, without making it obvious she was doing so.
Harry froze for a moment, an expression of guilt flickering across his features before it was replaced with an affable smile.
"Of course!" He laughed, although it felt a little less genuine than a moment ago, "What're friends for?"
She buried the twinge of guilt she felt at his reaction.
It's your fault you had to do that, she reproached herself. You started it.
Shut up. She responded eloquently.
Luckily, they had arrived at the club, and Harry was too distracted staring at the enormous line of people waiting to get in to notice her internal discussion.
"We're going to be out here all night!" He groaned, running a hand through his hair exasperatedly.
Oh, he was so naive, it was adorable.
"Ha! No," she gave him a wink, "we're not waiting in that."
"We're not?" He cocked a questioning eyebrow.
"Nope," she popped the 'p' with relish. "One," she held up a finger, "I'm a witch. And, two," she raised a second finger, "do I look like the kind of girl who needs to wait in line at a club?" She struck a pose to emphasise her point.
The rush of pleasure she felt when his eyes raked over her form appreciatively only made it worse when he then flushed and looked away guiltily.
She was grateful his averted gaze stopped him from seeing her wince.
She needed a drink.
End AN: Well that was fun, wasn't it? I was a bit unsure about starting in medias res for this one, but I think it works.
If you're enjoying Would That Work, I'm going to be posting the first part of an OC story (working title: College Life) with some similar vibes tomorrow on my . If I had to elevator pitch it, I'd say it's 'Would That Work' meets 'Being a Dik.'
If that sounds good to you, swing by and check it out, I'll be posting chapter two on the 28th.
Next Chapter: Saturday 11th January
If you enjoyed my work and want to read more — or just to support me — please consider checking out my P a treon: p a treon . com (slash) MidgardsOrmen.