Gift for MelusinaHP!
Title: Final Exam
Author: creepingviolet
Recipient: melusinahp
Pairing(s): Harry/Tonks with mentions of Harry/Ginny and Remus/Tonks as well as Harry/Rosmerta!Tonks, /Angelina!Tonks, /Narcissa!Tonks and /Bellatrix!Tonks
Rating: Adult/NC-17 (maybe just a very hard R?)
Summary: Sex with a metamorphmagus, should never be underestimated, no matter what the circumstances.
Warnings: mentions war-related deaths, borderline dubious consent, shape-shifter sex, and of course...smut and foul language.
Author's Note: This started out as a ball of unhappy angst with a (planned) happy ending, but they wouldn't let me turn it around. So, I started over and tried to borrow the bits of flashback from the original version. If it seems a little uneven, that might be why. Also, I've never written this pairing (or Tonks at all), so to make up for any out-of-character-ness, I included references to all 5 pairing prompts. And finally, there's a line that Harry/Hermione shippers might take offense to, but none was intended. I just needed to make an example out of someone and she volunteered. She's good about that.
~*~*~
Harry Potter was not a patient man, and tonight, his wedding night, was no exception. He didn't think they really needed the games. He just wanted her, but she'd insisted. They'd flooed to their wedding suite almost a half an hour ago, and he'd spent that time waiting rather impatiently for her to emerge from the bathroom she'd closed herself off in. He would have beat down the door and had her no matter what shape she was in, but after checking on her progress five times in less than fifteen minutes, she threatened to hex him so bad he wouldn't be able to have sex for another six months. After that, he wisely decided that he should just wait patiently until she emerged in whatever guise she'd chosen for the occasion.
He knew he shouldn't complain really. Sex with a metamorphmagus, should never be underestimated, no matter what the circumstances. She'd never really disappointed him, he had to admit, and he doubted she would start tonight.
It had made sense enough when they'd started dating. The world was still shell-shocked from the war and the survivors of the Last Battle had clung to each other and started pairing off. Who else could truly understand what they'd gone through? How much they had changed? When Harry woke up the morning after the two-year anniversary of Dumbledore's death to a "Wotcher, Harry," and a plate of fresh pancakes, he felt better than he had in a long while, even with the raging headache he'd managed to find at the bottom of the bottles of wizard's rum and firewhiskey the night before.
It was a decent match all around, really. They got along, they understood each other, and the sex, even without the shapeshifting, was well done. Even after living together for a few months, he wasn't about to suggest that something about her might benefit from even a temporary change in size or shape. As far as he was concerned on the topic, that would have to be her call, and as it had turned out....
"Let's have it, then," she said as she set down the shot glass for the fifth time. "Who's got the tits you fancy the most?"
"Wh-what?" he stammered, immediately sobering as the danger siren started blaring in his head. "Yours are great, Tonks. A decent handful and plenty receptive. I don't n-need you to..."
"You don't have to be coy, Harry. I know you like me plenty the way I am, but facts are facts. You're shagging a metamorphmagus, and my skills are getting a bit rusty. No sense wasting a perfect opportunity, is there?" She inhaled and her breasts swelled a bit. "How's that grab ya?" Harry slammed the shot.
"Bigger," he managed without looking her in the eye as he poured another round. Maybe with enough alcohol in him this would seem a bit less unreal. She cupped her new breasts as if to judge the size and weight then teased the nipples to fine points. Her mouth twisted in a smirk once his eyes finally rose to hers.
"You know, if I had a name I'd have an image, and these hands would be yours instead of mine."
"Well, I've always sort of fancied Rosmerta's" Her eyes sparkled and Harry had the distinct impression he was a fish on the line.
"Of course," Tonks said, dropping her hands. The new breasts threatened to break open her buttoned shirt. "What bloke wouldn't want to shag Rosie?" With a quick kiss of his dumbfounded lips, Tonks was up from the table and slipping into the bathroom.
"Shag her?" Harry croaked out. "I thought you were just looking for an idea on size."
"What's that, love?" she called back in a voice that was not quite her own. Harry cleared his throat.
"I said, I didn't say I wanted to shag Rosmerta."
"But you do, don't you?" Harry was at a loss for words and nothing but gibberish came out of his mouth. He tried to fix that problem with another shot.
