Tin Angel

A/N: At last!!!

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

Disclaimer: If I had any rights to Harry Potter, I wouldn’t have to bother with graduate school, and could sit around all day eating cheesy popcorn and finishing this story in a reasonable amount of time. Alas, I have absolutely no claim to Harry Potter, and this story has had to wait four months for an update.

Tin Angel

* * * 7 * * *


‘Ron’s going to have my head,’ Bill thought as he Apparated straight into the kitchen of the Burrow on Sunday morning, immediately going to one of his Mum’s cabinets for a glass before moving to rummage through the refrigerator for some juice. He knew what time brunch started, of course, but lately he’d had trouble rousing himself out of bed so early. Fleur was no help, as she liked a good lie-in herself, so more often than not he found himself on the receiving end of a few nasty glares on Sunday mornings from the more edacious of his younger brothers.

Not that the nasty glares had been strictly inspired by his tardiness, Bill thought sadly as he pushed aside an old jar of jam and a carton of butter to get at the juice. No, he’d certainly done enough to elicit those on account of the breakup with Hermione a year ago. Juice in hand, Bill placed his glass on the countertop by the sink, and set about opening the carton, his thoughts drifting to his ex-girlfriend.

Hermione.

In all honesty, he was actually quite happy she was seeing someone new. He’d liked seeing that distracted blush on her cheeks the last two weeks, and, although the relationship was obviously in its early stages, he was more than pleased with the idea that she may have found someone who could make her happy.

Despite what Ron and Harry, and, hell, essentially everyone, believed to the contrary, Bill had cared very deeply for Hermione. Adored her in fact. If things hadn’t worked out the way they had, he probably would have married her and lived a very nice life. Nothing like his current life, he mused, smiling fondly at the thought of his beautiful wife, but still, Hermione had been madly in love with him and she would have been a devoted and caring partner.

Bill frowned and took a sip of his juice. Seeing her so hurt for so long had been awful for him. He had been sick with guilt when she began avoiding family functions because of Fleur and himself, and then felt even worse later watching her try to cope with the presence of his new wife. He hated the position he’d left her in, having to choose between being isolated from the people she considered her family and having to deal with seeing him with another woman. This new relationship of hers was exactly what he had been hoping for.

Bill hoped it worked out.

Honestly.

Because he missed her terribly.

Not that Bill wasn’t happy with Fleur. She was gorgeous and perfect, and everything Bill could hope for. He simply missed talking to Hermione. He missed her sense of humor, and her brilliant little epiphanies, and all the sly little jokes and references she made that only he ever got. Bill hoped this new bloke would work out, and that he’d be an amiable fellow and that she’d be happy. Then perhaps they could let the painful past go, and be friends again. Just the day before he’d caught himself imagining himself and Fleur sitting around the kitchen table with Hermione and a cheery chap that resembled Neville Longbottom, discussing politics and art, and simply laughing and joking while they made their way through several bottles of cheap wine.

Bill was torn from his thoughts by a light crack of Apparition just behind him, and he spun around to face the subject of his thoughts. Wearing a light summer dress, Hermione looked fresh and happy, and he couldn’t help but grin at her.

“Hello.” she said, giving him a hesitant smile.

“Hello yourself, luv.” Bill said warmly, thinking of how young and girlish she looked with her pretty curls pulled back from her face. “Glad to see I’m not the only one running late. Ron’s sure to have the executioner primed and ready. I’d hate to die alone.”

“Ah, butchery at breakfast. My favorite.” she said with a small laugh, spying the open juice container on the counter, and looking around for a clean glass. “You know you are making these late entrances quite the habit. You might do well to let Fleur know that tardiness is more pernicious than fashionable when there are Weasley stomachs involved.”

He snorted at that comment, moving to get a glass for her from high off a shelf, filling it with juice, and receiving another shy smile when he handed it to her.

“Where is she, by the way? Sent her out ahead of the troops to test the waters? Gallantry starting to fail you in your old age, Bill?” she said slyly.

“Soon enough, I’m sure, Luv. Actually, Fleur is in Paris for the week. It’s Gabrielle’s first year out of Beauxbatons and she’s itching to come over and have a romp about London. Their Mum doesn’t like the idea and they had a horrible row about it. Fleur’s gone to try to smooth things over.”

