Tin Angel

A/N: Another day, another update. This one a bit longer than the last two. Instead of going with the usual ‘Dinner was splendid’ or ‘They drank whiskey and laughed all night,’ I have attempted to actually write the first date. Damn, I had no idea how hard it would be. Love it, hate it, think I should have just cut out all the crap and said ‘dinner was splendid’ then had them shag wildly? Leave me a review and let me know : )

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter I would buy out Marvel Comics, and force the writers to at last fulfill my childhood dream of seeing my favorite characters finally stop flirting and get together (I was a romantic early on.) Unfortunately, J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter and, to the best of my knowledge, the writers at Marvel carry on with the madness.


Tin Angel


* * 3 * *

If she wears another sundress, I swear I’ll give ten thousand galleons to war orphans, Draco thought as he leaned casually against the gray stone entryway of Hermione’s building, waiting for her to come down from her flat. They’d agreed to meet at 10:30 Saturday morning, and Draco had walked around her block twice before buzzing her flat the moment his watch hit half-past the hour. She had laughed at his promptness, the sound ringing out through the polished plate of the intercom as she promised she’d be right down.


He stuck his hands in his pockets, schooling his features into a mask of aloof calmness and attempting to suppress the elation he was feeling at the prospect of spending an entire day in her company. It wouldn’t do to go about acting like a giddy schoolgirl on her first date to Hogsmeade. He frowned, as images of himself in a pleated skirt and knee socks, skipping down the street with a mortified Hermione, flashed through his mind. Disturbing, he thought with a shudder. Busy with repressing nauseating images of himself sporting wispy blond pigtails, he didn’t notice Hermione come down the stairs and slip through the outer doorway of her building.


“Hello, Malfoy.” She greeted, and Draco’s eyes darted up to look at her.


Lucky bloody orphan bastards, he thought smugly, trying to reign in his lecherous stare, lest he scare her off before he’d even spoken. She wore a crisp, girlish white sundress with delicate straps that grazed lightly over the lines of her collarbones. The thoughts of blond pigtails and pleated skirts were quickly supplanted by images of himself slipping those straps down her arms and tracing a line of kisses from her shoulder to the slim curve of her neck. Draco felt his groin tighten slightly.


“Granger.” He replied smoothly, straightening up and stepping closer to her. They regarded each other silently for a few moments, before Hermione glanced down at the street and cleared her throat.


“Would you mind terribly if we walked? The Albert Bridge isn’t far, and it’d be a shame to waste such fine weather,” she said with a hopeful little smile.


“Not at all,” he said, leading the way down to the pavement, “I’ve always liked walking along the embankment.”


Draco cast her surreptitious glances as they walked quietly down the tree-lined street toward the Thames, admiring the richness of her curls and noting the return of the berry-colored gloss to her full bottom lip. He’d like nothing better at the moment than to suck every bit of that gloss off her pouty little mouth.


“So what, Malfoy? No poetic greeting today?” she broke the silence, looking over at him playfully, “I must say, I’m rather disappointed. I’d thought a man of your intellect and breeding would surely come up with something more titillating than ‘Granger’ and ‘I’ve always enjoyed walking down the embankment,” she mocked, lowering the pitch of her voice and raising her chin so she could stare down her nose at him snootily.


“I do apologize for the disappointment, Granger,” he replied, “I’ve had a rather busy morning so far, what with putting out a fire in an art museum, escorting a cartel of doddering old blue-hairs across busy intersections, volunteering at the library, rescuing a baby from dingoes and donating loads of Galleons to orphans. I’ve simply been a bit distracted.”


“Hardly a viable excuse for such negligence. You’ll just have to try harder next time or I may begin to doubt the extent of your literary prowess.” she chided.


“Indeed. Perhaps I should start immediately,” he atoned, looking at her slyly, as they turned to walk along the embankment, “I do rather like that dress of yours, Granger. Are you making a reference of some kind? Testing my skill at picking out allusions? Let’s see…Woman in White?”


“Ah, but which one? There are so many to choose from,” she teased, playing along.


“Hmm… well, there’s the one from the Wilkie Collins book,” Draco offered, “ and the Latin legend of the weeping woman.”


“And Rebecca from that de Maurier novel.” Hermione added.


“You could always opt for Bertha Mason.”


“Poor woman. I never liked that name.” Hermione said, wrinkling her nose. “As if being ugly and mental weren’t enough, she had to have an unpleasant name as well.”


“And here I thought you devoid of vanity. We could revert to the Rhys book and call you Antoinette instead.” Draco said, nudging her lightly with his shoulder to make her smile.