"I just...I mean...Tonks, you're great. You don't need to-" His mouth dropped as she opened the door and stepped out. Standing in front of him was the spitting image of Rosmerta, complete with a billowing blouse and layers of skirt. With a smug smile she crossed the room.
" ‘Ave another, love." She poured him a shot and leaned over enough that Harry couldn't look anywhere else. "Keep ‘avin' ‘em until you clear your head. Only don't have so many you can't do nothing about it, eh?" She winked and sashayed away from the table. At the door to their bedroom, she turned back to him. Her eyes suddenly turned backed to normal and she winked again, full of Tonks' spirit.
"Alright," he said as he grabbed the glass. "You win."
Harry was half hard again, just thinking about that night. He'd though he knew how to enjoy a pair of breasts, but Tonks had some new ideas on how to appreciate them properly. A few weeks later, after she'd caught him lingering over a picture in Quidditch Stars Monthly, Harry found himself flat on his back between two well-toned thighs. He wasn't sure if the real Angelina would have ridden him with such abandon, but as his hands slid along that lean, athletic frame, he was sure he didn't care.
It was clear Tonks was enjoying herself as much as Harry, but when she turned up as Hermione, complete with a set of books and a Hogwarts uniform, they'd laid a few ground rules. Absolutely nobody was to know about it (even if Ron constantly badgered him on the topic), and either of them was allowed to veto a "guest" at any time (which Harry promptly did).
He should have known trouble was around the corner when she came to him as Narcissa Malfoy. He'd been repulsed and ready to veto until she stripped naked and crawled to him, begging to be punished for what she'd done. Tonks was convincing enough that it was easy for him to play along, but what they unleashed that night frightened Harry. Filth had spewed from his mouth as hers wrapped around his shaft. With a forceful hand, he'd fucked her mouth until he came so hard he almost passed out. Harry was set to apologize the next morning, but Tonks had been even perkier than usual with her hair shining brighter than he'd seen in years.
He had assumed she was just pleased the illusion had worked so well. She'd crossed a line, though, and it was one she didn't seem interested in walking back over. Harry tried hard to keep that lingering darkness away from them, but Tonks kept trying to tease it out of him.
One day a month or so after Narcissa, Tonks simply went too far. Harry'd been in a foul mood and it had only gotten worse when he found his godfather's murderer waiting for him when he opened the door to his flat.
She stood there, tall, slender and dressed in black from head to toe. She didn't say word. Harry had his wand out, ready to curse the specter, before he realized what he was actually seeing. She did not flinch.
"I'm not in the mood for this, Tonks," he'd growled as he put away the wand, as irritated at her for frightening him as anything else. "Not her. Not tonight."
"Tonight," she demanded quietly. "Now."
"Seriously," he said, unwilling to approach her. "I'm liable to hurt you more than anything else. Change back."
"Hurt me then." She stepped towards him. The illusion was so complete, he had to scream her name in his head to remind himself who was really in front of him. "You're so angry, still. You want to hurt her and you can't."
"You don't know what you're asking, Tonks. Now change back."
"You don't know what I'm offering until you take it." Her face twisted into a mask of rage and the game was on, at least for her. "You're a pathetic little half-blood brat, Potter, no better than that blood-traitor cousin of mine."
"You bitch," Harry growled. His eyes ran cold and his fist clenched from fighting the urge to carry out her request. "You have no right."
"I put him out of his misery." She lunged at him and Harry grabbed her by the wrists, keeping her at bay. "Like any dog that has out-lived his usefulness."
Fiercely, more to keep her away from him than anything else, he shoved her to the ground.
"That's it," she said as she lay there. "Make me pay."
"You took him from me," he seethed as unspent rage welled inside of him.
"Then take something from me. Use me like the mongrel you are." He staggered back as the illusion broke.
"Is that what you're after, Tonks?" Her features softened into her own. "To be used like that?" She nodded softly.
"You're so gentle, Harry. So loving and so giving but sometimes...." She paused as they both felt the weight of past lovers fall on their shoulders.
"...Sometimes you wish I was more like a wolf," he finished for her.
That night had changed everything and they went from being in a relationship of border-line convenience, to something more serious. They talked until the sun came up about the war and about losing the ones they thought they were going to spend the rest of their lives with.
