Tin Angel

A/N: Hello All! I worked very hard on this chapter, so I hope it was all you were expecting. Also, be warned there is… um… a degree sexual content ahead. Hope you enjoy!


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, I would jet to Hong Kong and treat myself to a feast of gourmet Asian cuisine. Unfortunately, I do not. J.K. Rowling does, and I must resign myself to eating cold lo mein from a take-out box. Yum. Though, I suspect that all of JKR’s money would not be able to buy the answer to the question of why cold lo mein tastes better if eaten with your fingers. It is simply one of the great mysteries of the universe.


Tin Angel


Chapter 5


“This one is very pretty.” Luna said, pulling another dress from the rack and holding it up for Hermione to see. “And you’ve always looked lovely in blue.”


Hermione turned from the row of gowns she’d been sifting through to look over the pale blue dress Luna held out, her eyes growing very wide as she noticed the cut of the dress. “Luna!” she gasped, “It has no back. Or much of a front, for that matter. It’s more a negligee than a dress.”


“I doubt Malfoy would mind much.” Luna purred dreamily, holding the dress up to Hermione and looking at her thoughtfully.


Hermione playfully batted the dress away. “Maybe,” she admitted with a small bashful smile, “Though I’m sure he’d prefer that I it wore on a somewhat more private occasion than the opera. Honestly, I need something more formal. Its opening night and seeing as its Malfoy, he’s sure to have one of the best boxes. It’ll be bad enough if word gets round to Harry and Ron that I was seen there with him. Imagine how tongues will wag if I show up looking like a complete slag, as well.”


“Then you’ll just inform those boys that, not only are you old enough to go out all tarted-up whenever you like, but that you can bloody well be friends with whomever you please.” Luna said serenely, replacing the scrap of a dress back on the rack and moving to look through another row.


“Luna, you know as well as I do that those two use up every iota of reason between them to work out the odds on Fred and George’s Quidditch pool. If there was a scrap left over I doubt they’d allot it to Malfoy.” Hermione sighed, “If they find out they’ll slaughter him. And I’ll be packed off to a nunnery.”


“Or locked in a tower… or forced to join that underground cult of Artemis devotees.” Luna added, silently musing that they’d probably murder Bill too, for ever letting it come to this. Sometimes she couldn’t help but agree that it might be better for the wizardkind if Bill didn’t procreate. That he would let Hermione go was evidence enough for Luna that Bill was among the ranks of fools who lived in this world.


Hermione had begun hoping for Bill to propose after the second year of their relationship. Ginny and Luna had been certain that it wouldn’t be long before Bill finally worked up the nerve, and they’d tried to convince Hermione to go look at diamond rings with them, but Hermione had explained that Bill disapproved of the corruption surrounding the African diamond mining industry and refused to buy diamonds. She’d dreamily told them that Bill had once said that when the time came, he’d get her an ancient faience ring carved with the hieroglyphs for love, in honor of all the time they’d spent together in Egypt.


Luna remembered the day that, after years of patiently waiting and watching friend-after-friend marry and start families, Hermione had appeared on her doorstep, grinning and beaming and practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. She’d explained that she had been putting away Bill’s clean socks and had found a small jewelry box tucked among them; a carved, pale-blue faience ring nestled within it. Hermione had glowed with happiness in the weeks and months that followed, and Luna grew into the habit of glancing at Hermione’s finger every time she saw her, in hopes that the ring would have disappeared from it’s home among Bill’s socks and resettled on her friend’s hand.


Nowadays, especially when Hermione was having a difficult time because of some thoughtless thing Bill and Fleur did or said, Luna couldn’t help but wonder about the fate of that little blue ring; lost or sold, perhaps, when Bill and Hermione’s relationship had come to an abrupt end.


Not long after Bill and Fleur had gotten engaged, Luna had run into them while shopping in Diagon Alley. They’d spotted her and come over to say hello, not realizing she was with Hermione. Her poor friend’s bottom lip began to tremble when she spotted the large, sparkling diamond ring on Fleur’s finger, and Luna had nodded at them and taken Hermione’s hand, quickly leading her away to a quiet corner and hugging her tightly when quiet sobs shook her body. Despite all Luna’s efforts to persuade her husband to drop his hostility to his older brother, some days she couldn’t help but hate him herself.