She laughed, looking at him thoughtfully, “So, let me get this straight. My options are…a mad woman, …dead, …dead, …and child killer? My, I must have been feeling terribly morbid when I got dressed this morning.”


“Not necessarily,” Draco mused, “there is always the Good Witch from the Wizard of Oz.”


“Glinda? Didn’t she wear a giant pink creampuff of a dress?” Hermione asked, looking up at him.


“In the movie. Haven’t you read the book? No? Really? Imagine that. What would the adoring Gryffindor masses say if they knew there was a Muggle book Draco Malfoy had read, but Hermione Granger had not?


“I’m sure the Slytherin’s would have a few choice words themselves, if they were privy to that bit of information,” she snorted.


“In the book,” Draco said, brushing aside her comment, “Glinda wears a white dress. I think we’re on to something, Granger, as you are also a witch and, unless you lead a scandalous double life, a poster child for Goodness. The proverbial shoe seems to fit.” He said smugly, emphasizing his point by reaching over and tugging gently at the flared skirt of her dress.


“Fine then. I can deal with being Glinda. And whom does that make you? The scarecrow?”


“Surely not, as I, quite clearly, am in possession of a brain.”


“You are too scaly to be a Lion, which leaves…”


“The heartless woodsman?” he cut in.


“No,” she shook her head and looked at him solemnly, “The flying monkey.”


* * *


“That one there.” Draco said, pointing at a small cup of colorful, cut fruit. The leathery old man reached down to pluck it out of the display, exchanging it for the two Muggle notes Draco offered him. Crowds of people choked the variegated maze of vendor stands and tents, and Draco wove his way through them, hoping Hermione hadn’t ventured far. He found her exactly where he’d left her a few minutes earlier, fingering a handbag cut from an old, delicately embroidered Indian tapestry as she negotiated the price with the trader. Gringott’s must be over the moon to have her as one of their delegates, he mused as she paid the glassy-eyed vendor less than half the original asking price.


The woman slipped the handbag into a plastic sack and handed it to Hermione, who had just spotted Draco and flashed him a grin. She bounced over to him, holding the sack open for him to see. “Isn’t it lovely? I’ve wanted one for ages. And such a good price, too.”


“Its quite fine. No one else will have anything like it,” he said thoughtfully, adding, “Your negotiating skills are inspiring. That woman actually seemed pleased to accept less for it.”


“Oh, that was nothing,” she laughed, “I once had to convince 15 different elders in an East African village to grant Gringotts access to a single acre of land. It was a nightmare- took me three months to win them all over. Now, those women drove a hard bargain. What have you got there?” she asked, eyeing the cup of fruit he carried.


“Fresh guava. Ever tried it?”


“I don’t think so. Is it sweet?”


“Most of it is. Some are more bitter and they all range in acidity. The dark red pieces are called Strawberry guava, the green are Apple and the rose-colored ones are called Hong-Kong Pink. Try one.” Draco offered, holding the cup out to her.


“Oh… no. My hands are filthy from handling all those dusty, old bags at that last vendor. I don’t want to reach in there.” she said quickly, giving the strange fruit a skeptical glance.


“Surely you can come up with something more artful than that feeble attempt at dodgery,” he smirked, reaching into the cup and plucking out a pink, fleshy cut of fruit. “Come now, you lot are supposed to be brave. Open up.” he directed, holding the fruit a few inches from her lips. She paused a moment, then parted her lips, blushing and looking away as he slipped it into her mouth. Draco relished the rosy flush of her cheeks and took the opportunity to brush the pad of his thumb lightly against her bottom lip as he drew it away.


“Do you like it?” he asked softly, as she sucked on the sweet fruit.


Still unable to meet his eyes, she moved to keep walking along the line of vendors before answering.


“Yes… I think I might like it very much.”


They wandered for a while among the stalls and tents, stopping to examine various wares, watch the roving festival performers, and sample the variety of foods being offered. Eventually, Draco directed them to the line of large white tents set up for the wine auction. A number of wineries had set up booths in the first few tents, hoping to capitalize on the presence of the auction goers by offering samples of their latest bottles.


They drifted from booth to booth, allowing the various pourers to convince them to have a taste of their selection.


“I noticed there aren’t any spittoons.” Hermione whispered betweens sips of a crisp French pinot gris. “My friend, Luna, would say that it was an underhanded ploy between the wineries and the consigners to get everyone soused and feeling divine, before sending them in to open up their purses.”


“Hmm, I think there may be darker forces at work than that.” Draco snickered softly, and nodded to where a graying, older gentleman was flirting shamelessly with a young brunette, “See how it loosens up all the pretty women who come to these things. Makes an easier go of it for all the rich, dirty old men.”


