"Lead the way, Auror Tonks," Harry said with a polite smile.
He'd arrived in the Ministry right on time, and the lovely auror had been waiting for him. She gave him a small smile and gestured for him to follow.
As they walked through the Ministry corridors, she glanced at him sideways. "You can just call me Tonks, you know. Everyone does."
"Is that really your name? Just Tonks?"
Tonks gave him a mock glare. "It's none of your business, and if you somehow find out what my name is and you ever call me that, I'll hex you into next week. Trust me, it's in your best interests to remember that my name is just Tonks."
Harry sweatdropped, eyeing her with an uncertain smile. "Err… okay. But threatening to hex someone you've just met is either very brave or very foolish."
"Bit of both, I guess," Tonks replied with a grin, nudging him with her elbow. "Still, I think I could take you if it came down to it."
"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Harry said mildly as he rubbed his arm, making Tonks glance at him more carefully.
"Confident, aren't you?"
"Realistic," Harry corrected. "I've had to learn to be."
Tonks stared at him curiously as they walked, taking in the sharp lines of his jaw, his straight, confident posture, the way he carried themselves with clear authority, and the casual way his hand rested near his wand, ready to draw it at a moment's notice.
"I guess you would have, wouldn't you? Being who you are and all."
"Being who I am tends to attract a certain type of attention," Harry agreed. "Not all of it friendly."
"Like Augustus Flint from yesterday?"
Harry glanced at her sharply. "You saw that?"
"Hard to miss," Tonks said dryly. "The man was practically foaming at the mouth. I have to say though, you two handled it well. Very... controlled."
She spoke as if she knew how much effort it'd required to maintain that level of control, and Harry gazed at her curiously. She seemed to notice more than she let on, which was perhaps needed in her line of work.
They'd reached a section of the Ministry Harry wasn't familiar with, and it could only be the DMLE division. The corridors here were more utilitarian than the grand public areas, with solid doors marked with official-looking plaques and the occasional Auror in formal robes moving around.
The walls were lined with wanted posters, case files, and official announcements, giving the area a serious, no-nonsense atmosphere. Harry could smell coffee, parchment, and the faint ozone scent that a capable enough witch or wizard could always sense around powerful defensive wards.
"Impressive setup," Harry commented, taking in the organized chaos of Britain's premier law enforcement division.
"We try," Tonks replied. "But it's not as glamorous as most people think. Lots of paperwork, lots of bureaucracy, lots of cases that don't end the way they should."
Harry heard the frustration in her voice and wondered what cases had left that particular bitter taste in her mouth. "The job getting to you?"
"Some days," Tonks admitted. "But then you get a case like your Marcus Flint situation. Clear evidence, obvious guilt, and justice actually served. Makes it all worthwhile."
They'd reached a door marked 'Director - Department of Magical Law Enforcement,' and Tonks knocked twice.
"Enter," came Amelia Bones's familiar voice from within.
Tonks pushed the door open and held it for Harry, who exchanged a brief glance with her before stepping inside. She gave him a particular look, a knowing one, as if she understood more about this meeting than she was letting on.
The door closed behind him with a soft click, and Harry immediately felt the wards activating around the room. They were impressive, layers of privacy, security, and magical dampening that would prevent anyone from eavesdropping or detecting what happened within these walls.
"Impressive warding," Harry commented as he looked around the office. It was spacious but not flashy, with dark wood furniture and shelves lined with law books and case files.
Amelia Bones stood behind her desk, removing the heavy formal robes that Harry assumed she must have to wear as Director of the DMLE. Underneath, she wore what Harry would consider typical office attire—a silk blouse in deep emerald that complemented her auburn hair, and a charcoal skirt that ended just at her knees, giving way to her shapely legs that Harry found himself admiring.
The professional clothing couldn't hide her feminine beauty, and without the heavy robes, Amelia looked younger, more approachable, but somehow more dangerous as well. Harry felt his runes prickle again in response to her presence, his eyes lingering on the way her curves pushed against her fabrics.
