Tin Angel

A/N: Hello, all! Happy Christmas. Just consider the little bit of fluff at the end my prezzie to you. Mostly set up again, but I think you’ll enjoy it. Sigh… I love Ron. I love reading about Ron with food. I just don’t particularly like reading about Ron with Hermione. Thank God for fanfiction. Oh, and thank you all so much for all the wonderful reviews, I’m over the moon. I can’t tell you how much they cheer me on when I’m working through a new chapter. Please leave more!!!

Post Hogwarts: A chance encounter with Hermione Granger in a Muggle café leaves Draco Malfoy aching for more. D/Hr. Disregards HBP. Mentions of BW/Hr, H/G and R/L.

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, the books probably wouldn’t be appropriate for children. Sadly, I do not. J.K. Rowling does, and you get to spend your time reading about the ‘Beast’ growling in Harry for six hundred pages. Remind anyone else of… oh… I dunno… Harlequin? : )

Tin Angel

* * * 4 * * *

Ron felt his mouth water as his Mum set an enormous platter of steaming rashers on the table just across from him. He couldn’t help but admire how the deep red of the freshly cooked bacon contrasted with the buttery yellow centers of the fried eggs piled up on a plate next to them. Last week, he’d taken care to enjoy first his toast, then the eggs, then the rashers, and so on, giving each item a proper appreciation, before refilling his plate and appreciating them all over again. Strategy was important in Ron’s life, and breakfast was certainly not a time to slack off in that regard. Perhaps today he’d pile up the eggs and rashers on a piece of toast. Maybe top it with some sausage. He scanned the picnic table for the sausages, zeroing in on them near where Penny sat, stacked and juicy and…mmmm. Oh sweet Merlin, he was just so bloody hungry.


Damnit, Ron growled silently, everyone knew what time Sunday Burrow Brunch started, but someone always insisted on being late and tormenting him. Blighters. Everyone also knew that along with his constant schedule of training and games, Puddlemere’s nutritionist regulated his weekday meals. Sunday was the only day he could really enjoy full meals, and today, because of Bill and Fleur, all that lovely food was just sitting there and his stomach was empty.


He glanced to his left: Katie and George were busy scolding one of their twins, scrubbing glittery purple nail polish off the face of the other and shooting death glares at Fred who was laughing maniacally. He glanced to his right: Luna was using her water glass to make patterns of condensation rings on the table and chatting happily with Hermione. Ron leaned forward against the picnic table, resting his forearm near the platter of rashers and trying to look casual. Inch by inch, his fingers moved closer to his target. Just one little piece, he thought, as his fingers grazed the edge of the plate and…


“Ronald Weasley!” his mum barked, making Ron jump and snatch his hand back across the table as though it had been slapped, “Control yourself! They’ll be here any minute.”


Luna leaned towards him and reached over to pat his arm with a soft smile, then turned back to Hermione. Ron scowled and folded his hands in his lap, looking sullenly at the food on the table. After the war, Molly had insisted on having these weekly family brunches. Everyone within Apparating distance was expected to be there at eleven sharp every Sunday; to Ron’s chagrin, the ‘sharp’ bit seemed rather loosely interpreted by some members of the family. For the last two weeks, they’d moved their morning feast outdoors, taking advantage of the mild weather and pushing several picnic tables together out in the garden. Which was great, as far as Ron was concerned; something about fresh air made food taste better.


“We’re here!” Bill called from the kitchen doorway, stepping out onto the lawn with his arm around Fleur, who flashed them all a wide toothy smile.


“ ‘Bout time.” Ron grumbled under his breath, eyes automatically flicking to Hermione. As usual, she’d stiffened a bit when Bill first called out, looking up and wincing slightly as she caught sight of Bill’s arm around Fleur. He glanced over at Harry, whose eyes now also instinctively sought out Hermione whenever Bill entered a room, and he knew Harry was feeling the same pang in his chest as they watched their old friend swallow and look down at her glass of water.


It had been six months since he, Luna, Harry and Molly had finally convinced Hermione to start attending family functions again. She was part of the family, Molly had insisted. None of this mess with Bill should change anything. They loved her and they wanted her with them. The first few times had been terribly awkward and she’d barely managed to stick it out more than an hour. But Mione was nothing if not elegant and self-possessed. Now she barely gave any indication that the sight of her ex caused her any discomfort. She even managed to be rather cordial with Fleur, something Ron himself could hardly stand to do, despite his wife’s gentle urging.