“This one!” Luna gasped excitedly, interrupting her own musings and pulling a gown of the palest pink from a row and holding it up for Hermione to see.


“It’s beautiful.” Hermione whispered fingering the fine silk of the gown’s skirts. “But it’s strapless,” she added, biting her lip nervously, “I really don’t have much to hold it up.”


“Trust me, when it costs this much, it’ll hold up just fine.” Luna slipped the gown into Hermione’s arms and began pushing her towards the fitting rooms.


“So,” Luna began, once she’d shoved Hermione and the dress behind the drapery of one of the changing stalls, “He’s picking you up in a carriage. Won’t your Muggle neighbors think that’s rather odd?”


“It’s charmed so they won’t notice it,” came Hermione’s muffled reply, “Like the Ministry or the Knight Bus. The whole thing seems silly to me, but he insisted.”


“It may be a bit dramatic, even for Malfoy, but you must admit it’s terribly romantic of him.”


“He’s not doing it to be romantic. All the wealthiest families use them. Old money nonsense, really.”


“I suppose it is a little excessive. Wouldn’t it be faster to simply Apparate?”


“That’s precisely the point, actually. It’s a statement. Like saying that they’re so rich they needn’t concern themselves with rushing about on common business. They can afford to take as long as they please.”


“Well… at least you can have a good snog on the way there.” Luna mused, her dreamy eyes widening even more as Hermione emerged from the fitting room, “Or maybe a quick shag… ”


The gown was beautiful in its simplicity; the fitted boning of the bodice complimented Hermione’s delicate frame, and the fullness of the skirt was perfectly suited to her stature. Her skin looked creamy and luminous against the fine, pale-pink silk, and Luna couldn’t help but think that Malfoy would have trouble resisting the urge to touch her all night long.


“You look delicious in that dress.” Luna said honestly. “He won’t know what to do with himself.”


“I want him to like it,” Hermione conceded quietly, giving Luna a bashful look and biting her lip nervously, “I like him more and more every time I see him. He just has a… I don’t know… soulfulness that’s so unexpected.”


“Or it could be the fact that he’s a right sexy devil and you can’t wait to hop in his trousers.” Luna said calmly, smiling at Hermione’s laughter, “And speaking of trousers, I’d wager he looks quite smart in a fine set of dress robes.”


“You know, Luna” Hermione admitted, her eyes sparkling, “I don’t know what it is about that man, but when he touches me… Merlin, I just melt. All my inhibitions and the ability to think or even speak just slip away. All he has to do is kiss me or touch my skin and I’m completely at his mercy. A couple of kisses and few snide remarks and I’d probably let him shag me up against the balcony of our box.”


“Hmm… I suppose it would be a grandiose farewell to life.” Luna mused, thoughtfully, “Best make it good if you do, because the Prophet wouldn’t even wait for next week’s gossip column. They’d plaster you all over Sunday’s front page. In fact if Parvati has any say, they might even print a special edition tonight. Something with a really dishy headline,” Luna paused, squinting her eyes in thought, before nodding and sweeping her hand dramatically in the air in front of her, “ ‘OPERA UPSTAGED BY BALCONY ACROBATICS: POTTER’S BEST FRIEND SHAGS SEXY EVIL GIT DURING FIRST ACT.’ Anyhow, while I fully support you if you are inclined to shag Malfoy, I think it best if you refrain from any public displays of randyness. If Harry and Ron get any word of this, Malfoy had better hope they both die from the shock of it, or else there’ll be a mob of Weasley’s and Harry out for his blood.”


* * *


I’m a dead man, Draco thought as he helped Hermione settle beside him in the carriage. Her hair was pulled into a simple, elegant knot at the nape of her neck, exposing the creamy skin of her neck and shoulders, which seemed to glow against the pale silk of her gown. She looked like ice cream in July. Draco wanted to run his tongue over every inch of that skin, certain she would taste sweeter than any confection ever sold in Florean Fortescue’s ice cream parlour. This is going to be a long night, he sighed inwardly, shifting a little to ease the sudden ache in his trousers, before leaning into her and brushing his lips against hers.