Three months later, he'd proposed, and two months after that they'd held a small ceremony, biding themselves to each other. Now if only they could move on from the figurative bonds to actually becoming one flesh.
"I don't get this, Tonks. It's our wedding night. Shouldn't you just be..." he gestured at the closed door. "You know, you?"
"What did I tell you about speaking?" she replied through the door. "And you really need to stop calling me ‘Tonks'."
"How can I call you anything else? You hate the rest of your name, and I'm not about to start calling you Potter. Sex with you can be strange enough without me calling out my own name."
"You know, I never have-"
"Veto!" he cried out with a laugh before she could even finish the sentence.
"Well, you'd better think of something," she said as she finally opened the door. Standing before him was a woman he couldn't readily identify. She looked vaguely familiar, like he'd seen her in a picture somewhere, but she wasn't anyone he could ever recall meeting. He tilted his head. She looked sort of like a Black sister, but the nose was all wrong, and the shoulder-length hair was a weak color between brown and blond that none of the Black family possessed. She was shorter, too, and her frame was less athletic, as if she'd compressed herself a bit. Tonks looked at him with a rather expectant half-smile. She was nervous. His approval of this form was more important than the others for some reason. It hit him.
"You're you." She walked over to him, managing to only stumble slightly on the rug.
"It's been so long since I've seen her, it took a while to make sure I had it right." He reached up to her and pulled her down into his embrace. His fingers traced lightly over her Black cheekbones, and along the bridge of the nose that must have come from her father. Unable to put his emotions into words, he kissed her deeply and thoroughly. His hands roamed her body, learning the new curves she'd set before him.
"Harry," she moaned as his fingers slid over that spot along her hip that was sensitive no matter who she'd fashioned herself after. He took the liberty of removing the bit of gossamer she'd draped herself in and she shrunk away. This was a new side of her. In all the times he'd known her, been with her, she'd never been this shy with him unless she was playing.
"I love you," he said as he pulled her arms away. "It doesn't matter what shape you are, or who's face you're wearing, you're still beautiful."
"That's impossible," she said with a quirk in her smile that was all her.
"Doesn't make it any less true." He smiled in return as he lowered her to their marriage bed. Quickly, he removed his own clothes and hovered above her. She reached up to him, her hands roving along the taught muscles of his back as he buried his face in her neck. He kissed a wet line across her collarbone and down the center of her chest. She arched to meet him and her hands found his nipples as his lips and teeth found hers. "Beautiful," he murmured as he made his way lower. She moaned, spreading her legs wide under him and thrusting her hips up in anticipation. He smiled against her stomach, teasing her open with his fingers. He coated his fingers with the wetness he found there and went to work. He teased her clit, first with his fingers, then with his tongue as his fingers slid inside her. She wound her hands in his hair and encouraged his efforts by pressing him gently to go deeper. He complied, working at her until she reached and fell over one, and then two peaks. In the corners of his vision, he saw the streaks of color shoot through her hair until it shrank and stilled at the spiky cut she sported most of the time. Fuchsia. He'd done well.
Before he could comment on the change, she sat up, reaching to kiss him, to taste herself still on his lips. He complied, following her back down to the bed as her hand reached between them. She stroked him quickly back to full strength and he positioned himself above her opening. He smiled down at her as the face that greeted him every morning looked up at him. It occurred to him that she probably hadn't realized she'd changed back to herself. The façade of her original self was just that: a façade.
"There's parts of you that are always the same, you know." She wrinkled her brow in confusion. "Your hair changes, your hands change, even your mouth changes. But you always smell the same, and you always taste the same, and you always..." He slid into the tight wet heat and the next word came out as a groan. "...Feel the same."
"I'll have to work on that," she said between pants. She wrapped her legs around him, holding him inside her as one of her unchanging parts suddenly changed repeatedly around him. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood to keep from coming in that single moment.
"You do that," he said with a gasp as she released her hold enough for them to both get caught back up in a familiar rhythm. He held on long enough to pull one more orgasm from her, and spent himself in the aftershocks.
"So, Mrs. Potter," he said lazily after they'd caught their breath. "What can you do for an encore?"
She laughed and fell off the bed in her attempt to throw a pillow at him.
Always Tonks, he thought as he helped her up. And now, always his.
~*~*~
The feedback fairy will leave a dollar under your pillow if you comment!