He used his Occlumency to reassert control over his reactions, but he couldn't help but notice the way the silk blouse moved as she hung up her robes, or how the fitted skirt emphasized her delicious curves.
"Please, have a seat," Amelia said, gesturing to one of the chairs in front of her desk.
Harry slowly walked over and lowered himself into the offered chair, his posture relaxed but alert. Amelia, however, remained standing, choosing to stay behind her desk.
"You must be curious as to why I asked for this meeting," she said, her eyes studying his face intently.
"The thought had crossed my mind," Harry replied with a slight smile. "And I'm sure you'll enlighten me."
Amelia chuckled at his tone. "Direct. I like that." She began pacing slowly behind her desk, staring at him out of the corner of her eye. "This is about the Flint incident."
"Ancient history at this point," Harry said easily. "The trial's over, the verdict's been given. Justice has been served, as they say."
"Indeed it has," Amelia agreed, pausing in her pacing to look at him. "Quite thoroughly, in fact. Almost... perfectly, one might say."
Harry waited for her to continue, saying nothing. He'd learned long ago that people often revealed more when you let them fill the silence, and he had a feeling that Amelia had more to say.
Amelia turned toward him and leaned forward, placing her hands on the desk as she studied his face. The position drew his attention to her neckline, to the way the silk blouse draped when she moved, to the way her rather heavy breasts hung in front of him, and he had to work to keep his focus on her eyes.
"You see, Mr. Potter, I've been an Auror for over fifteen years. I've investigated hundreds of cases, from simple theft to complex conspiracy. And in all that time, I've developed something of an instinct for when things are... too convenient."
"Convenient how?" Harry asked casually.
"A student just happens to be in the right place at the right time, with an invisibility cloak, to witness an attempted rape," Amelia began in a businesslike tone, as if she was building a case. "The victim just happens to have a sophisticated protective charm on her badge, one that she didn't put there, one that her school doesn't provide, and one that required considerable skill and quite specific knowledge to create."
She straightened and resumed her pacing, her hands clasped behind her back. Her chest was thrust outwards slightly in a way that emphasized her curvy figure, and it was unclear whether she was being intentional with her movements or not.
"The perpetrator just happens to have an illegal wand modification that turns what might have been a lesser charge into a capital offense. The witness just happens to be Harry Potter, whose testimony carries considerable weight with both the press and the Wizengamot."
Harry kept his expression neutral, though internally he was impressed by her deductive abilities. She'd pieced together far more than he'd expected anyone to manage.
"Quite a series of coincidences," he said mildly.
"Life's funny that way sometimes," Amelia agreed, echoing his earlier words with a knowing smile. "But in my experience, when coincidences pile up like that, they usually aren't coincidences at all."
Amelia slowly moved around her desk, leaning against its edge beside his chair. The proximity made his runes prickle again, and he had to work harder to maintain his composure. Up close, he could smell her perfume, a sophisticated and expensive one with notes of some flower and sandalwood that seemed to wrap around him.
"Then there's the matter of your previous altercation with Marcus Flint," she continued, her voice dropping slightly as she leaned back against the desk. "You were remarkably restrained in your report about that incident. Most wizards your age would have been bragging about breaking the bones of someone who tried to use the Cruciatus Curse on them."
"I'm not most wizards my age," Harry replied, very aware of how the dynamic between them had altered considerably now. There was… something going on here, something beyond her probing questions and observations. He could sense it.
"No, you certainly aren't." Amelia crossed her legs at the ankle, and Harry found his eyes drawn to the movement despite his best efforts. "You're Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived. The Triwizard Champion. Someone with the kind of reputation and connections that could make certain things... happen."
She reached for a file on her desk, the movement bringing her closer to him as she leaned across his field of vision.
"The protective charm on Miss Delacour's badge, for instance. The magical signature analysis was quite interesting. Off the books, of course."
Harry looked up at her, noting how the change in position put her face closer to his, and he could see the intelligence gleaming in her eyes.