“Little girls shouldn’t go about at night without their proper riding hoods,” he whispered, reaching up to trace one finger along the line of her jaw and down her neck to her exposed collarbones, “Wolves are easily tempted.”


“There may be a wolf or two whose clutches I don’t mind so much.” she murmured back, giving him a coy smile.


“Is that so? Whatever would Grandmother say?”


“A great many things, I’m sure, but little that might convince me to stay out of the woods.” She leaned up press a gentle kiss against his mouth and one of his hands settled on her waist, holding her to him as he attempted to assuage the blood roiling in his veins by returning her chaste, delicate kisses. Gods, she made it nearly impossible for him to keep his resolve to move slowly with her.


He’d not seen her since dinner the Tuesday before and he found himself distracted and distant in the few days she’d been traveling for work. His mind wandered to thoughts of her constantly while at the office, and during the Arrows game he had endured a number of sly digs from Blaise about his resemblance to a starry-eyed first-year who’d just met the great Harry Potter. Draco’s threats to hex him had done little to put him off his needling. An adroit intimation that he might slosh his mug of ale down the front of the couture trousers Blaise had just procured from Milan had been far more effective.


He pulled her a little closer, enjoying the contrast of the cool silky gown and the warmth of her pouty little lips, savoring the feel of her now and knowing he’d have to do his best not to touch her once they arrived at the opera house. One false move in public view and her little lapdogs would be on his trail in a heartbeat, rearing to rip out his throat.


* * *


When Draco led Hermione into the lobby of the London Wizarding Opera House, the house lights had already begun their first series of warning flashes and most of the crowds had already gone to take their seats. He’d told the carriage driver to delay as long as possible, wanting to enjoy the first half of the opera with Hermione at his side and put off the inquest of curious socialites at least until intermission.


“I hope you aren’t too disappointed at missing the Opening night peacock parade.” Draco said with a smirk as he led her up the grand staircase to reach their box.


“Why, Malfoy, I’d have thought you had a good enough eye to recognize a peacock when you saw one.” Hermione scoffed playfully, before leaning in and whispering conspiratorially, “This crowd is actually a bevy of vultures done up in green and blue feathers. All the screeching gives them away.”


“All the same, isn’t the flock of bitties at the Weasel hen-house relying on you to inform them of the latest fashions?” Draco teased, as they reached the top of the staircase and an usher moved to show them to their box. “From what I’ve seen of them, it would almost be cruel of you, Granger, not to impart a little of your wisdom to improve their wardrobes. Obviously they’ve forgone the latest issues of Witch Weekly to buy feed for their ever expanding brood of chicks.”


Hermione laughed and swatted at his arm, “For such a high society playboy, you certainly know quite a bit about the activities of poultry, Farmer Malfoy.”


“A little discretion if you please, Granger. If I wanted everyone to know about my hobbies, I wouldn’t have left my pitchfork in the carriage.”


“Are you sure the pitchfork isn’t implicating certain other activities, Malfoy? Hiding a pointed tail beneath those coat tails, perhaps?”


Gods, he thought, unable to stop himself from leaning into her and whispering, “I can take it out if you like Granger. Show you all the interesting tricks it can do.”


She blushed visibly, pretty lips parting in surprise at his implication. He merely smirked at her and followed the usher to the doorway of their box.


“You’re other guests have already arrived, sir.” The usher informed them, holding the curtain open so they could pass through.


“Guests?” Hermione turned a questioning look at Draco. “Who… ” she began, but they were already walking into the box and she turned nervously to the two figures already seated within.


“Draco. Hello!” the tall, thin man stood to greet them, followed quickly by his female companion.


“Teddy.” Draco returned, shaking his hand before turning to Hermione. “Hermione, you remember Teddy Nott from school, don’t you?”


Teddy smiled and turned to the woman seated just in front of him. “This is my wife, Joanna. Joanna, this is Hermione Granger. She was Head Girl in my class at Hogwarts.”