Author: creepingviolet
Recipient: melusinahp
Pairing(s): Harry/Tonks with mentions of Harry/Ginny and Remus/Tonks as well as Harry/Rosmerta!Tonks, /Angelina!Tonks, /Narcissa!Tonks and /Bellatrix!Tonks
Rating: Adult/NC-17 (maybe just a very hard R?)
Summary: Sex with a metamorphmagus, should never be underestimated, no matter what the circumstances.
Warnings: mentions war-related deaths, borderline dubious consent, shape-shifter sex, and of course...smut and foul language.
Author's Note: This started out as a ball of unhappy angst with a (planned) happy ending, but they wouldn't let me turn it around. So, I started over and tried to borrow the bits of flashback from the original version. If it seems a little uneven, that might be why. Also, I've never written this pairing (or Tonks at all), so to make up for any out-of-character-ness, I included references to all 5 pairing prompts. And finally, there's a line that Harry/Hermione shippers might take offense to, but none was intended. I just needed to make an example out of someone and she volunteered. She's good about that.
~*~*~
Harry Potter was not a patient man, and tonight, his wedding night, was no exception. He didn't think they really needed the games. He just wanted her, but she'd insisted. They'd flooed to their wedding suite almost a half an hour ago, and he'd spent that time waiting rather impatiently for her to emerge from the bathroom she'd closed herself off in. He would have beat down the door and had her no matter what shape she was in, but after checking on her progress five times in less than fifteen minutes, she threatened to hex him so bad he wouldn't be able to have sex for another six months. After that, he wisely decided that he should just wait patiently until she emerged in whatever guise she'd chosen for the occasion.
He knew he shouldn't complain really. Sex with a metamorphmagus, should never be underestimated, no matter what the circumstances. She'd never really disappointed him, he had to admit, and he doubted she would start tonight.
It had made sense enough when they'd started dating. The world was still shell-shocked from the war and the survivors of the Last Battle had clung to each other and started pairing off. Who else could truly understand what they'd gone through? How much they had changed? When Harry woke up the morning after the two-year anniversary of Dumbledore's death to a "Wotcher, Harry," and a plate of fresh pancakes, he felt better than he had in a long while, even with the raging headache he'd managed to find at the bottom of the bottles of wizard's rum and firewhiskey the night before.
It was a decent match all around, really. They got along, they understood each other, and the sex, even without the shapeshifting, was well done. Even after living together for a few months, he wasn't about to suggest that something about her might benefit from even a temporary change in size or shape. As far as he was concerned on the topic, that would have to be her call, and as it had turned out....
"Let's have it, then," she said as she set down the shot glass for the fifth time. "Who's got the tits you fancy the most?"
"Wh-what?" he stammered, immediately sobering as the danger siren started blaring in his head. "Yours are great, Tonks. A decent handful and plenty receptive. I don't n-need you to..."
"You don't have to be coy, Harry. I know you like me plenty the way I am, but facts are facts. You're shagging a metamorphmagus, and my skills are getting a bit rusty. No sense wasting a perfect opportunity, is there?" She inhaled and her breasts swelled a bit. "How's that grab ya?" Harry slammed the shot.
"Bigger," he managed without looking her in the eye as he poured another round. Maybe with enough alcohol in him this would seem a bit less unreal. She cupped her new breasts as if to judge the size and weight then teased the nipples to fine points. Her mouth twisted in a smirk once his eyes finally rose to hers.
"You know, if I had a name I'd have an image, and these hands would be yours instead of mine."
"Well, I've always sort of fancied Rosmerta's" Her eyes sparkled and Harry had the distinct impression he was a fish on the line.
"Of course," Tonks said, dropping her hands. The new breasts threatened to break open her buttoned shirt. "What bloke wouldn't want to shag Rosie?" With a quick kiss of his dumbfounded lips, Tonks was up from the table and slipping into the bathroom.
"Shag her?" Harry croaked out. "I thought you were just looking for an idea on size."
"What's that, love?" she called back in a voice that was not quite her own. Harry cleared his throat.
"I said, I didn't say I wanted to shag Rosmerta."
"But you do, don't you?" Harry was at a loss for words and nothing but gibberish came out of his mouth. He tried to fix that problem with another shot.
