His Veela Heritage by RiverWriter

14

She awoke early on her birthday, of all days, cursing the fact that she was a woman. She stumbled out of bed and into the loo and then scrambled around for a pain potion, knowing it would only partially alleviate the discomfort she was feeling. Menstrual cramps were something muggles and wizards alike seemed almost equally unprepared to deal with. She found it extremely unfortunate that magic was not the cure-all muggles believed it to be.

‘Happy birthday to me,’ she snorted to herself. Some present this was.

As she finished brushing her teeth to rid her mouth of the foul taste of the potion she heard the floo sound in the living room and went to investigate. She walked into the room to see her boyfriend stepping out of the fireplace looking better than anybody had a right to at this hour. From one wrist dangled what appeared to be a picnic basket. The other hand clutched a tray of drinks in paper cups, cups bearing the familiar logo of her favorite cafe. Her favorite Parisian cafe.

Her heart stuttered in her chest as she wondered what he had done this time. She came to a halt just in front of him as he looked up and smiled at her.

“What are you doing here?” she questioned.

Not that she was unhappy to see him. In fact, this promised to be a great way to improve a day that hadn't started so well. But he was unfailingly courteous of her, and he never just dropped by unannounced, even though she’d keyed him into her wards weeks ago.

“Happy birthday, love, I brought you breakfast,” he indicated the items in his arms, “I wasn’t expecting you to be up so early, it was meant to be a surprise.”

Tears welled up in her eyes at his thoughtfulness. She rubbed them away viciously, refusing to react so stereotypically; she would not be ruled by her hormones. He regarded her actions suspiciously but wisely said nothing.

“How did you get breakfast from Paris?” she asked in an attempt to distract them both.

“Claire arrived with it a few minutes ago, but it’s not all from France. Effie insisted on sending some of your favorites too, I swear that bloody elf likes you better than me now,” he groused, his lips curling into that familiar sneer.

She wasn't fooled. Effie would do absolutely anything for Draco, and not because of their bond, but because she just adored him, and she adored Hermione for his sake, and as a thank you for making him happy and filling his previously lonely hours. Hermione processed what he had just told her.

“You asked your cousin to wake up before sunrise, apparate from Lyon to Paris, pick up breakfast from a muggle cafe, and then portkey it all to you?” she surmised.
Draco shrugged like it was no big deal.

It was.

International portkeys were expensive and required so much paperwork that Hermione always used muggle means when she traveled to the continent. This breakfast delivery had taken considerable planning and coin. Draco would think nothing of the galleons he'd spent for such a simple thing, but she couldn't help but marvel at the consideration he'd put into making her day special.

“She comes every couple of months to visit London and pop in on my parents,” he shrugged,

“I just asked if she wouldn’t mind if this trip coincided with your birthday.”

Hermione felt overwhelmed, as she had often in the last weeks, she was learning to temper her reaction.

“That was very generous of her,” she said calmly, “Should I meet her while she’s here, thank her?”

He hesitated.

“She doesn’t feel right meeting you before my parents have.”

There was no censure in his voice, but she felt a stab of guilt. He hadn't pressured her in any way, but she knew she was the only one who still desired secrecy for their relationship.
He didn't seem to notice the hesitation his words had caused and just placed the basket and tray down on her coffee table and took her into his arms.