“Oh, call me Jo. Everyone does.” the small brunette woman said, holding out her hand and smiling warmly at Hermione, who visibly relaxed at the other woman’s friendly demeanor. Draco helped Hermione into her seat at the front of the box beside Jo, who immediately began chatting to her about how pleased she was that Draco had offered them the extra tickets and commenting on the loveliness of the gilded ceiling and grandeur of the stage and the rows upon row of plush velvet lined boxes.


Teddy glanced at Hermione with interest, but said nothing in regards to her presence with Draco, merely going on about the offensive strategies the Arrows had been employing this season. Draco quickly tuned him out in favor of staring at the smooth skin at the nape of Hermione’s neck, wanting to run his fingers up along the line of her back to caress her just below the sleek knot of her hair. Or maybe just attach his mouth to the spot. Mar its smooth creamy perfection with deep red marks of possession.


As the lights went down and the director took the stage to introduce the new production, Draco leaned down to whisper in her ear, unable to resist a gentle nip at the tender skin of her lobe, before murmuring, “How do you like the Opera House, Granger? I bet those Weasels could sell off a few of their younglings and come with us next time. I’m sure they’d piss their pants at a chance to leave that rabbit-hole they claim for a house. What do they call it? The Hovel?”


She smirked, sensing his jibes were only excuses to attempt to touch her without anyone being the wiser. She turned her head toward his, her lips just barely grazing his as she leaned up to reach his ear. “The Burrow,” she sighed, as he sucked gently at her lobe, “And I like the opera house just fine, though its not the best I’ve ever seen.”


“No?” he whispered, tracing the inner shell of her ear with his tongue.


“No. Palais Garnier. In Paris.” Her voice was breathy as his warm tongue explored the cool skin of her ear, “My parents took me there when I was younger. To see Le Lac des Cygnes. Even without magic it was marvelous.”


“Really? Perhaps you should whisk me there for our next date.”


“Do you enjoy a good whisking?” she asked, pulling away to give him a mischevious smile.


“As long as you aren’t too rough. I’m a delicate boy.”


She slowly looked him up and down, then arched one skeptical brow before turning to the stage as the first notes of music rang out.


* * *


The whole experience had been sensory overload. The music, the singing, the champagne at intermission. And especially Hermione herself. He’d been aching all night as he took in her loveliness. At intermission, she’d stood along the railing overlooking the grand staircase, chatting to Teddy and Jo about the immense blown-glass Viennese chandelier that was suspended by charms in the open air of the lobby. Dozens of white camellia blossoms were set adrift in large glass bowls filled with water that drifted lazily about the room and Hermione had fingered one of the glossy flowers as a bowl drifted by, her skin glowing in the flickering light of the thousands of enchanted fireflies that fluttered about the room.


Draco had given up caring what Teddy and Jo might think at that point, and had pressed a gentle kiss to the skin just under her jaw. She’d paused a moment, then forced herself to keep talking to the other couple as Draco rested one hand on her hip and traced a finger up and down the silk beneath his touch.


They’d left the opera just as the curtain went down, skipping the ovations in favor of trying to get Hermione back to her flat in time to make Fred and George’s party. As they climbed into the carriage, Draco felt himself teetering on the edge of control, watching as she sat next to him, leaning back against the seat and smiled dreamily at him.


“That really was lovel… ” she began, but he cut her off by resting one hand against her jaw, tilting it upwards so he could press his eager mouth to her lips. He took advantage of her gasp of surprise, slipping his tongue deeply into her mouth and stroking it hungrily against hers. The sweet relief he’d sought after hours of temptation was nowhere to be found, and Draco’s desire for her simply built on itself and he greedily pulled her more tightly against him, stoking the bare skin of her back and shoulders as he ravaged her mouth.


His brain screamed for him to stop, that he was going to fuck everything up, but he found himself helpless to stop his hungry hands from grabbing her about the waist and dragging her onto his lap, settling her knees on either side of his hips, so that she straddled him and the skirts of her gown pooled around them like pale, pink sea foam caught in a tide pool.


Oh Gods, he thought, relishing the feel of her smooth skin beneath his hands, the taste of her mouth, his chest constricting at the inevitable prospect of losing her so soon from his recklessness; but then he was hit with the sudden realization that she had slipped her arms around his neck; that she was kissing him back with equal fervor.