"Is that so?" He asked.
"Mm-hmm. It was keyed to activate against specific types of coercive magic. Not just the Imperius, but also several related compulsion charms and even some of the more sophisticated mind-influencing spells." Amelia said with a knowing smile. "Whoever created it had very specific knowledge of what they were protecting Miss Delacour against."
"Sounds like good planning to me," Harry said idly.
"Extremely good planning. The kind that screams… foreknowledge."
She set the file aside and resumed her position against the desk, and she was closer now, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her body. "Someone knew exactly what Marcus Flint was likely to attempt, and they prepared accordingly."
"Lucky for Fleur."
"Lucky indeed." Amelia smiled, and Harry was surprised to note that her voice carried a hint of admiration. "I have to wonder though. If someone had that much foreknowledge, why not simply prevent the attack entirely?"
"Maybe they wanted him to hang himself," Harry suggested, keeping his tone conversational despite the increasingly dangerous territory they were exploring. He couldn't slip up, not here.
"That's what I think too," Amelia agreed, and her voice was so soft now that Harry had to strain his ears to hear her. There was something almost… intimate about the way she said it. "Someone wanted Marcus Flint to reveal his true nature publicly and spectacularly. Someone who understood that the only way to ensure real justice was to make it impossible for his family's connections to protect him."
'Bang on' he thought.
She leaned forward slightly, bringing her face closer to his, her hot breath ghosting his face. "Someone brilliant, ruthless, and powerful enough to orchestrate the entire thing."
"That's quite a theory," he said finally, not moving back.
"It is, isn't it?" Amelia whispered, her smile widening. "Would you like to hear the rest of it?"
"By all means."
"You knew Flint was unstable, probably from your previous encounter with him," Amelia continued with a smirk, dropping all pretenses now. "You also knew he was obsessed with Miss Delacour. I've heard that much was obvious to anyone who watched him during the tournament events and especially after he asked her out and was spectacularly turned down. He was also clearly intoxicated, and I'm assuming you had a part in it as well to lower his inhibitions and critical thinking. Here's what you did next. You provided Miss Delacour with protection she didn't even know she had, and then you waited for the right moment."
Harry remained silent, letting her continue.
"The beauty of your plan," Amelia went on, leaning back from him to pace again, this time behind him, "was that you didn't have to make Flint do anything. You just had to be ready when he did exactly what his nature compelled him to do. All you needed was to be in the right place at the right time to play the hero."
"And the intoxication?"
"Inside job, I'd imagine. Probably done by one of your contacts in Slytherin. Miss Parkinson would be my guess, given your very public relationship. But it could be Miss Greengrass too. I've heard she's been seen around you too, especially during meals. I don't think it's her because, from the intel I have, she is a cautious girl who wouldn't do anything to stand out."
"Regina and I don't exactly have a relationship, at least in the conventional sense," Harry corrected, his voice amused.
Amelia paused in her pacing, and there was no mistaking the sharp interest in her eyes. His runes prickled even more, signaling the building interest of a trustworthy woman, and he blinked in slight surprise.
So it was really building up to what he'd suspected. Why and how, though? They'd never interacted before, so she had little reason to develop that kind of interest in him.
"Not my place to judge," she said finally.
Harry chuckled, but he had to admit, she was remarkably thorough. And mostly correct, though he wasn't about to confirm that.
"You have quite an imagination, Director."
"Do I?" Amelia returned to her position beside his chair, this time close enough that her leg almost brushed his arm. "I also have evidence. Magical signatures, timing analysis, even witness statements that don't quite add up the way they should."
She leaned down slightly, bringing her face closer to his once again. "Most importantly," she whispered, "I have fifteen years of experience reading people. And you, Mr. Potter, have had the look of someone who got exactly what he wanted throughout this saga."
The air between them crackled with tension, and it was dangerous territory. Harry could see the curiosity in her eyes, and his runes were telling him enough. He met her gaze steadily, neither confirming nor denying her accusations.