“Sorry we’re late, Mum.” Bill apologized, kissing Molly on the cheek.


“Its fine, luv. Alright you lot. Dig in.” Molly said, shooting a pointed look at Ron.


Ron grinned at her, then glanced to his right to see that Luna had drawn Hermione back into conversation. He flashed a quick dirty look at Bill, who was busy cleaning dirt and leaves off of Fleur’s chair, then began forking rashers onto his plate and listened attentively as Fred and George began going on about the birthday party they were throwing themselves the following week.


“We’ve booked Finnigan’s Wake for Saturday night.” Fred was saying, “It’ll be an open bar and we’ve worked it out with Seamus to hire our own band for the night.”


“And of course, we’ll be providing a little entertainment of our own,” George added with a sly smirk, causing Katie to roll her eyes and shake her head, “ We’re expecting about 200 people so far, so it should be quite the soiree.”


“We’re going to do toasts and some desserts before the band goes on, so everyone needs to try to be there by ten thirty.” Katie told them, and Ron’s attention to the conversations around the table waxed and waned as he made his way through the meal set out before him.


Ron was contemplating the best way to get to the remaining kippers, which were on Ginny’s end of the table. He’d have to move fast or she’d gobble them all up. Which, Ron thought, was doing her a service really, as with each little Potter she popped out, she was looking more and more like their mother. He moved around the table, ignoring Ginny’s sour glare as he forked the remaining kippers onto his plate. He’d just sat down, added a few fried eggs to his plate and taken a large bite of the kippers, when a quick snatching movement and a squeak of protest drew his attention to his wife and Hermione.


Luna had plucked Hermione’s water glass out of her hand and set it on the bench between Ron and herself. She pulled her handbag up from the ground onto her lap, fishing out that old goatskin water bag she always lugged to the Burrow and using it to refill Hermione’s glass. Something about the water tasting funny, he recalled. He’d told her that the Burrow water tasted perfectly fine to him and that his parents and all his siblings drank it and were very healthy, and that Ginny and all her kids were fine, too, but Luna had just smiled, kissed his cheek and continued packing the strange water bag every Sunday.


“Luna, really, that’s not necessary,” Hermione was saying in a hushed voice, the apples of her cheeks flushing, “There’s nothing like that going on.”


“It can’t hurt to be cautious,” Luna whispered back, putting away the waterskin and returning Hermione’s glass, “What with the way this is turning out, he may whisk you away to Paris on a whim and, what with the French wine and the Seine and berets and tiny mustaches, you may succumb to the romance of it all and then you’ll be thanking me.”


“Who’s whisking her away to Paris?” Ron said, frowning as much as was possible with a mouth full of fried egg.


“Oh its nothing, luv.” Luna dismissed, but he caught the brief flash of panic that crossed Hermione’s face when he’d spoken.


“Are you dating somebody, Mione?” Ron blurted out in surprise. She flinched at his question, looking past him, cheeks burning a painful red, and he followed her gaze, instantly regretting his exclamation. He’d apparently spoken loudly enough to draw the attention of everyone present, and they were now all staring at her with interest.


“What’s this? Got a new fellow, Mione?” George queried as he and Fred grinned wickedly at her.


“Oooh, really?” Ginny piped up, almost bouncing in her seat, “How exciting! Why didn’t you tell me?”


“Anyone we know?” Percy joined in curiously.


Hermione seemed to attempt a response, but nothing happened when she opened her mouth. She looked helplessly at Luna, who just shook her head with wide eyes, and turned to glare menacingly at her husband.


“Leave her alone, you lot. It’s none of your business.” Bill said coldly and Ron felt a surge of fiendish glee in his stomach as Bill shifted uncomfortably in his chair.


“Oh stuff it, Bill.” Fred dismissed, still looking intently at Hermione. “Who is he? Would any of us have been friends with him at Hogwarts?”


“Er… well, erm-…no,” she said carefully, her cheeks still very red, “I’m quite certain none of you have ever been friends with him, then or now.”