Draco grasped her about the shoulders and wrenched her away from him, staring into her large eyes and finding them hazy and dark with the same lust that consumed him. Relief flooded through him, followed quickly by a fresh wave of need for her, and he leaned in to press his mouth to hers again, nipping at her delicious bottom lip.


Moving more slowly now, he ran his hands up and down the slope of her back, skimming over silk and skin as his tongue explored the warmth of her mouth. Her arms tightened around his neck, the touch of her fingertips raising gooseflesh on the exposed skin just above his collar. He withdrew from her lips to place wet, open-mouthed kisses along her jaw, hearing her sigh as his hands moved to trace along the sides of her torso: hips to waist to the juncture of her shoulder blades, and back again.


“Sweet Merlin,” he moaned against the skin of her neck, “… ‘Body of a woman.’ ”


She shivered, tilting her head to the side to give him better access to the curve of her neck, and he sucked hard against her flesh to leave a mark, knowing she recognized his words.


“ ‘White hills,’ ” he murmured, moving his hands leisurely downwards along her torso, this time extending his thumbs to caress the outer curve of her breasts. His thumbs fidgeted with the bodice of her gown, pressing it down just enough to expose the pale, pink tips of her nipples and he slowly kissed a trail from her clavicle to her breast, hearing her gasp when he began to lave at it, rolling the hard little peak between his tongue and his teeth.


As he suckled at her breast, his right hand made a slow trek down along her waist, pausing at her hip before slipping beneath the gathered folds of her dress, and settling on her knee.


“ ‘White thighs,’ ” Draco whispered, the fingers of his right hand tracing patterns along the cool skin of her leg.


He pulled away from her for a moment, eyes roving over her, taking in her features. The flush of her skin. The rapid, shallow rise and fall of her chest. The plumpness of her pretty lips, parted and swollen from his kisses. Leaning forward, he rested his forehead against hers, his lips just barely grazing her own.


“ ‘You look like a world, lying in surrender.’ ” he whispered against her mouth.


“ ‘Body of skin,’ ” his right hand moved beneath her gown to trace the delicate lace of her knickers along her hip.


“ ‘Of moss,’ ” the fingers of his left hand ghosted over the fine, downy hairs at the nape of her neck.


“ ‘Of eager and firm milk.’ ” he bent his head to press tender kisses to the pink nipples that crested just above the bodice of her gown.


She was shivering; eyes shut and completely pliant to his touch. Beneath the folds of her skirt, Draco’s fingers moved lightly along the hem of her knickers, slowly working his way down to brush against the damp, heated lace that covered her pussy.


“ ‘Dark river beds, where the eternal thirst flows,’ ” he stroked his finger upwards along the moist fabric, tracing the line of her folds and making her whimper in response.


“ ‘And weariness follows,’ ” his hands moved to rest on her hips, one touching hot, bare flesh; the other, cool, smooth silk.


“ ‘And the infinite ache.’ ” he moaned, grasping her hips and grinding her down against the hard flesh throbbing in his trousers, his own hips thrusting up to meet her. She gasped, arching her back and her fingers slid up from their hold around his neck to tangle in the silky stands of his pale hair as she began rocking helplessly against him.


Too soon, too soon, Draco thought, his mind desperately flashing him warnings of the potential dangers of taking this much too far too fast. The last remnants of his control were slipping, and she seemed to have given herself over completely to the hours of tension and innuendo that had gone on between them. Gods, he wanted her so badly. Touching, he bartered with himself. Just touching.


Hermione stilled her movement as his right hand slid from her hip to the lace of her knickers, pausing only a moment before pushing them aside and moving to trace the outer lips of her labia, then slipping past them to stroke the hot, slippery folds of her pussy. She mewled in approval as two of his fingers traced circles around the swollen nub of her clitoris.


“So wet,” Draco rasped, feeling her begin to undulate slightly as he pleasured her, “So hot, baby.” He moved his two fingers lower along her sex, pushing them into her tight, slick channel, the pad of his thumb moving to continue the slow, teasing strokes over her clit. Eyes shut tight, drawing short, hitching breaths, Hermione pushed more insistently against his fingers, moving against them.


