Meanwhile, back at Tonks's swinging Bachelorette pad in Muggle London...

Tonks and the Mystery Professor collapsed for the eighteenth or so time (they'd long since lost count) onto the mattress on Tonks's bed awash in sweat and whatever passed for morning sunlight in London.

"Jesus Holy-Rolling Christ on a pogo stick, Tonks! Where did you learn how to do that thing with your...? I mean... Wow." The Mystery Professor exclaimed, sporting nothing but a big smile. "We should really get out of bed, though, shouldn't we? It must be 10am at least."

"Mrrmfph... Try 10am on Tuesday. 64 straight hours of indoor Quidditch, and even a metamorphmagus needs to rest her muscles," Tonks replied, sleepily. "But it's your... third? day in London, so I suppose you'd like to see the city?"

"Well, yes. That and we're going to need to eat sooner or later, I suppose. Okay, up and at 'em. I might be magic, but you know I can't conjure supper!" The professor gave Tonks a playful swat on her behind. She grumbled a little, wiped some sleep from her eyes, and began to climb out of bed. She got as far as one foot on the floor before giving up and falling backwards onto the mattress.

"Can't. Move. Legs hurt too much," she moaned, and laid on her back looking at the ceiling. The Professor had a look of concern on his face.

"Oh dear. Where does it hurt, Tonks?"

"Hammies. Both of 'em. Oh, and my shoulders, from being tied to the - Oh, just give me a moment, I'll be fine."

The Professor climbed back onto the bed. "Here, spin over," he said, rolling Tonks onto her stomach. "Let me take care of that for you." As he began to massage her back, Tonks tried to stopped him.

"Wait - that's - ooh, that's just lovely. But it's really not a good idea. We'll never get out of here if you keep - oh my - doing that."

"Yes we will. And you'll feel better for it, too. Here..." And the mystery professor continued on down to the backs of her thighs; Tonks's protestations sounding more and more like greatful moans of relief from the muscle ache as he went along. About five minutes later, she rolled back over and sat up, facing him.

"Merlin's taint, that feels so much better. Let's - " Tonks stopped a moment, having given the Professor a good look.

"Are you sure you're not a metamorphmagus, too?" she asked.

"Yeah, I think so. I mean, I'd know, right? Why d'you ask?"

Tonks smiled mischieviously. "No reason. But you know what? I think brekkie can wait another hour or so, don't you?" She didn't wait for a reply before pushing him back down onto the mattress.

Meanwhile, back at the Burrow...

"Ronald, where have you been, young man?" Molly chided as her son banged his way through the Burrow's kitchen door. "And what in Merlin's name have you done to your - to your everything? Ronald, is that a ring through your nose?"

Ron gave his mother a two-fingered salute in response and bounded up the stairs, the thumps created by his Dr. Marten boots resonating through the house. He got to his room, where Hermione and Harry were poring over newspapers from California, looking for any stories about a pink Naval vessel that might provide them with clues as to the Mystery Professor's identity. Ron took a time-turner off from around his head and flung it down onto the bed between them.

"Ronald, you're - you're home?" Hermione said, taken a bit aback by her friend's appearance. Harry still had his nose in a back-issue of the Los Angeles Times.

"Well then, mate," Harry said. "Did you find anything out about this Ramone chap?"

"Yes, yes of course," Hermione said. "Ramone. And then maybe you tell us about the dreadlocks, alright?"

"Dude," Ron began. "It was fucking awesome. They're a band, see, and I heard where they were playing - out in the middle of this fucking cornfield in bum-fuck Indiana or something. So I made a port-key and went there, after I stole your time-turner, which everyone thought was really punk-rock. Me stealing it, that is, I didn't tell them what it was. Anyway, so I ported to Indiana, and all these kids looked so different than me, so I changed my appearance a bit, 'cause there aren't any underage magic laws in Indiana - what-what?! Then I found some guys and told them I wanted to see the Ramones, and they were all like "ch-yea, but you can't get in to Lollapallooza, it's totally sold out" and I'm like "whatever, bitches, I can get in anywhere I fucking want," so I went. Three fucking days of the best bands you've ever heard, man. And the Ramones were just, like, incredible. Still the best punk-rock band ever."

"So that's it, then," Hermione said, still a bit slack-jawed. "It's just a bloody band shirt."

"Langugage, Hermione," Harry chided. He ducked when he saw a leather-bound editiion of Hogwarts, A History flying toward his head.

"I've got it!" Hermione said with a squeak after flipping through the Lifestyle section of the Times. "We could go there ourselves and see if anyone has any idea who that was. Oh, wouldn't that be great, boys? A trip to California! Sunshine, movie stars! Oh, and where the professor lived looked like just the most darling little neighborhood!"

"You'd think, right?" Harry replied. "Sure, but it was overrun by dirty hippies selling their possessions for pot money."

That put a damper on Hermione's enthusiasm. But not on Ron's.

"Oh, right. That reminds me. I know what we could do instead. We could smoke this two-ounce bag of weed I brought home from Lollapalooza and get real high."

Ron began to roll joints for the three of them before Hermione interrupted.

"Ronald, honestly," she said. "Your grass is too tight and your paper is too loose. Give that to me. And hand me a card."