"I just...I mean...Tonks, you're great. You don't need to-" His mouth dropped as she opened the door and stepped out. Standing in front of him was the spitting image of Rosmerta, complete with a billowing blouse and layers of skirt. With a smug smile she crossed the room.
" ‘Ave another, love." She poured him a shot and leaned over enough that Harry couldn't look anywhere else. "Keep ‘avin' ‘em until you clear your head. Only don't have so many you can't do nothing about it, eh?" She winked and sashayed away from the table. At the door to their bedroom, she turned back to him. Her eyes suddenly turned backed to normal and she winked again, full of Tonks' spirit.
"Alright," he said as he grabbed the glass. "You win."
Harry was half hard again, just thinking about that night. He'd though he knew how to enjoy a pair of breasts, but Tonks had some new ideas on how to appreciate them properly. A few weeks later, after she'd caught him lingering over a picture in Quidditch Stars Monthly, Harry found himself flat on his back between two well-toned thighs. He wasn't sure if the real Angelina would have ridden him with such abandon, but as his hands slid along that lean, athletic frame, he was sure he didn't care.
It was clear Tonks was enjoying herself as much as Harry, but when she turned up as Hermione, complete with a set of books and a Hogwarts uniform, they'd laid a few ground rules. Absolutely nobody was to know about it (even if Ron constantly badgered him on the topic), and either of them was allowed to veto a "guest" at any time (which Harry promptly did).
He should have known trouble was around the corner when she came to him as Narcissa Malfoy. He'd been repulsed and ready to veto until she stripped naked and crawled to him, begging to be punished for what she'd done. Tonks was convincing enough that it was easy for him to play along, but what they unleashed that night frightened Harry. Filth had spewed from his mouth as hers wrapped around his shaft. With a forceful hand, he'd fucked her mouth until he came so hard he almost passed out. Harry was set to apologize the next morning, but Tonks had been even perkier than usual with her hair shining brighter than he'd seen in years.
He had assumed she was just pleased the illusion had worked so well. She'd crossed a line, though, and it was one she didn't seem interested in walking back over. Harry tried hard to keep that lingering darkness away from them, but Tonks kept trying to tease it out of him.
One day a month or so after Narcissa, Tonks simply went too far. Harry'd been in a foul mood and it had only gotten worse when he found his godfather's murderer waiting for him when he opened the door to his flat.
She stood there, tall, slender and dressed in black from head to toe. She didn't say word. Harry had his wand out, ready to curse the specter, before he realized what he was actually seeing. She did not flinch.
"I'm not in the mood for this, Tonks," he'd growled as he put away the wand, as irritated at her for frightening him as anything else. "Not her. Not tonight."
"Tonight," she demanded quietly. "Now."
"Seriously," he said, unwilling to approach her. "I'm liable to hurt you more than anything else. Change back."
"Hurt me then." She stepped towards him. The illusion was so complete, he had to scream her name in his head to remind himself who was really in front of him. "You're so angry, still. You want to hurt her and you can't."
"You don't know what you're asking, Tonks. Now change back."
"You don't know what I'm offering until you take it." Her face twisted into a mask of rage and the game was on, at least for her. "You're a pathetic little half-blood brat, Potter, no better than that blood-traitor cousin of mine."
"You bitch," Harry growled. His eyes ran cold and his fist clenched from fighting the urge to carry out her request. "You have no right."
"I put him out of his misery." She lunged at him and Harry grabbed her by the wrists, keeping her at bay. "Like any dog that has out-lived his usefulness."
Fiercely, more to keep her away from him than anything else, he shoved her to the ground.
"That's it," she said as she lay there. "Make me pay."
"You took him from me," he seethed as unspent rage welled inside of him.
"Then take something from me. Use me like the mongrel you are." He staggered back as the illusion broke.
"Is that what you're after, Tonks?" Her features softened into her own. "To be used like that?" She nodded softly.
"You're so gentle, Harry. So loving and so giving but sometimes...." She paused as they both felt the weight of past lovers fall on their shoulders.
"...Sometimes you wish I was more like a wolf," he finished for her.
That night had changed everything and they went from being in a relationship of border-line convenience, to something more serious. They talked until the sun came up about the war and about losing the ones they thought they were going to spend the rest of their lives with.