"Even if your theory were correct, and I'm not saying it is, what would it matter now? As you said, justice has been served quite thoroughly."
"Oh, it doesn't matter at all from a legal standpoint," Amelia agreed, but she didn't pull back. If anything, she seemed to lean slightly closer, her voice growing even more intimate. "The case is closed, Flint is in Azkaban where he belongs, and everyone got what they deserved. I don't need your confession to sleep soundly at night."
"Then what's your game here, Madam Bones?" Harry asked, his voice rougher than he'd intended as he vehemently fought to keep his runic influence under control. "What do you stand to gain by proving that I orchestrated Flint's downfall, which, again, I haven't confirmed?"
Harry was surprised to see the sensuality vanish from Amelia's face, and a sad smile formed on her lips. "That, Mr. Potter, requires a bit of history."
She moved to the window, gazing out at the London street beyond. She stood there in silence for a moment, and Harry found his eyes wandering over her curvaceous figure once again.
"I was a student at Hogwarts during the first war against Voldemort. Seventh year when things really started getting bad. My brother Edgar had already graduated, working as a junior Auror. He'd married a lovely witch named Sarah, and they were both active in the fight against the Death Eaters. They both were members of a secret organization called the Order of the Phoenix that fought against Death Eaters and their precious Dark Lord himself."
Harry listened raptly, sensing this was important.
"They were captured during a raid on a Death Eater safe house," Amelia continued, her voice growing quieter. "They'd gotten a tip about a Death Eater safe house but it turned out to be a trap. They were taken to a secondary location somewhere the Death Eaters felt they could work... undisturbed."
The way she said the last word made Harry's blood run cold.
"The torture went on for hours," she continued, and Harry could feel the grief rolling off her. "Not for information. By that point, the Death Eaters knew they were not going to get anything out of them. No, it became punishment. Retribution for the operations Edgar and Sarah had helped shut down."
She walked over to him and leaned against the desk once again, her knuckles gripping the edge firmly.
"When the other Order members finally found them..." She paused, visibly collecting herself. "The Healers at St. Mungo's said they'd never seen anything like it. The level of cruelty… it wasn't about extracting information or making an example out of them. No. It was about causing as much pain as possible before finally allowing them to die."
"I'm sorry," Harry said, and he meant it. The words seemed inadequate, but they were all he had. "I didn't know."
"Very few people do. It's not exactly common knowledge, and I prefer it that way," Amelia said, sighing. "But here's what is important. The Death Eater who led that particular operation was none other than Augustus Flint. Marcus Flint's father."
Harry's eyes sharpened, his full attention focused on Amelia. This was definitely not something he'd known before.
"After the war," Amelia continued bitterly, "Augustus Flint claimed he'd been under the Imperius Curse the entire time. He claimed he couldn't remember anything about his activities as a Death Eater. Complete memory loss, very convenient."
"Let me guess. The Wizengamot accepted his testimony?"
"Along with a substantial donation to the Ministry's reconstruction fund and several character witnesses from other 'reformed' Death Eater families." Amelia sneered, her smile sharp and cold. "Amazing how quickly blood money can buy respect and immunity from prosecution."
Harry felt a familiar anger building in his chest. "And any attempts to reopen the case would have been blocked."
"By law, actually. The Post-War Reconciliation Act prohibits reopening any case where the accused was granted clemency after claiming Imperius compulsion," Amelia said, and her voice carried years of frustrated anger. "It was designed to promote healing and unity, to help the wizarding world move forward after the trauma of war."
"And instead it became a shield for murderers."
"Exactly." Amelia moved closer to him again, and Harry could see the fire burning in her eyes, not just anger, but something deeper and more dangerous.
"I became an Auror specifically to seek justice for my family, only to learn that justice had been legislated out of existence."
Harry was beginning to understand where this conversation was heading and he found himself curious about what she had in mind.
"So you've spent your career waiting for another opportunity," he said.