“Such debauchery,” she gasped dramatically, “To think you would risk compromising my virtue and pristine reputation just because you can’t be bothered to keep track of an exchange rate.”


“Yes, astonishing, isn’t it, the levels I will sink to in the name of a good investment.”


“Are you sure you don’t mean Bacchus?” she countered.


“So much cheek for such a small thing. Wherever do you store it all up?” he said, smirking, “Ah- I think we should go sign in. It seems they’re starting.” He took her wineglass from her, setting it on the vendor’s table, and placed his hand on the small of her back, ushering her towards the registration table.

* * *

As they exited the auction, Draco stopped at one of the vineyard booths to purchase a bottle of wine. While the seller wrapped the bottle in tissue paper and placed it in a bag, Draco noted the somewhat dazed expression that graced Hermione’s faced as she stood silently beside him. He watched her with amusement as they stepped out into the sunlight, taking a gentle hold on her elbow when she nearly ran into a small child. Her skin was soft and warm beneath his touch, and he longed to rub his thumb in small circles on the tender flesh where her arm bent inwards. Hell, he admitted thoughtfully, he’d really just like press as much of her to him as was decent in a public place. He wondered how far he could push that line.


“I just-…I just can’t believe it,” she said suddenly, snapping him out of his reverie. “I can’t believe you bought a hundred bottles of twelve-year-old grand cru Romanee Conti. Are you really that rich? I mean,” she paused, turning her dark eyes up to meet his and searching them with concern, “I did make it clear how much that is in Galleons, didn’t I?”


“Yes, you were quite clear. As I said before, it’s an investment,” he said in the most soothing voice he was capable of, still amused at her wonderment.


“Yes-…but-…it’s just… Whatever will you do with it all?”


“I’ll probably sell two thirds of it to my company. Marketing, I assume, will use it to finesse some of our business partners and potential clients. I’ll probably keep a couple of bottles at my flat and send the rest to be stored in the wine cellars at the Manor.” Draco explained, pleased that she seemed to be recovering from her shock.


“Hmm.” she murmured, it over in her head. “Malfoy?” she asked suddenly, “Why live in a flat in Chelsea when you have a enormous Manor in the countryside?”


“Precisely because it is an enormous Manor in the countryside. Its an awfully big place for just one person, Granger.” he explained and she grinned impishly.


“What’s the matter, Heathcliff? Scared of ghosts?” she teased.


“Well, ‘the murdered do haunt their murderers,’ eh? All that torturing of House Elves as a boy had to catch up with me sometime.” he said, laughing.


“Oh, do I detect a confession Malfoy? Are there skeletons in your cupboard?” she whispered conspiratorially.


“Cupboards are not nearly glamorous enough for my skeletons. We have dungeons for that sort of thing.” he declared nasally, earning him a playful swat on the arm. Draco gave her a sinister grin, then held up the bag from the wine vendor, giving it a little shake. “This bottle of Veuve Clicquot is just begging to be consumed. Shall we go back to that Greek cuisine tent and pick up something to go with it?”

* * *


“Oh… this is heavenly.” Hermione sighed, leaning back against an old tree and sipping her wine from a plastic cup. Draco lay sprawled out on his side in the grass, admiring how the dappled, late afternoon light undulated over her skin and dress. The remains of their lunch were spread out between them and he reached across them for the bottle of wine, which he’d charmed to look like water with a discreet flick of his wand.


“Admit it Granger, all that debauchery rot you went on about was just a load of rubbish,?” he scolded lightly, “Hemingway was known to refer to wine as the most civilized thing in the world. ”


“Read Hemingway, as well, eh? So tell me, however did the great Draco Malfoy, supreme lord and guardian of all things grandiose and Pureblooded, come to discover Muggle literature? Certainly you don’t expect me to believe that you just woke up one day and thought, I think perhaps I’ll pop into a Muggle library today, see what those scummy, little blighters have lying around?”


“The truth?”


“Well yes. Unless, of course, its terribly dull, in which case you should come up with a fantastic tale of corruption and intrigue to impress me.”


“Though it is rather boring, somehow I think you’ll find the truth more interesting,” he said thoughtfully, “because…in a round-about sort of way… it’s your fault.”


“Mine?” she exclaimed with surprise, before flashing him a shrewd look, “Wait, what do you mean by bor-”


“Now, now, Lioness,” he crooned, not wanting her to lose her temper just yet, “ Reign in that growl and I’ll explain what I mean.”


“Fine. Go on then.” She crossed her arms across her chest and looked at him expectantly.