“Has it been going on long, dear?” Molly asked with a smile, obviously too pleased by the news that Hermione was dating again, to restrain her curiosity.


“Um… well, no, not long.”


“Is it serious?” Ginny chirped girlishly.


“Well, no. That’s why I hadn’t said anything, really. There’s only been one proper date. There’s not really much to tell.”


“How did you meet him?”


“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”


“Where did you go?”


“When can we meet him?”


“I think that’s quite enough.” Harry snapped suddenly, looking worriedly at Hermione’s harried expression, and glancing at Ron, who nodded in agreement, “You don’t have to say anything, Mione. Just ignore them.”


“Like a bunch of busybody old hens. Shameful, really.” Ron scolded, frowning at first Fred and George, and then Ginny.


“Aww, we didn’t mean any harm,” Fred said apologetically, tossing Hermione a wolfish smirk that made her smile shyly. “Just making sure you don’t go off and do something scandalous. Ruin all of our reputations just for associating with you.”


“Yeah,” George joined in, giving her a mad grin, “You must maintain some standards, luv. No going about, carrying on torrid affairs with monks or smelly vagrants.”


“Or pirates


“Lepers.”


“Shepherds.”


“Carnies.”


“Cave trolls.”


“Ew.” Ron grimaced.


“Talk about a love that dare not speak its name.” Hermione said, amused at Ron’s apparent disgust. Only Bill chuckled, giving her a small smile, before turning to Fleur who was fussing with a snag on his jumper. The others simply stared blankly at her for a moment, before Fred and George started in again on talk of the upcoming party. Ron watched her sigh and listen half-heartedly to the twins rave about the Maori rock band they were hiring for the occasion, as she pushed the food around on her plate with her fork. Ron wasn’t feeling particularly hungry anymore either. Merlin, sometimes he just wanted to strangle Bill. No… strangulation was too good for Bill, Ron thought as he stared sullenly at his uneaten kippers. Maybe string him up in a tree by that prissy little ponytail of his and let the local kids have a go at him with a stick.


After fifteen minutes of listening to Fred and George regale them with stories of how the band had once been arrested for leading a conga line of 400 drunken miscreants out onto the streets of Diagon Alley at four in the morning, Hermione cast a quick Scourgify on her plate and leaned over to speak to Ron and Luna.


“I’m going to head out now. Luna maybe we can have lunch tomorrow or Tuesday?”


“Hey, you’re not upset about what these blighters were jabbering on about, are you?” Ron said softly, reaching over to give her hand a squeeze.


“No, no. I’m fine. Really,” she assured him, waving her hand dismissively, “I’ll be out of town a few days this week, so there are a few things I need to… attend to this afternoon. Luna, I’ll owl you later.” Hermione made her way around the table, saying her goodbyes and promising Fred and George she would be there next Saturday. She even managed a polite smile and nod at Bill and Fleur, before Apparating out.


“Any possibility I might convince you to tell me what she’s up to?” Ron said with a lopsided grin, as he slipped his around his wife’s shoulders.


“Not a chance in hell, Ronald.” She smiled and leaned in to peck him on the lips.


* * *


Draco was enraptured by the sight of her hurrying down the pavement towards him, wild curls tossing about her head in rhythm with her steps. She jogged across the street, grinning when she caught sight of him. Damn, he thought, resisting the urge to lick his lips. She probably had no idea what a sexy little kitten she was in blue jeans and a tight, faded concert tee.


“You’re late Rabbit.” He said with a smirk when she reached him, “Forget your gloves? Need a new pocket watch, perhaps?”


“My sincerest apologies, your Majesty. There was a Jabberwocky, I swear. Pray, don’t cut off my head.” she teased, reaching up to brush stray curls out of her eyes and smiling at him.


“Hmph. Well, while I’m certain the Headless Hunt would be ecstatic to have such a delightful addition to their ranks, I suppose I can be lenient this time. Though, you’d best pay closer mind to the time in the future, Cinderella. I turn into a gourd and six white mice if I’m kept waiting too long.”


“Is that so? It’s only fair to warn you then that I have one very hungry cat, as well as two best friends who have something of a distaste for small hairy creatures.”


“Are you implying that they are averse to… ferrets, perhaps?” he said, narrowing his eyes at her.