“Oh? That’s sweet of her. Those two have always been close, haven’t they?”

“Yes, quite. So, Mione, what’s your excuse? Late night?” he said pointedly, cocking an eyebrow at her and enjoying the familiar blush that spread lightly across her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose.

“Not terribly late, and not in the way you’re implying, you smarmy git.” she chided softly, “Just drinks and a bit of music.”

“Oh, yes, drinks and music always wears me out, as well. How you ever managed to drag yourself out of bed, I could never guess.” He chuckled, nudging her playfully. “Really, though, Mione, I hope it works out. I’m sure he’s a really decent bloke if he’s caught your fancy.”

She looked at him strangely for a moment, then smiled and motioned towards the door, “We’d better get a move on. Ron’s stomach has probably started to eat itself in desperation. Shall we away to face the famine-maddened mob and let them burn us at the stake for our villainy?”

“But I’m not a witch, I’m not a witch!” Bill pouted at Hermione, making her giggle.

“Oh, is that a false nose? I always did think it rather too large for your face.” she teased, and Bill stuck his tongue out at her playfully, “But regardless, I fear the icy black hand of death may be upon us.”

They both chuckled as they passed through the backdoor and stepped out in to the yard, making their way together towards the picnic tables under the tree in the back where the other redheads and their spouses were already seated. Bill gave Hermione a quick grin, then scanned the table for Ron, finding him sitting next to Harry, very red in the face and grinding his teeth while he glared at them, while a very pale and weary-looking Luna clutched his arm tightly.

Damn, he thought, you’d think the bugger hadn’t eaten in days. This wasn’t going to be fun.

The slightest of movements beside him drew his attention away from the apparent fury of his youngest brother to glance at Hermione, who suddenly stood frozen, biting her lip and watching the people at the table nervously. He frowned, confused as Hermione rarely shrank away from the wraith of Ron.

Bill turned back to the table and for the first time noticed the eerie silence that hung tensely over the family gathered there. He glanced at his Mum who was twisting the napkin in her lap despite the stony expression on her face. His Dad was glancing back and forth from where Bill stood with Hermione to the various occupants of the table, looking nervous and worrisome. Fred and George both seemed to be fighting a losing battle to hold back matching wicked grins, while Percy looked like he was itching to start firing questions and Ginny had her lips pursed into a very thin, tight line. Even the various children were sitting silently, instinctively responding to the tension that emanated from their parents.

It was Harry, however, that held his attention longest. He was seated beside Ron, gripping the table tightly, every muscle in his body taut, as though he was barely holding back an inclination to explode and incinerate them all. Harry glared at them, his face stony save for one nerve that twitched near his lower jaw and eyes that were as dark and stormy as Bill had ever seen them.

“Is it true?” Harry choked out suddenly, the tension in his voice ripping through the unnatural silence that gripped the back garden of the Burrow.

“What the bloody hell are you on about?” Bill asked bewilderedly, wondering now if they were wankered-off about something other than his frequent late appearances. Merlin, he hadn’t gotten a reception like this since the whole bloody mess with Hermione.

Ginny suddenly snatched up an open copy of the newspaper and tossed it to the side of the table nearest where Bill and Hermione stood, “That is what he’s bloody talking about.” Ginny said sourly.

Bill glanced down at the open paper and felt his chest constrict painfully, barely registering the shuddering breath Hermione drew next to him as his own windpipe seemed to clamp down and refuse to draw air. There, at the top of the page, was a large black-and-white photograph of Hermione dressed in a ball-gown, chatting with two people he didn’t know, while none other than Draco Malfoy leaned in and placed gentle kisses to the corner of her jaw, his arm wrapped possessively around her waist.

Letting Draco Malfoy press kisses to her jaw.

A dreamy smile on her face as Draco Malfoy pressed kisses to her jaw.

Not pushing that pale, arrogant bastard away as he pressed kisses to her jaw.

No.

“Is it true?” came Harry’s choked question again and Bill’s gaze snapped to where Hermione stood beside him, her face drained of all color, seemingly unable to tear her eyes from the photo on the table before her. It couldn’t be true, Bill thought. Never. She’d never go near him. Not his sweet, innocent little Mione.

“Yes.” she murmured, her voice barely a whisper, and the table seemed to draw a collective gasp, Fred and George giving in to malicious, nearly hysterical laughter even as Harry and Ron whirled explosively out of their seats in fury.