“The first time was that Christmas in 7th year. You and Potty and the rest of those Order altruists were out doing Merlin-knows-what, leaving me to suffer all alone and holed up at Grimmauld Place, numb with boredom. So, out of sheer desperation, I went poking about the room you shared with the Weaselette and- ”


“You went snooping in our bedroom? What a dirty, perver- ”


“Oh, that’s beside the point, and it was years ago. I said I was desperate. Can I continue?” She snapped her mouth shut, and he nodded.


“As I was saying, I went poking about your room and came across a book with the most intriguing title I’d ever seen. At first, I brushed it off and went to explore the rest of the house, but later, when I was lying on my bed in a boredom induced stupor, the title came back to me and I couldn’t get it out of my head. So I snuck back up to your room and read it cover to cover. It was a rather disconcerting experience, Granger. I had no idea Muggles could write like that.”


She watched him silently from her spot against the tree, and he rolled onto his stomach, fiddling with blades of grass as he continued.


“So, I searched through your books again and found another one by the same bloke. Now that one… that one was THE one. I was shaking by the time I finished it. I’d never read anything like that before. I mean, wizard books are just concerned with the practice and history of magic. Muggles… I suppose, without magic to focus on... what I mean is, Wizards turn to magic for comfort when the world overwhelms them. Muggles look inside themselves. It makes for very powerful literature. I’ve been devouring it ever since.”


He turned to look at her, feeling vaguely envious of the tree as she looked dreamily up at its leaves.


“I’ve always thought the same thing.” she murmured. “What was the name of the book? The one that caught your eye.”


“The Unbearable Lightness of Being.”


Her brows knit together and she looked at him inquisitively, “And the other book? The one that got to you.”


“The Book of Laughter and Forgetting.”


“Yes, I remember them.” She paused thoughtfully for a moment, then gave him a strange smile, “Well, I’m happy you liked them so much. Though, you might have bothered putting them somewhere I could find them when you were through. I searched that house high and low looking for those two books. I never did find them.”


“You wouldn’t have found them. I kept them both. They’re on a shelf at my flat.”


“Wait… you stole my books?” she gasped incredulously.


“I rather prefer to think I liberated them from obscurity in your vast collection.” he sniffed.


“No. You stole them, Malfoy.” she taunted, rising up onto her knees and pointing an accusing finger at his face. “You pilfered my books like a common thief.”


“I did not. You probably never even read them.” he said petulantly.


Hermione leaned back heavily against the tree and threw her hand dramatically across her brow, “To think the illustrious Malfoy heir would stoop to such plebian acts of larceny, stealing from lowly Muggleborn girls. My world is crumbling. Damn you, Malfoy, damn you.”


“Oh stuff it, Granger.” he snorted, unable to keep himself from laughing, “Fine, I stole them. I shall henceforth live in abject shame.”


“Shame is not enough,” she retorted loftily. “You will be held accountable under the full force of the law. I shall be the prosecutor, as well as magistrate.”


“You can’t do that. It’s immoral.”


“I can. It’s my right as injured party. And guess what, by your own confession you’ve been found guilty. You are now subject to my wrath.


“Heavens, no.” he drawled at her, “ How ever will I make it through? And what of my sentencing, your honour?”


She pursed her lips, looking back over at the festival grounds thoughtfully, then smiled wickedly at him. “See over there,” she said, pointing to a number of colorful, flashing lights the far end of the festival grounds, “They’ve set up a funfair. And you are going on one of the rides.”


He gave her a look of horror, as she grabbed his arm and dragged him towards the swirling lights in the distance.


* * *


“Granger, this looks like an oversized pie pan. There is no way it can be safe.” Malfoy grumbled, warily watching the spinning contraption from where they stood at the front of a long line of Muggles.


“Nonsense. It’s perfectly safe. All the mummies are letting their little children ride it.”


“Just because Mug-…er, these people are literary masters, doesn’t mean they have any competent sense of self preservation. These are the same bloody people who think it fun to strap little pieces of wood on their feet and slide down mountains.”


“As opposed to chasing a little golden marble with wings, whilst you are two hundred feet up in the air, with nothing between your arse and the ground but a thin piece of wood and some twigs?” she whispered, eyes dancing as she watched the ride come to a stop and people filter out of the little door in its side.


A Muggle man in a vest signaled for them to move forward and Hermione once again grasped his arm and pulled him through the little door. He looked around skeptically as she led him to one of the red panels that lined the walls of the machine, instructing him to lean back against it. She took the panel next to him, and he watched in tense silence as the other Muggles filtered in and chose a panel for themselves.