“Well, primarily rats, but I’m sure ferrets aren’t far down the list.” she laughed. “So where is this alleged bookstore I’ve shamefully never been to?”


“Just down this way a bit.” Draco said, nodding in the direction of the store, giving her a playful nudge as they slowly began making their way down the pavement. “So tell me, Babbette. How was the feast? Have fun with the merry band of Weasels and all their little Weevil children?”


* * *


They meandered leisurely through the tall, crowded stacks of Bleeker Street Books. Hermione was enchanted by the dark, carved woodwork of the bookshelves, and was constantly stopping to look up and admire the painted panels affixed to the ceiling. Draco had explained that they were contributed by local artists over the years, whilst looking hungrily at her neck as she tilted her head upwards to examine the nearest one.


It was an effort to hold himself in check. Draco wanted so badly to touch her. He longed to kiss the line of her jaw as they whispered about the merits of Muggle photography as an art form while browsing through a large black and white book. He admired the long, slim lines of her legs in those jeans when she reached up for a book of Blaue Reiter prints, itching to rest his hands on her hips and lean over her shoulder as she flipped through it. When she bent down to a low shelf to examine some travel writing books, he ached to kneel behind her and rub himself against her backside. And yet, when she got choked up talking about how she’d read Remarque over and over again after her parents had been killed, all the tension and apprehension he felt were forgotten and he ghosted his hand along the line of her wrist, before slipping his fingers into hers and tugging her gently towards the section of children’s books near the windows.


Allowing her to compose herself, he led her among the brightly colored rows of picture books, her hand small and warm in his.


“Have you read many children’s books, as well?” she asked giving him a small smile.


Draco stopped and looked down at her, standing so close she had to crane her neck upwards to see him properly. He watched her intently for a moment, then bent his head and kissed her. His mouth moved slowly and gently against hers, and he felt lightheaded when she sighed and leaned into him.


“A fair few.” he whispered, pulling away.


“Huh?” she said breathily, dazed eyes still fixed on his mouth.


“You asked if I’d read many children’s books,” he smirked, “I said I’ve read a fair few. You?”


“Huh… oh-…Are you kidding? I read everything I could get my hands on as a girl,” she turned away from him, reaching out to trace the spines of the nearest books with her fingertips. “My schoolmates used to get in trouble for skiving off classes. I’d get in trouble for staying out too late at the library.”


“Ah yes, I’ve heard of your sort. Library delinquents are the worst sort of miscreant. Just a step above public drunks and crack whores.” This time he did step up behind her, resting one hand lightly on her hip, “So my little book junkie, which was your favorite fix as a girl?”


Hermione tossed him an exasperated look. “That’s the worst sort of question. Like asking a painter to choose his favorite color.”


“If you wanted feeble-minded questions you’d have stayed at the Weasel buffet. Pick one, Granger.”


She huffed a little, but leaned back into him as her eyes skimmed the titles on the shelves before them.


“This one, then.” she said, plucking one from the shelves and handing it to him.


“ ‘Matilda.’ ” He read out, turning the little book over in his hands. “Why this one?”


“I always felt we had a lot in common, Matilda and I. Even before I got my Hogwarts letter.”


“Is that so? I suppose I’ll just have to read it then. Get a few insights into that mind of yours.” he smirked tucking the book under his arm and taking her hand again, “Come on, I want to show you something.”


“The owner of this store,” Draco explained, as he led her to the back of the store, up a narrow flight of stairs and down a dark hallway to a locked door, “does some private trading in rare books and materials. This,” he said, flicking his wand at the door and pushing it open, “is where he keeps his goodies.”


It was a small room with three walls lined with shelves and glass book cases, each filled to the brim with delicate paper treasures, all of it illuminated by a line of high paneled windows that overlooked the busy street below. She gasped as she stepped through the doorway, pretty lips parting as she looked around her. Draco was suddenly inundated with images of himself pinning her up against the shelves, hearing her gasp his name in the same manner she just had, as he fucked her hard against the stacks of old books. He shook his head, clearing it of the tempting thoughts, as he closed the door behind him and moved to help her open one of the little glass cases.


* * *


They sat on the old hard wood floor of the tiny room surrounded by a number of rare first editions, yellowing letters and marked-up manuscript submissions. Draco had an 18th century novel with hand-tipped illustrations open on his lap, but he ignored it in favor of watching Hermione reverently read through an obscure French author’s old love letters.


