The doorbell rang.
Petunia turned to Harry, her brow furrowed. "Were we expecting anyone?"
Harry shook his head. "Not to my knowledge. Maybe the neighbors need something?"
Though he said it, he doubted it.
With a flick of his wand and a whispered Scourgify, Harry cleaned himself up, quickly tugged on a pair of pants, and made his way to the door. His wand slipped smoothly into his pocket as he crossed the flat. In the drawing room, he paused by the enchanted mirror that reflected the frontage of their building—an elegant security measure. The reflection showed a tall, stylish young woman standing at the front entrance. She wore fashionable Muggle clothing and carried a sleek handbag. Everything about her screamed Muggle—except for how badly she was trying not to look suspicious. That effort alone was suspicious.
Still, it wasn't enough to raise the alarm. Not yet.
The moment she gave her name, the situation changed. Harry opened the door without further hesitation and let her in.
As she stepped into the drawing room, he allowed himself a proper look. Her hair was a deep, burnished auburn—too dark to catch light, yet it shimmered with hidden warmth. Her eyes were clear, dark, and calculating. She wore makeup with an expert's touch: flawless, subtle, enhancing rather than hiding. The woman was tall and elegantly built, her figure highlighted by a black dress with a dangerously low neckline and a high slit revealing a pale, smooth thigh. Elbow-length black gloves added a layer of elegance—or disguise. Her shoes looked more like medieval torture devices than footwear, costing more than a month's rent in most places.
She looked too good to be real.
Which, in this case, wasn't too far from the truth.
"Mister Potter," she said smoothly, voice cultured and clear. "I apologize for showing up unannounced."
Harry nodded, gesturing toward the couch while he took the chair. "Auror Tonks. This is an unexpected pleasure."
"Auror Cadet, actually," she corrected gently. A faint frown crossed her lips. "I wasn't sure your building's security would let a plain-looking woman walk in. Hence the outfit…"
She motioned to herself.
"It looks wonderful on you," Harry replied without missing a beat.
She laughed, her voice like soft chimes, head tilting back just enough to show a flash of her pale throat. "A gentleman, they said. But if you don't mind…"
With a brisk shake of her head, her entire form began to shimmer and shift. Harry watched, awestruck, as her curves narrowed, her auburn hair turned bubblegum pink, and her figure became willowy and modest. The black dress morphed into black trousers and a cream shirt, topped with a standard-issue Auror cadet cloak.
"You're a Metamorphmagus," he said, wonder in his voice—none of it feigned.
"Quick on the uptake," said the now-younger-looking woman, likely in her early twenties. "Most wizards think it's an illusion."
"Is this your real form?" he asked, curious.
"I'm a metamorph," she replied with a shrug, as if that answered everything. She settled onto the couch, clearly more comfortable now.
Harry didn't press. "So, what can I do for you, Cadet?"
Tonks reached into her cloak and pulled out a tightly rolled parchment, sealed with wax. "There's an official complaint filed against you, Harry Potter. Aggravated assault on the heir of an influential pureblood House, misuse of magic outside Hogwarts, and several other charges that come wrapped in enough legal jargon to make your head spin. I need an official statement from you regarding these allegations."
Her eyes flicked to his bare chest.
"Perhaps you'd prefer to dress more appropriately before we begin?" she added, arching a brow.
"I'm comfortable," Harry replied evenly.
"Shall we begin?" Tonks asked, her tone professional, but not without curiosity.
Harry gave a slight nod, though his mind drifted elsewhere—specifically, to the bedroom where Petunia lay, bound and bare, his release still glistening along her thighs. The image lingered, hot and possessive. He didn't let it show.
Tonks was an Auror cadet—and more importantly, a Metamorphmagus. That made her valuable. Unique. If he played this right, seducing her would come with very… adaptable benefits. First impressions mattered, and he intended to leave her with one she wouldn't forget.
"By all means," he said smoothly. "Unless you'd be interested in a drink? I think there's a bottle of firewhiskey lying around."
Tonks shook her head. "Against DMLE protocol. We're not allowed to accept food or drink while on duty—too easy for someone to drug, poison, or enchant it. And it's poor manners to openly test your host's offerings for toxins."
He arched an eyebrow.
"Fair enough," he said, settling into his chair. "So—who filed the complaint?"
"Ron Weasley."
Of course. That checked out. Harry had flattened Ron on the train, a satisfying little reminder that the redhead wasn't nearly as competent as he believed. The assault charges made sense now. The misuse of magic? A technicality, most likely. Term had ended, yes, but they were still aboard the Hogwarts Express. The ferret had found a loophole to hide behind.
Typical.
Harry smirked, calm and composed.
"Mr. Potter?" Tonks prompted again, placing a dictation quill beside her. It sprang to life, scribbling across a floating pad. "What do you have to say about these charges?"
He leaned back, his tone mild. "I was sitting in the compartment with Hermione Granger. Ron Weasley barged in and started hurling insults at her—crude ones, which I won't bother repeating. I asked him to leave. Politely. Three times. He ignored me and kept pushing. I tried to tune him out, maybe get some rest… but then he banished my pillow. When I reminded him again to leave, he tried to hex me. So I reacted."
"You broke his bones."
"I cast a non-lethal, low-powered Confringo. You can inspect my wand if you want."
Tonks blinked. "A blasting curse?"
"Correct. I know the spell—inside and out. A half-powered Confringo would've blown off his leg entirely. Full power? He'd be red paste on the floor. But I didn't do that. I aimed precisely for his knee joint and only dislocated the bones. No breaks. No blood. After that, I used a Jelly-Legs Jinx to keep him from trying again. Then a basic banishing charm to remove him from my compartment. That's it. It's not my fault he's magically incompetent."
Tonks was staring, her brown eyes wide. Maybe it was Harry's calm, detached explanation that got to her—clinical and almost disturbingly matter-of-fact. It had worked on Ron earlier, and it was clearly working on Tonks now.
Then, she smiled. Just a twitch at first—then a bark of laughter escaped her lips. "I knew it would be something like this."
Harry raised an eyebrow.
"Sorry," she chuckled. "Inside joke. My boss probably knew exactly how this would play out. That's why I was sent. You being you, and all. Off the record? Ron's complaint wasn't even filed properly the first time. Boss took it way too seriously. But then the Minister's office sent an official order. That's why I'm here."
"How terrible," Harry deadpanned.
Tonks snorted again. "Sorry for disturbing you, really. You clearly had plans going—"
"Master!" came a loud, indignant cry from deeper within the flat. "You left me there tied up! Master—!"
Well. Surprise, surprise.