“Damn it, Granger, just tell me what this bloody thing does! Does it toss about us about? Make us see visions? What?” his voice breaking slightly with nerves. She just grinned at him and said nothing. Without warning, the man in the vest shut the little door and the machine gave a sudden lurch. With in seconds Draco found himself pinned back against the panel. This was unnatural, he thought, feeling his stomach lurch. Suddenly, his feet no longer touched the floor, as the panel he rested against slid violently upwards. His face reddened, as he realized he may have actually yelped.


He heard Hermione giggling beside him and he turned his head to face her, flashing her his nastiest sneer, then a look of alarm when the panel slid abruptly down again, and she only laughed harder.


“Oh, buck up, Malfoy! You’re acting like a first year Hufflepuff. It’s supposed to be fun. See… look what I can do.” Holding her skirt in place, she spun herself about on the panel so that her feet were pointing upwards. Despite his discomfort, his eyes immediately darted to the hem of her dress, hopeful for a better glimpse of her legs. Her panel slid upwards so that her face was even with his and she smiled prettily at him. Draco felt himself calming as he looked at her upside down smile, unable to stop himself from forcing his hand off the panel and reaching over brush a stray curl out of her eyes. She shivered when he traced his finger from the tender skin of her ear down along the line of her neck.


Her panel slid downwards again as the ride began to slow and she quickly maneuvered herself upright again. Neither of them spoke until the ride stopped and Draco weakly followed her out of the little door, unsure if he felt dizzy from the force of the ride or the feel of her skin. By silent agreement, they began making their way out of the park and towards the Albert Bridge.


“Malfoy?” she asked suddenly, as they neared the bridge, “Was this a date?”


“I’d rather hoped it would be.” He said calmly. “Do you not enjoy my company?”


“I-…no, I do. Very much. Its just that… since Bill I’ve not really…I just don’t know if I’m ready to do this sort of thing again.” she said quietly.


Draco mulled over her words as they crossed the bridge and moved to walk along the embankment. Hermione was looking out at the water and didn’t notice him halt his steps until he reached for her hand and spun her around, slipping his arm around her waist and pulling her lightly against him. She looked up at him, her pretty mouth opening in surprise and he gave in to temptation and gently pressed his lips to hers. After only a moment’s pause she kissed him back and his pulse raced as she leaned into him. He ran one hand lightly up and down her arm, lost in the softness of her skin and mouth. Gathering all the self-control he possessed, he pressed a feather light kiss against her lips and pulled away, staring at her intently.


“I’d like very much to try. We can take it as slow as you’d like.” he said simply.


She shivered and nodded, clutching gently at his shirt and pulling his mouth down to hers again. With ease, he parted her lips and slipped into her hot mouth, his tongue grazing hers, and she moaned softly as, at last, he sucked softly on her pouty bottom lip.

* * * * *
References/Author’s Notes:


I didn’t realize just how many of these I used till I started revising. Damn things just pour out of me like water. I will attempt to exercise some self-restraint next chapter. Also, instead of clogging the bottom of a chapter with review responses or answers to questions, I will try to update my profile with answers when I update a new chapter. Of course you can always email me.


* Woman in White is a mystery novel written by British author Wilkie Collins.


* La Llorona is a Latin American legend of a woman who drowned her children in a river. Whether she wears white or black is dependent on which part of Latin America or the States is telling the story.


* Rebecca is a novel by British author Daphne du Maurier. There is also a 1940 film version directed by Alfred Hitchcock. I know she wears a white dress in the film, I can’t remember in the book. Chalk it up to poetic license- or, er, fanfic license? Yeah, that’s it.


* Bertha Mason is a character from British author Charlotte Bronte’s novel Jane Eyre.


* Antoinette Cosway is the main character in Wide Sargasso Sea, Dominican author Jean Rhys’s reinterpretation of the life of Bertha Mason.


* The Wonderful Wizard of Oz is a children’s book written by American author L. Frank Baum. The 1939 movie version starring Judy Garland featured Glinda the Good Witch of the North wearing a very pouffy pink dress. In the book, Glinda, the Good Witch of the South wears a beautiful long white gown. Both book and movie feature the scarecrow, a non-scaly lion and flying monkeys.


* Heathcliff Earnshaw is a character in British author Emily Bronte’s novel Wuthering Heights. “The murdered do haunt their murderers” is spoken by Heathcliff about midway through the book, as he rants about wanting to damn Cathy’s ghost to walk the Earth so that he doesn’t have to live without her. Best part of the whole book if you ask me.


* I read the Ernest Hemingway quote somewhere, but have no recollection as to where or in what context. Feel free to enlighten me.


* The Unbearable Lightness of Being and The Book of Laughter and Forgetting are novels by Franco-Czech novelist Milan Kundera.