"I've spent my career hoping that someday, somehow, the Flint family would slip up badly enough that their connections couldn't save them." Amelia hissed, leaning toward him, close enough that her body was almost touching his. "I've watched Augustus Flint rebuild his reputation, watched him use his blood money to buy influence and respectability, and watched him raise his son to believe that pureblood privilege made them untouchable."
"A vile bastard through and through," Harry grunted.
Amelia nodded, and once again, her voice dropped to an intimate tone, a wicked smile curving her lips that Harry had never expected to see on her face. "And then Marcus Flint tried to rape a foreign tournament champion using an Unforgivable Curse, in front of a number of witnesses, one of whom just happened to be Harry Potter."
"Convenient," Harry murmured, very aware of how close she was, how he could see her throat bobbing as she breathed.
"Remarkably so." Amelia reached out and gently touched his arm, her fingers warm through the fabric of his shirt. "Which is why I wanted to personally thank you."
Harry felt his runes flare violently at the contact. The sensation of her fingers, the warmth of her body so close to his, and the way she was looking at him, it all combined to send a powerful surge of arousal through him. He used every ounce of his Occlumency to maintain control, but now the effort was becoming increasingly difficult with her so close.
"Thank me for what?" he asked, his voice much rougher than he'd intended.
"For giving the Flint family exactly what they deserved." Her hand was still resting on his arm, and Harry could feel the heat of her palm through his sleeve. "For being brilliant enough, ruthless enough, and to orchestrate something I could never have managed through official channels."
"I see," he said gruffly, taking a sharp breath in.
"You okay?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I'm fine."
"Are you sure?" Her voice was concerned, but she was also aware of the effect that she was having on him. She tightened her grasp on his arm slightly, her lips curving upwards. "You seem a bit... tense."
"Just thinking." Harry forced his voice to remain steady despite the way his body and his magic were responding to her. "If you wanted revenge against the Flint family, why didn't you act? You're the Director of the DMLE. Surely you could have found something—"
"Believe me, I've tried." Amelia sighed, her hand still resting on his arm. "I've had Augustus under surveillance for years, hoping he'd slip up, hoping he'd give me something I could use legally."
Her fingers moved slightly on his arm, not quite a caress but close enough to make Harry's pulse quicken. "But he's been careful. Learned from his mistakes during the war. He's never stepped out of line legally since the amnesty was granted, just like the other pricks."
"And his son?"
"His son... well, I've known he was an arrogant, entitled little bastard with troll brains. Susan's told me enough, but being an ass isn't illegal," she said, her smile widening at his continued mental struggle that was now visible on his face. "Though in retrospect, I should have seen the signs. Reports on the way he looked at women, the casual cruelty he displayed, even the assumption that his desires mattered more than anyone else's consent."
"Like father, like son."
"Exactly," she said softly, her fingers continuing their subtle movement over his sleeve. "Which is why what you did was so... satisfying."
Harry met her gaze, seeing the appreciation and something else burning in her eyes.
"You're giving me a lot of credit for something I haven't admitted to doing."
"Oh, I know you did it." Amelia said knowingly, an appreciative smile on her face. "The question is what happens next."
"Meaning?"
"Marcus Flint is gone, condemned to spend the rest of his life with the Dementors. That's half my revenge complete." Her voice dropped, becoming even more intimate. "But Augustus is still out there, still free, still living off the blood money he made from his Death Eater activities."
Harry felt a chill of anticipation run down his spine as realization dawned on him. "And you want to change that."
"I want him at my feet, begging forgiveness for what he did to my family. I want him to understand exactly what he took from this world when he tortured two good people to death for his own sadistic pleasure." Amelia's voice was filled with a mix of sensuality and cold fury that Harry found damn fucking arousing. "And then I want him to pay for it."
The way she said it, the sheer violence in her tone that she kept under tight control, and the promise of retribution, it all sent heat racing through Harry's veins. This wasn't the by-the-books Director of the DMLE he'd expected. This was something far more dangerous and infinitely more interesting.
