His Veela Heritage by RiverWriter

chapter 10

Hermione placed an order for the Italian food he requested (she had a feeling she had some work to do before he was willing to try something more exotic) and tried to pull herself together while his attention was otherwise occupied by the photographs that lined the many bookcases of her flat. She was deeply embarrassed by her earlier display of insecurity and then the way her temper had so quickly turned on him. She was also unnerved by the aplomb with which he’d handled the situation. She was rapidly beginning to feel like she was more than in over her head.

She hadn’t realized he’d had the ability to unnerve her so completely, or that she would so easily become vulnerable in his presence. She especially didn’t think he would react so maturely. Godric, he’d even refrained from calling Ron any names. That must have taken some Herculean self control. And then she'd snapped at him, railed at him for his treatment of her at Hogwarts, but he'd remained calm, and apologized. He didn't try and excuse his behavior, he didn't mock her for her mood swings. She was impressed, she felt cared for, and ashamed at how much she seemed to have underestimated him. It was time to do away with her image of him as that nasty boy from school, the same image she was using to hold herself apart from him.

Draco was obviously impressed by the food she ordered, both by the quality and how quickly it arrived all neatly packaged, hot, and ready to eat. (‘I don't understand how muggles can be so efficient without magic, it's remarkable,’ he’d quipped.) She allowed herself to feel smug that she'd introduced him to something so thoroughly normal in the muggle world, but that to him probably felt like a revelation. It was a small thing, but she'd done something right tonight.

“So you never answered my questions,” she said as they settled down to eat.

“What questions?” he asked.

“The ones from earlier, you know, when I was explaining how we don't actually know each other very well?” she reminded him.

“Oh, right, what were they again? I've forgotten.”

“Do you prefer quidditch or flying? Or do you like quidditch for the flying? And then I wanted to know if you enjoyed school or if you just happened to be good at it, and the same question with potions specifically,” she reiterated.

He chewed thoughtfully, very careful to swallow before he opened his mouth to respond, unlike some people she knew. (Oh no, she was comparing him to Ron again, that had to stop.)

“Well, honestly I think of quidditch and flying as two different interests. Though, part of why I like quidditch is because it's played on a broom. But I enjoy them for two different reasons, quidditch for the strategy and competition and flying for the freedom and the speed. So, I guess it depends on what kind of mood I’m in, in terms of which I enjoy most. From what you said earlier I take it you don't enjoy quidditch?” he deduced.

“I don't really like playing quidditch, though I seem to get wrangled into it often enough. But it can be fun to watch, especially when my friends are playing because then I have a vested interest in the game. But I hate flying.”

He looked at her like she'd sprouted a second head.

“How can anyone hate flying? It’s amazing,” he sounded absolutely incredulous.

“I suppose I should be more specific and say that I hate flying on broomsticks.”

After all, she didn't mind muggle airplanes, and under different, less life threatening circumstances her various rides on the backs of magical creatures could have been rather thrilling. He was still looking at her like she was crazy.

“Well look at it from my point of view,” she defended, “in our first and only flying lesson Neville broke his wrist and then you led Harry on that merry chase for his remembrall. At the time I was fully convinced that you were both going to die right in front of me. And that was my first exposure to broomsticks,” she pointed at him accusingly. “Then, during Harry’s first quidditch match his broom was jinxed, and he nearly fell off and died. In third year the dementors swarmed one of his games and he did fall off his broom, and if Dumbledore hadn't been there to slow his fall he would have died, “she took a dramatic breath, “Fourth year he decided it was a good idea to try and outfly a dragon for Godric’s sake, and he very nearly got roasted and gave me a heart attack in the process. I could go on,” she looked at him daringly.