Chapter 62 62: Ten points from...
Ethan kicked the door shut with a heavy thud, the sound echoing through the quiet stone corridor before he turned and practically threw Tonks onto the manifested silk mattress. He followed her down, pinning her wrists above her head as he loomed over her, his expression a mix of mock-irritation and raw hunger.
"You were laughing quite a bit back there, weren't you?" Ethan growled, his voice vibrating against her neck. "I'm out here fighting for my life against a 'System crash' and you're nearly coughing up a lung."
Tonks let out a jagged, manic cackle, her hair flashing a guilty, vibrant yellow. "Ha! What can I say, Williams? Your face... it was like you'd seen a Dementor in a thong. I've never seen a 'Master of the Mystic Arts' look so ready to bolt."
She shifted beneath him, her eyes dancing with mischief as she arched her back. "Did seeing her face bring it all back? Did the real Minerva arouse you, Ethan? Or was it just the memory of the 'detention'?"
She reached down, her hand slipping into his trousers to cup him. Her fingers circled the base, feeling the frantic, heavy pulse of his arousal. "Look at this... already rock hard. Stiff as a board. What would the good Professor think if she knew she still had the charm of her youth? That she could make a world-traveling sorcerer go rigid just by walking past him in a hallway?"
Before Ethan could answer, Tonks's features began to bubble and sharpen. Her hair darkened into that severe black bun, and those sharp, piercing eyes returned. The playful Auror vanished, replaced by the stern, iron-clad presence of the Deputy Headmistress.
"I think," the 'McGonagall' whispered, her Scottish lilt sharp enough to draw blood, "that this little boy is being quite dishonest. To be so... affected... in the public corridors? It's a most egregious breach of conduct."
She gripped his cock firmly, her thumb raking over the crown. "It's already twitching, Mr. Williams. I believe you require another session. A very... extended... detention."
Ethan didn't wait for a second invitation. He stripped his jacket and shirt in one fluid motion, the golden light of his magic flickering in the room as his pulse raced. He flipped her over, pulling her hips up so she was on all fours on the silk.
"Then teach me a lesson, Professor," Ethan rasped.
He entered her from behind in one heavy, visceral thrust that made the 'McGonagall' gasp, her severe bun loosening as she gripped the edges of the mattress. The friction was incredible—her Metamorphmagus body subconsciously tightening around him, molding to his girth with a desperate, wet intensity.
The room was filled with the rhythmic clapping of skin on skin and the sharp, jagged moans of the "Professor" as Ethan drove into her. He moved with a primal, relentless energy, his hands digging into her waist, marking the pale skin of her hips.
"Is this... satisfactory... Mr. Williams?" she gasped, her persona flickering for a split second as a wave of pleasure hit her.
"Not yet," Ethan groaned, leaning over her and biting at the nape of her neck.
He reached for the nightstand, grabbing a spare wand he'd picked up in the forest—not the Elder Wand this time, but a sturdy oak one. He didn't use it for magic. He slid his hand around, pressing the cool wood against her clit as he continued to pound into her from behind. The combination of the internal pressure and the targeted friction had Tonks—as McGonagall—screaming into the pillow, her hair strobing through chaotic flashes of black and electric pink.
The pace became frantic. Ethan was lost in the sensation, his "Adamantine Focus" amplifying every nerve ending until he felt like he was merging with the very air of the room. He could feel the exact moment her walls began to quiver, the tell-tale sign of an approaching peak.
"I'm... going to... ten points from... oh God!"
She collapsed onto her stomach, her body vibrating with a massive, shimmering orgasm. Ethan followed her a heartbeat later, let out a guttural roar as he filled her, his hands clenching the silk until it tore.
As the two of them lay there, a tangled, sweat-slicked mess of limbs and cooling magic, the room finally began to settle. The "McGonagall" features melted away, leaving Tonks breathless and satisfied, her hair a soft, exhausted lavender.
Neither of them noticed the small movement on the stone windowsill outside.
Sitting there, perched perfectly still in the moonlight, was a sleek, silver-tabby cat with distinctive markings around its eyes—markings that looked remarkably like a pair of square spectacles.
The cat sat motionless, its tail twitching once, twice. If one were to look very closely, they might have noticed that the cat's fur seemed unusually warm, and its small, feline ears were a distinct shade of pink.
With a soft, muffled "mew" that sounded suspiciously like a huff of indignant embarrassment, the cat turned and leaped silently from the sill, vanishing into the shadows of the Hogwarts battlements.
"Did you hear something?" Tonks whispered, her voice a tired rasp.
Ethan glanced at the window, seeing nothing but the moon. "Just the castle settling, Pinky. Go back to sleep."
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