"That's a dangerous thing to want, Director," Harry said roughly, his knuckles gripping the arms of his chair tightly.
"Some things are worth the danger." Amelia leaned closer, close enough that he could feel her breath on his face. "Some things are worth any risk."
They indeed were.
"And how exactly does this concern me?" He asked gruffly, his arousal painfully straining against his trousers. Under the combined assault of her sensuality and his bloody runes, even his carefully constructed Occlumency and runic fixes could only help so much.
Amelia's smile widened, predatory and sharp as she gazed at him.
"I know you're ruthless, Mr. Potter. I know you're more powerful than any wizard your age has any right to be. And now I know you have personal enmity with the Flint family."
She shifted her position slightly, leaning half against the desk, half against his thigh as her body almost hovered over his, her hand gripping the back of his chair.
"Augustus made it very clear today that he considers you responsible for his son's fate. He threatened you publicly, in front of dozens of witnesses. That makes this personal for you too."
Playing ignorant was useless now, not after the woman had confided in him to such extent. He was still not going to accept his involvement, but she at least deserved his tacit confession.
"All right. So you want me to what—bring Augustus Flint to you gift-wrapped?"
"I want you to make him understand that his son's fate was just the beginning. I want him to know that someone is coming for him, someone he can't buy off or intimidate." Amelia's voice was a soft purr but full of violence. "And then I want you to bring him to me, broken and compliant, so he can face justice for his crimes at my hands."
Harry leaned back slightly with a raised eyebrow, impressed despite himself at her audacity and the ruthlessness she was displaying right now.
"Let me get this straight. You want me to get involved in what amounts to kidnapping a pureblood British citizen, make him 'compliant,' and deliver him to you so you can extract your pound of flesh?"
"That's one way to put it," Amelia said with a mirthless chuckle. "But I prefer to think of it as delayed justice."
"And what happens to Augustus after he begs your forgiveness?"
Amelia's smile was cold. "I think we both know the answer to that."
Harry stared at her for a long moment, genuinely shocked by what she was proposing. The Amelia Bones he'd heard about was supposed to be the epitome of lawful justice, a by-the-books administrator who never bent the rules. The woman here with him was proposing cold-blooded murder and torture.
"I have to say, this isn't exactly the conversation I expected to have with someone of your reputation."
"Reputation is just what other people think they know about you," Amelia replied. "Some things are more important than reputation. Family, for example. Justice. The kind of closure that can only come from seeing your enemies destroyed."
Harry sat back in his chair, his mind working through the implications of what she was suggesting. It was dangerous, illegal, and would likely end with at least one person dead. It was also exactly the kind of justice that appealed to the darker parts of his nature, the parts that had orchestrated Marcus Flint's downfall and felt nothing but satisfaction at the result.
He could feel his runes prickling, responding not just to Amelia's physical proximity and ministrations but also to something deeper than simple arousal. This was about power, about dominance, about seeing someone who deserved punishment finally get what was coming to them.
The idea of Augustus Flint helpless and afraid, begging for mercy from the sister of the people he'd tortured to death, was undeniably appealing.
Harry was not an idiot. This discussion so far, and the way Amelia had approached it, had made it clear that her ministrations were a manipulation tactic to get him to agree to her plan. There was interest on her part, clear as day, but Harry could tell when he was being manipulated. She didn't have any ill intentions toward him, but still, she was playing him.
Funnily enough, it was entirely unnecessary.
He would've agreed to take care of any Death Eater she wanted without any compensation, but when a free treat was dangling right in front of his mouth…
"Nothing in this world comes free," Harry said finally, his voice low.
Amelia's demeanor shifted, becoming more businesslike. "I know your help wouldn't be free, and it won't be cheap either. I'm prepared to offer whatever you might have in mind. What would it be?"
Instead of answering immediately, Harry let his gaze travel deliberately up and down her form, taking in the way the silk blouse outlined her curves, how her breasts strained against the fabric, the elegant line of her throat above her collar, and the way the fitted skirt curved around her rear, emphasizing her legs. His eyes lingered on all the right places, making his interest unmistakably clear.