Bill felt unsteady on his feet as all the blood in his body seemed to rush to his head, roaring in his ears and muffling whatever sounds were emanating from Harry and Ron as they bore angrily down on Hermione. He found himself sitting down hard on one of the vacated benches, watching dazedly as Harry and Ron pushed themselves right in Hermione’s face, waving their hands in angry slashes as their mouths spat out words that Bill couldn’t processes.

Was she mad, he wondered hazily, vaguely registering the action as Hermione took a deep breath and raised her chin defiantly to Harry and Ron, a little wrinkle of frustration forming on her forehead as she began to counter-point their tirade. This certainly wasn’t anything the Hermione he knew would ever deign to, Bill puzzled, watching as his parents and Ginny rushed up to join the fray, followed just moments later by Luna, Percy and the twins.

Whatever would possess her to even befriend such a miserable, nasty wretch as Draco Malfoy, was just beyond Bill. He’d seen little of the pale, pointy-faced boy since the end of the war, but he remembered the petulant little menace they’d harbored at Grimmauld Place one winter. The snide taunts he’d cast constantly at Harry and Ron were nothing compared to the cruel, trenchant remarks he would sling at Hermione about her looks, her character, and most especially her blood. For her part, she’d always just given him a bored look, tossed her mad brown curls at him, and gone about her business.

Bill watched his Mum shake her head sadly at Hermione, as muffled cries from Ron and Ginny accompanied angry hand-waving and accusatory gesturing toward their dark-haired friend. Luna came up behind Hermione and laid a supportive hand upon her shoulder as Hermione’s faltering defenses began to show in the look of pained incredulity on her face.

Connivance and artifice were to be expected of the Malfoy heir, but Hermione should have known better than to get mixed up with his intrigues, Bill grumbled to himself. What in Merlin’s name could she be thinking? Had she no regard for her own welfare or the level of disrespect such an act paid to the friends and family who had risked their lives to bring down people like the Malfoy’s. It was sheer stupidity on her part. How could such a smart girl as Hermione ever be duped into thinking that someone like Malfoy would ever legitimately lower himself to actually care for her?

“Shut the bloody fuck up, Bill!” he heard Ron bellow suddenly.

Shit, Bill thought, looking up as the red enraged faces that had all suddenly turned to face him. How long had he been voicing his thoughts aloud, he wondered, noticing the sudden look of fragility on Hermione’s face, all the pluck and bravado she’d shown before failing her.

“I didn’t mean it like that, I was just thinking that-”

“No one gives a bloody fuck what you think, Bill,” Ron spat through clenched teeth, “its none of your bloody busi-”

“Have any of you ever considered that maybe he just actually likes her?” Luna suddenly interjected, “That maybe they are just adults who’ve found that they enjoy each other’s company? Hermione is charming and brilliant and I don’t see any reason why any man, including Malfoy, wouldn’t fall head over heels for her!”

“Oh, bollocks!” Ginny snorted. “Be realistic, Luna, you know very well he’s not the type. Men like Malfoy get wit and conversation from their friends, they don’t bother themselves with relationships when they could be getting off with a different Witch Weekly cover model every week.”

Bill nodded in agreement. Hermione was not an ugly girl by any means. Rather more plain, really, when compared to someone like Fleur, who was dazzling. There were dozens of women in that league, and his position and wealth alone ensured that Malfoy could easily have any of them. Good, sweet girls like Hermione rarely held the attention of such men for long. She would only end up getting hurt.

“Really, Mione, how likely is it that this’ll end well?” Fred offered, “I mean, even Bill here’s a better man than Malfoy, and we all know what a steaming heap of monkey shite he turned out to be.”

“Hey-” Bill interjected.

“Shove off, Bill. Its none of your business.” George dismissed.

“I mean anyone who pays that much attention to their hair can’t be up to any good.” Fred continued, “Don’t forget how fussy your last boyfriend got over his pouf-ish little pigtail.”

“Hey!”

“Really now, Bill, this doesn’t concern you.” George snorted loftily.

“Hermione, this is just not right.” Harry said tiredly, running his hands wearily through his hair, “Think of all the people that died trying to bring those bastards down. Think of your parents. He believed in all of that. How can you bear to let that son-of-a-bitch put his hands all over you?”