Three months later, he'd proposed, and two months after that they'd held a small ceremony, biding themselves to each other. Now if only they could move on from the figurative bonds to actually becoming one flesh.
"I don't get this, Tonks. It's our wedding night. Shouldn't you just be..." he gestured at the closed door. "You know, you?"
"What did I tell you about speaking?" she replied through the door. "And you really need to stop calling me ‘Tonks'."
"How can I call you anything else? You hate the rest of your name, and I'm not about to start calling you Potter. Sex with you can be strange enough without me calling out my own name."
"You know, I never have-"
"Veto!" he cried out with a laugh before she could even finish the sentence.
"Well, you'd better think of something," she said as she finally opened the door. Standing before him was a woman he couldn't readily identify. She looked vaguely familiar, like he'd seen her in a picture somewhere, but she wasn't anyone he could ever recall meeting. He tilted his head. She looked sort of like a Black sister, but the nose was all wrong, and the shoulder-length hair was a weak color between brown and blond that none of the Black family possessed. She was shorter, too, and her frame was less athletic, as if she'd compressed herself a bit. Tonks looked at him with a rather expectant half-smile. She was nervous. His approval of this form was more important than the others for some reason. It hit him.
"You're you." She walked over to him, managing to only stumble slightly on the rug.
"It's been so long since I've seen her, it took a while to make sure I had it right." He reached up to her and pulled her down into his embrace. His fingers traced lightly over her Black cheekbones, and along the bridge of the nose that must have come from her father. Unable to put his emotions into words, he kissed her deeply and thoroughly. His hands roamed her body, learning the new curves she'd set before him.
"Harry," she moaned as his fingers slid over that spot along her hip that was sensitive no matter who she'd fashioned herself after. He took the liberty of removing the bit of gossamer she'd draped herself in and she shrunk away. This was a new side of her. In all the times he'd known her, been with her, she'd never been this shy with him unless she was playing.
"I love you," he said as he pulled her arms away. "It doesn't matter what shape you are, or who's face you're wearing, you're still beautiful."
"That's impossible," she said with a quirk in her smile that was all her.
"Doesn't make it any less true." He smiled in return as he lowered her to their marriage bed. Quickly, he removed his own clothes and hovered above her. She reached up to him, her hands roving along the taught muscles of his back as he buried his face in her neck. He kissed a wet line across her collarbone and down the center of her chest. She arched to meet him and her hands found his nipples as his lips and teeth found hers. "Beautiful," he murmured as he made his way lower. She moaned, spreading her legs wide under him and thrusting her hips up in anticipation. He smiled against her stomach, teasing her open with his fingers. He coated his fingers with the wetness he found there and went to work. He teased her clit, first with his fingers, then with his tongue as his fingers slid inside her. She wound her hands in his hair and encouraged his efforts by pressing him gently to go deeper. He complied, working at her until she reached and fell over one, and then two peaks. In the corners of his vision, he saw the streaks of color shoot through her hair until it shrank and stilled at the spiky cut she sported most of the time. Fuchsia. He'd done well.
Before he could comment on the change, she sat up, reaching to kiss him, to taste herself still on his lips. He complied, following her back down to the bed as her hand reached between them. She stroked him quickly back to full strength and he positioned himself above her opening. He smiled down at her as the face that greeted him every morning looked up at him. It occurred to him that she probably hadn't realized she'd changed back to herself. The façade of her original self was just that: a façade.
"There's parts of you that are always the same, you know." She wrinkled her brow in confusion. "Your hair changes, your hands change, even your mouth changes. But you always smell the same, and you always taste the same, and you always..." He slid into the tight wet heat and the next word came out as a groan. "...Feel the same."
"I'll have to work on that," she said between pants. She wrapped her legs around him, holding him inside her as one of her unchanging parts suddenly changed repeatedly around him. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood to keep from coming in that single moment.
"You do that," he said with a gasp as she released her hold enough for them to both get caught back up in a familiar rhythm. He held on long enough to pull one more orgasm from her, and spent himself in the aftershocks.
"So, Mrs. Potter," he said lazily after they'd caught their breath. "What can you do for an encore?"
She laughed and fell off the bed in her attempt to throw a pillow at him.
Always Tonks, he thought as he helped her up. And now, always his.
~*~*~
The feedback fairy will leave a dollar under your pillow if you comment!