Amelia's eyes widened slightly as she saw his eyes roaming over her form. However, soon after, a slow smirk spread across her face. She leaned closer, close enough that they were almost touching.
"Oh my," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't know you could be so bold, Mr. Potter."
Her fingers began playing with his collar, sensually tracing along the edge of the fabric. Harry felt the light touch like electricity against his skin, but he didn't flinch or pull away. Instead, he met her gaze steadily, letting her see the heat in his own eyes.
"I'm full of surprises, Director," he replied promisingly, his voice husky.
"Amelia," she corrected, her fingers trailing along his neck, caressing his skin. The touch made him shiver, and his reaction made her smirk widen. "And I'm beginning to see that."
The office was filled with raw, sexual tension, and her touch was pushing the prickling in his runes to an entirely new level. He knew she must be thinking that her manipulation had worked, but little did she know that she was being played at her own game. That he had long ago learned how to use desire as a weapon rather than being controlled by it.
"The question is," Harry said, his voice steady as she continued to caress his neck, her breath hot against his face, "can you handle surprises, Amelia?"
For a moment, something heated and dangerous flickered in her eyes, and Harry thought she might lean in, closing the distance between them entirely. Her fingers stilled on his neck, and he could feel the tension in her body, the way she was clearly struggling between restraint and giving into her primal self. She was being affected massively as well.
To his slight disappointment, she pulled back with a knowing smirk, though she did not move away from him entirely.
"I'm not sure you'd be able to handle it," she said teasingly, and there was no mistaking the arousal in her voice. "But I'm sure something can be arranged."
The arousal he was sensing from her sent his own arousal skyrocketing, and Harry clenched his toes hard, his Occlumency working in overdrive to keep him outwardly poised.
Before he could respond, Amelia pulled away and moved behind her desk. He saw her tap her wand against a small communication device.
"Tonks, could you come back in please?"
A moment later, the door opened and Tonks stepped inside, closing it behind her. The wards flared up again, sealing the office as the woman walked over, coming to a stop beside the desk.
If she noticed the sensual atmosphere in the room, she gave no sign of it, though Harry caught a slight smirk playing around her lips.
"Harry's agreed to help us," Amelia announced without preamble, her gaze heated as she looked at him.
Harry's eyes darted between the two women, understanding dawning on him. "I see. So you're in on this too."
"Guilty as charged," Tonks replied with a grin. "But in my defense, the Director can be very persuasive when she wants to be."
Harry's runes prickled at the sight of both women, his mind immediately looking for innuendo in that little response.
"Tonks is my most trusted Auror," Amelia explained, leaning forward with her hands on the desk in a way that made her tits strain against her shirt, and there was no mistaking her arousal at this angle. Her nipples were hard and poking firmly against the fabric. One glance at Tonks was enough to tell him that she didn't miss the little detail either, and Harry saw her pupils dilate slightly.
So it's like that, he thought with a hidden smirk.
"Plus, I feel it'd help to have someone with her particular… talents," Amelia continued, either unaware or uncaring of the show she was giving to her two onlookers.
"What sort of talents?" Harry asked, his brow raised.
The response came instantly, and Harry's eyes widened when he saw Tonks' features transform. Her face morphed, her hair changed, and her body grew curvier, and in front of him stood two Amelias, albeit dressed differently.
"I'm a metamorphmagus," Tonks-as-Amelia said in Amelia's voice, surprising him even more. "Very useful for surveillance work, infiltration, that sort of thing. Also handy for making sure certain people end up in the right place at the right time."
"And she's completely loyal, which is essential for this kind of... unofficial operation," Amelia continued, and Harry didn't miss how her voice was filled with genuine affection for her subordinate or how she gazed at her.
"Very interesting," he murmured under his breath, his lips curving into a small smirk.
Very interesting indeed.
TBC.
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