“He gave our side informati-” Hermione protested weakly.

“He sold out the other side to save his own hide! Not out of any kind of change of heart. Is that really the kind of man you fancy? The kind you want to bring home to us, your family?” Hermione’s bottom lip began to tremble as Harry spoke, and Bill watched as Luna wrapped her arms tightly around her friend.

“We just don’t want to see you hurt again, and there’s no other way this can end.” Ron said more gently now, “Please, just tell us you’ll think this over.”

Hermione looked blearily from Ron to the others, before nodding weakly against Luna’s shoulder. Bill could still feel the tension thick all around them, and he watched uneasily as his ex-girlfriend took a deep breath and pulled away from Luna’s embrace, not meeting anyone’s eyes when she spoke.

“Fine. In the end it’s my decision… but I do promise I’ll think about what you’ve all had to say. Will that do for now?” she said pointedly at Harry and Ron.

Their sullen nods disappointed Bill, who ground his teeth in frustration. He’d rather they’d extracted a promise from her to keep far away from the little bastard, but he doubted any further input from him would be welcome now.

“I don’t feel very hungry anymore.” Hermione said tiredly, “I think I might just go home and lie down for a bit.” She avoided looking at the others again, as she hugged Luna briefly and apologized quickly to Molly, before walking a few steps away into the clearing and disapparating with a light crack.

“This is all your bloody fucking fault!”

Startled, Bill spun around to suddenly find the angry fist of his youngest brother waving angrily in his face.

“My fault?” Bill choked out, as Ron stepped in closer.

“Yeah, you’re fault! If you’d have just stopped thinking with your bloody wanker, and realized how good you already had it, none of this would have ever happened!”

* * *

Draco shifted against the doorway of Hermione’s flat, arching his back a bit to relieve the slight ache that was growing along his spine. It had over an hour now since he’d been waiting there and the dull pain in his feet was tempting him to just plop down cross-legged on the floor. Ugh, he thought, so unbecoming.

He’d shoved a smirking Blaise out the door as soon as he saw the picture in the Prophet that morning, and had dived for the floo, attempting to get a hold of Hermione before she left for the Weasel feast. Finding her flat empty, he’d thrown on some clothes and gone to her building to wait for her return, hoping she’d managed to see the paper and dodged the morning bullet, though at this point he didn’t think it likely.

He’d bypassed the locked building entryway with a quick charm, checked her flat number on the post box and made his way up to the third level to wait. Draco figured that from the hallway he’d be able to catch her on her way in if she was on foot, and hear her movements inside if she floo’d or apparated.

Merlin, waiting was awful, he thought, drumming his fingers nervously against the doorframe, then holding them up to inspect them for dirt.

*

He could just imagine what those miserable Weasels would have to say about him.

*

The detail work on the cuff of his shirtsleeve was actually quite amazing. He wondered at how much practice it must take to perfect the casting of a sewing spell that would make all those tiny stitches so perfectly straight. And to think Muggles actually used to do that sort of thing by hand…

*

He was beginning to wonder if meddling in his affairs was something of a sport to Potter and the Weasel.

*

It seemed her wretched cat was hovering just on the other side of the door. It’s incessant purring would either drive him mad or put him to sleep. Sixty-three. Bloody thing had meowed sixty-three times in the last fifteen minutes.

*

He hoped they weren’t awful to her.

*

A dull, unfamiliar ache of nerves had just begun to settle in Draco’s belly, when he heard her light footsteps take to the stairwell. As the loose sway of her dark curls made their appearance on the upper level stairs, it became clear there would be no need to ask whether they’d seen the photo in the morning’s paper. It was apparent in the weariness in her carriage, the tired draw of her face. Yet as he took in her summer dress, the line of her neck and the light flush on her cheeks, he could not help but think her achingly lovely. He wanted to envelope her, kiss her breathless and drive away all memory of whatever those wretched Weasley’s might have said.

She paused for a moment when she saw him leaning against her doorframe, then moved to put her key in the lock, walked through the door and left it open behind her in silent invitation. He followed her into the unlit flat, struggling not to stumble on various pieces of shadowy furniture as they made their way to what he guessed was her bedroom.

The bedroom was dark as well, the only light in the room emanating faintly through the long gauzy curtains that hung on the windows. Hermione stopped in the middle of the room, looking around her blankly. Draco stood a few steps behind her, silent and wanting nothing more than to run his fingers along her skin.