Draco’s eyes were momentarily drawn to the window of the carriage when they went over a bump, noticing that they had reached Chelsea and would be soon be approaching her flat. He pressed his free left hand to her waist, urging her to move faster, as the houses and trees raced by outside the carriage.


“Yes. Faster, Granger,” he moaned, his cock straining painfully against his trousers, as he relished the feel of her hot juices sliding over his hand, “Merlin, baby, how do you make me want you so badly?” Draco watched her writhe above him, moaning wantonly as she worked herself against his palm. He couldn’t help but wonder if she would fuck his cock with the same shameless abandon with which she was riding his fingers.


“Harder,” he urged, moving his head to suck again at the nipples that were bobbing so tantalizingly in front of his face, “Come on, baby, you’re almost home.” She gripped his shoulders tightly, gasping and grinding harder against him and he knew she was getting close.


“Hurry.” Draco whispered against her neck as the carriage turned onto the street next to hers, “Come on, my little lioness. Come for me.” She cried out, arching her back as her orgasm broke over her and Draco wrapped his left arm tightly against her waist, clutching her tightly to him as the walls of her pussy fluttered spasmodically around the fingers of his right hand.


When it subsided, Hermione leaned weakly against his shoulder, smiling drowsily at him as he pressed little kisses to her nose and forehead, whispering about how lovely she was and relishing these last few moments of holding her so intimately in his arms.


With a joint effort of trembling fingers, they managed to adjust the bodice of Hermione’s gown just as the carriage rolled to a stop in front of her flat. Shakily, she pulled herself off of his lap and sat back wearily on the seat beside him. He leaned over to press a gentle kiss to her forehead for a moment, than bent his head and claimed her mouth with his own.


“Go on. You’ll be late for the Weasel party. I’ll owl you in the morning.” he whispered against her lips, as the driver opened the carriage door. She took the driver’s proffered hand and stepped carefully down onto the pavement.


As the driver made his way back up to the front of the carriage to take the reins, Draco peered out of the little window, watching Hermione. She stood halfway up the walk to her flat, staring at the carriage, looking lovely and completely unruffled in her pale pink gown, save for the glazed, unfocused look of her eyes and the helpless way she shivered despite the warm night. The carriage gave a lurch, pulling away from the curb, and she turned and hurried up to the entry of the building.


“Sweet Merlin.” Draco moaned, his left hand tearing desperately at the fastenings of his trousers. With fumbling fingers he managed to rip them open, yanking them down and freeing his throbbing erection. His right hand, still coated with a slick layer of her juices, closed around the length of his shaft and he moaned at the feel of her wetness on his aching flesh. Draco began to stroke himself, his head lolling back on the edge of the seat as the sound of his moans filled cabin of the carriage.


* * * * *


Author’s Notes/References: Of all the chapters I’ve posted so far, this one makes me the most nervous. I’ve never, ever, ever written anything remotely erotic and I’ve been so worried it would turn out to be completely rubbish. Please, please, please review!!! Their relationship will, of course, keep progressing and I have some great ideas, but I need to know what you think about how I wrote it, even if it’s critical. If you loved it, please tell me! If you hated it, please tell me! If you are suddenly convinced I am a 12 year old virgin, posing as a 24 year old grad student, that’s very sad, but probably a good thing for me to know in reference to future chapters.


Also, there’s been enough interest that I will definitely do an email update list so let me know if you want in. Just indicate in your review or drop me a quick email and I will add you to the list. Happy reading all!

* Palais Garnier is an opera house in Paris, France.


* Le Lac des Cygnes is simply Swan Lake, in French.


*Draco quotes several lines from the first of Chilean poet, Pablo Neruda’s book Twenty Poems of Love and a Song of Depair. The full poem can be found online, if you are interested. The lines I’ve used read as follows:


Poem 1: Body of a Woman


Body of a woman, white hills, white thighs,
you look like a world, lying in surrender.


Body of skin, of moss, of eager and firm milk.


Dark River-beds where the eternal thirst flows
and weariness follow, and the infinite ache.