“I just can’t believe all this,” she said giddily, carefully securing the small bundle of letters and reaching behind her to replace them on one of the shelves. “However, did you find this place?”


“My friend, the Neruda fan. The owner had gotten his hands on a couple of his letters, and when my friend came to look them over, he brought me along. I’ve been sneaking in ever since.”


“Larceny, trespassing… you really may be a bad influence on me.”


“The antics of your school days would be proof enough to exonerate me of any liability, I’m sure.”


She stuck her tongue out at him and pulled the book off his lap, “I feel like a little child locked up in a toy store after hours. Free reign to touch anything I want.” she said dreamily, looking down to examine the page he had open.


“Does that apply to me as well, Granger?” he cocked an eyebrow, looking at her with interest. She looked back at him thoughtfully for a moment, then rested her weight on the palms of her hands and she leaned towards him. Her pouty mouth paused a hair’s breadth away from his, teasing him with a ghost of kiss, before pressing her lips against his.


He removed the book from her lap, mouth never leaving hers as he set it aside, then reached for her waist, pulling her closer to sit between his legs. Draco took her bottom lip between his teeth, tugging on it till she parted her lips, and he swept his tongue into her mouth, tasting her. Merlin, how did she melt all his control, he thought, as he struggled to keep his hands from roaming freely all over her body. He pulled his lips from hers to press hot sucking kisses along her jaw and down the line of her neck, breathing in the faint trace of lavender soap on her skin.


“Granger,” he breathed between kisses, “London Wizarding Opera is opening La Traviata next weekend. Come with me.”


“Yes… yes,” she whispered, as he found a spot just beneath her jaw that made her breath hitch, “Wait… when?”


“Saturday. Curtain goes up at seven. We can have dinner before if you’d like,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck.


“I- I don’t know, I’m supposed to be at a party by ten thirty,” she said, pulling away to look at him, but he followed her, leaning in to kiss her again.


“I’ll have you home by ten fifteen. You can be fashionably late. Please,” he whispered, smiling against her lips when she nodded her head in assent. Reluctantly, he let her go, pulling her with him as he moved to stand up. Draco flicked his wand at the books and papers scattered on the floor, and they immediately rearranged themselves in their former places.


“Let’s get a move on then. We’ll pay for this and then go have a drink,” he winked at her, clutching the little children’s book in one of his hands and hers in his other.


* * * * *


Author's Notes/References: (12-30-05) Sorry. Not an update, just editing some typos (and upping the rating to NC-17) while I had some free time. I’m moving in four days, so the next chapter probably won’t be up until later next week. Be on the lookout around Thursday or Friday, or send me your email address and I will add you to my email alert, as I am definitely going to do one. The new chapter is coming along nicely. It will be a longer one and hopefully give Draco’s itch a bit of a scratch, which as everyone knows, only makes it itch more : ) Thanks for all the reviews and hope you’ve all been enjoying your holidays!


* Finnegan’s Wake is a novel by Irish author, James Joyce. Yes, I deliberately misspelled it in the story. Can you guess why? On a side note, I once had a professor who, while discussing James Joyce, said, “Anyone who claims to have read Finnegan’s Wake, is lying to you.” I have always found that funny.


* Though often credited to Oscar Wilde, the famous line “the love that dare not speak its name” is actually from a poem called Two Loves by Wilde’s lover, Lord Alfred Douglas. I believe it was originally meant to refer to homosexuality, but I felt it could suitably apply to cave troll lovin’, as well as Draco and Hermione’s relationship should it come to light among various Weasleys and Potters : )


*Gloves. Rabbits. Pocket watch. Jabberwocky. I had to get my requisite Wonderland references in. Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass are children’s books written by British author, Lewis Carroll.


*Babette’s Feast is a story written by Danish author Karen Blixen, under the penname Isak Dinesen. Yes, I love her. I think Ron would, too.


*Erich Remarque was a German author who wrote a novel called All Quiet on the Western Front. This is the one I intended for Hermione to be referring to. It is a wrenching and beautifully written account of an idealistic German youth encountering the realities of World War I.


* Matilda is a children’s book by British author Roald Dahl.