“Would you like something to drink?” she asked suddenly, her voice flat, “Some tea, perhaps?”

“No,” he murmured, reaching up to graze his hand along the slope of her shoulder, “I want you to know what you’re thinking right now.”

She shivered under his touch, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment before she slipped away from him, crossing the room to pull open the door of her closet and slipping her wand out from a small pocket on the side of her dress. With a quick flick, she summoned a large valise down from a high shelf and guided it to her bed, flicking it open before moving hurriedly around her room to gather articles of clothing from the closet and her wardrobe.

“What are you doing, Granger?” Draco queried, struggling to keep his growing alarm from showing in his voice, “What happened?”

“I have to pack, I’m heading out to Marrakech tonight,” she said quietly.

“You’re not scheduled to leave for three more days. What’s happpened?” he paused, watching her toss a pair of shoes into the open bag, “What did they say to you? Were they yelling at you this whole time?”

“No,” she sighed, rummaging through a bureau, “I was only there for a few minutes. mI had a bit of a walk down by the bridge, and then went to Gringotts to have my trip moved up.”

He grabbed at her shoulder, forcing her to stay still and trying to look into her eyes, “Why are you leaving? What did they say to you?”

She shook her head and looked down, rubbing at the wetness that was pooling at her eyes, “Oh, it was awful,” she whispered, “They just… broke down every defense I… I mean I expected they wouldn’t take it lightly, but… Merlin, they tore me completely apart.”

“Fuck all.” Draco hissed, his voice on edge, “ And I, of course, can only have some nefarious plot in mind. I can only imagine what they must have said about me.”

“Actually they hardly said anything of you at all.” Hermione replied with a choked half-laugh, “They said you were acting no differently than expected. It was me they castigated. My intelligence, my morals, my character, even my loyalty to Harry and the family.”

Draco felt bitterness prickling at his chest. That Weasel bunch were always thick as thieves. He’d never have expected them to bear down so hard on one of their own.

“And what of this?” Draco said pointing to the space between himself and Hermione, “Is this why you’re leaving? Are you done with me?”

She pulled away from him then, turning back to stuffing things into the open valise and not meeting his eyes, “It’s just too much right now. I need some time. To think.”

Draco wanted to wrench the luggage away from her. To bury his hands in her thick glossy curls and ravage her mouth. To show her that the only ploy he had in mind was to press her naked, glistening skin to his as he whispered in her ear of oceans and starlight and the elegance of an infinite universe. Instead, he watched her finish packing, his jaw stiff, hands clenched and swallowing the icy nausea that pushed at the back of his throat.

The valise gave a hollow click when she snapped it closed. Hermione pulled on a pair of shoes and tied her hair back from her face. She pulled the valise up from the bed, clutching the wide bag to her chest and biting her bottom lip as she watched Draco. “I’ll be in Marrakech until Friday,” she said quietly, “I’ll send you an owl when I get back.” For a moment she opened her mouth, as if to say something more, but couldn’t seem to summon the words, and closed it again with a small sigh. She watched him a moment longer, then closed her eyes and disapparated.

Draco wasn’t certain how long he stood there, motionless in her dark, silent flat. Of their own volition, his hands had taken up a silky piece of her clothing that had been discarded on the bed, and he ran its smooth, cool texture back and forth between his fingers, as he willed himself not to think. He lifted the garment to his nose, inhaling the familiar clean scent before flinging it angrily to the ground just seconds before the crack of his disapparation rang through the flat.


* * * * *


Author’s Notes/References: Again, lots of apologies following such a long wait. School was miserably hard this semester and some things must fall to the wayside, plus AFF has been down and I've had to update elsewhere for the time being. Alot of you found me and I thank you for continuing reading.

Also, this story won three awards at the latest round of Dangerous Liaisons: The Blast from the Past Award, The Sweetest Kisses Award, and the third Reader’s Pick Award. Thank you so much to all who nominated and voted for me. I lurve you all so much.

On a side note, I have started a LiveJournal to post updates and news for this story. My name is the same: araluna. Feel free to come by, friend me, leave commentary, whatever you please, and of course I’m still doing my email update list for any interested parties.

* As for references, I kept it pretty slim this time kids, with just a few nods to Monty Python.