A/N: This is a one-shot brought about from reading a Ginny/Tonks fic on the LJ community. Set pre-DH.
'Tonks? I'm scared.'
Those three words hit her like a Stunning Hex but all she could do was press a trembling finger to Ginny's lips and hold her wand even tighter with her right hand. She couldn't afford to let her guard slip, not if she wanted to get Ginny Weasley out of there alive. And she knew she had to. Not only because Molly would never forgive her if she didn't, but she was damn sure that she could never forgive herself.
How she'd managed to get Ginny in this situation in the first place was a matter for her conscience. Molly had trusted her to take Ginny to Diagon Alley and bring her home safely, straight-away with no unnecessary stops. But they'd been having a good time! In the midst of it all, when Remus was out trying to befriend other werewolves without a shred of morality and when Harry Potter himself was in enormous danger, they'd managed to enjoy a simple afternoon of robe shopping.
She'd volunteered for the job in the first place, eager to spend time with someone who might not be a constant harbinger of misery, and she hadn't been mistaken. In the middle of her obvious concerns, Ginny was desperate to have some pleasure. She'd wanted to oblige, so much so because Ginny was one of the only people she felt could survive this war unscathed, and her feelings had taken over.
So when the Death Eaters had appeared in The Leaky Cauldron her mind had halted imploding long enough for her to get them into this closet unnoticed. Now they were listening to Tom being tortured mercilessly by voices she recognised as her dear cousin, Bellatrix, and Lucius Malfoy. They hadn't yet asked the question of whether anybody else had been in the pub lately, otherwise Tonks was sure they'd be discovered. She knew Tom couldn't hold out much longer.
While wiping a bead of sweat from her brow, she cast a glance at Ginny. The red-headed teen did look frightened but she was staring at the door with an air of determined defiance. It made Tonks proud. Ginny was something else really. Not like the wizards and witches who were running around terrified, trying to outrun the evil approaching them; no, Ginny was ready to face it head on. It was worth remembering, as painful as the very thought might be, that Ginny had already survived attack by the two Voldemort servants currently torturing an innocent inn-owner for fun.
Ginny glanced at her before Tonks had a chance to avert her eyes. She felt herself almost shudder at the unexpected eye-contact and, when Ginny reached out to take her hand, she couldn't even contemplate moving it away. They remained like that for what seemed like an eternity until, by some miracle, Bellatrix and Malfoy gained the information they wanted out of Tom and swiftly left the inn.
At first Tonks didn't move. Part of her was aware that it could be a trap and she was required to give the Death Eaters chance to return, however, it was the thought of breaking the physical contact with Ginny that most caused her to hesitate. She was ashamed (to say the least) to admit she was enjoying this contact. She was repulsed ever so slightly, but not by Ginny, by her own almost-adulterous (they would be in a few weeks) fancies. Ginny was, after all, an underage witch. She was a minor, not even a fully-fledged member of the Order and yet Tonks couldn't help herself.
Letting go of her wand for the first time in weeks, she moved her right hand around to caress Ginny's cheek, whilst not removing her left hand from Ginny's touch. The young Weasley flickered her eyes upwards and then downwards, a nervous motion, but she didn't move away. Tonks slowly ran a finger over her lips before, very gently, closing the small space between them and brushing her lips against Ginny's.
She herself pulled away after a minute or so. She daren't look at Ginny so it was a surprise and a huge relief when she felt a hand slip enticingly around the back of her neck, tickling her senses. 'Tonks?' Ginny whispered.
'Yeah?' She was almost afraid of what was coming next.
'Your hair… It's been black all day. But I prefer it yellow.'