Fourteen Thousand Galleons

Savages

In fact, she hasn't stopped thinking about that kiss since the moment Harry left her the night before. What the hell is he playing at, telling her not to overthink it. Does he know her at all? Her middle name might as well be Overthink.

Of course she didn't sleep at all. It was all fits and tossing and turning. She replays the entire day over and over again in her head for a solid twenty two hours. Sometimes, she grins so widely that she feels her cheeks pushing at her ears and other times she's so embarrassed that she balls her tiny hands into fists and growls as she presses them to her eyes.

Don't overthink it. For the hour that she actually rests in bed, she considers what it means. Does he like her? Is he attracted to her? Was he just trying to stop her thinking about Ron's actions? Just an emotionally charged moment? How the hell is she supposed to go have dinner with the Malfoys and not think about the way her entire body came alive at Harry's touch? That she's pressed her fingers to her lips at least once a half hour because she can still feel the delicious pressure against them. And the way his scruff rubbed against her face, the friction, the palpable heat between them.

Cor, but she is actually losing her shit over it still, twenty two hours later, as she steps into the floo grate squeezed between her two little children. Her hands are like vices around theirs; she's nervous, she's wrecked, and she's so damn confused over Harry Bloody Potter and His Incredibly Wonderful Lips.

Don't overthink it. She stumbles over saying "Draco's home" as Rose tosses a handful of soot to their feet. Hugo's beaming at her side because he loves floo travel, but while she's normally excitable for him, she can't find the strength to entertain it today.

Tink greets the three of them at the floo with a toothy smile and bright pink cloth wrapped around her little body. The view is different this time, as Hermione is granted access to Draco's personal floo at his real home in Wiltshire. It's smaller than the manor, much less intimidating, but still a sizeable home for just a man and his son. How she's managed to squeeze herself and two young children into her small flat is baffling when she compares it to Draco's home.

Don't overthink it. Hermione takes a deep breath and pulls her children along after the elf, though they are not used to seeing such a creature and don't take a lot of convincing to following it. She tries to stop them from ogling the poor thing, but with all of the moving portraits along the hallway, their attention spans are very small. Her heels click against the floor but unlike at the manor, the sound doesn't echo through the hallway. The children make little noises of wonder as they are guided from room to room until they finally reach the den where Draco and Scorpius are sitting, waiting.

"Master Draco," Tinks says happily, yanking Hermione into the room. "Mister Scorpius. Miss Hermione, Miss Rose, and Mister Hugo."

She makes one last ditch effort to thrust Harry from her thoughts. Don't overthink it. She's going to murder Harry when she sees him again. Don't overthink it . If she gets through this meal without cursing Malfoy – entirely likely – she's going to demand answers from The Boy Who Decided It Was A Good Idea To Snog His Best Friend Perfectly.

Don't. Bloody. Overthink. It. Granger.

She raises her chin, puts on her very best unaffected mask, and approaches the Malfoys with her children in tow. Draco and Scorpius both stand to greet them. The Malfoys are nearly indistinguishable from one another except for their obvious age difference and it's adorable. Both are wearing suit jackets and crisp black trousers, the only difference between them is the emerald button down that Scorpius wears and the powder blue that Draco wears. She's trying not to notice the way the blue makes his gray eyes pop, but as he approaches her, she can't take her eyes off them. Draco reaches out to take her hand and she hopes her palms aren't slick from her nerves.

"Granger, thank you for agreeing to this evening." He turns to each of her children in turn and welcomes them to his home. "Rose, Hugo, welcome to our home."

"Scorpius. It's ever so nice to meet you." Hermione shakes the small boy's hand and smiles at him. He's so much like his father in looks, but she can see Astoria in some of his softer edges.

His mannerisms, though, are all Draco. "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Hermione."

Scorpius bends at the waist and then turns to say the same to the two children, who wave at him in response. Draco lifts an eyebrow at Hermione and she shrugs; she won't apologize for her children lacking airs. His lips twitch towards a smile as if he knows exactly what she's thinking.

"I hope you all enjoy roast." Draco turns to the Weasley children. She's sort of taken by surprise at his soft tone, it's almost playful, but most definitely kind. It's not the Malfoy she's used to and the way that her children react to him warms her heart.

"Yes!" Hugo pumps his fist into the air. The boy has no shame about food. "Mummy, we get roast twice this week!"

Hermione bites her lip and blushes but she's surprised that Draco smiles at her, almost looking proud that he chose the correct food. She shrugs again and tries to stifle the laugh that's threatening to leave her. Draco wins Hugo over with a pot roast; of course it's that easy. Scorpius, ever the proper little boy, takes the lead and shows both Hugo and Rose to the dining room and it gives Hermione and Draco a chance to chat.

"Your boy is very proper," Hermione says, not able to withhold her observation. "So refined at such a young age."

Draco inclines his chin. "As are most pureblood wizards of his age."

"Are you serious?" Hermione glares at him and clucks her tongue. She isn't going to be lectured about blood status and propriety; she's known many pureblood wizards who are not, in fact, completed dickheads about it. "Not all pureblood children are the model of propriety and grace, Draco. You, I remember, were a little git."

"A git." A confused, tiny voice says from the arch between the living and dining rooms. "Dad's a git?"

"Oh, Merlin." Hermione covers her eyes with her hand and turns bright red. "No, darling, of course not."

"Dad was a git," Draco corrects him, chuckling softly at Hermione's embarrassment. "Mostly to Miss Hermione and her friends."

"But you're not a git now?" Scorpius doesn't look like he buys it; his hands are on his hips and he's got a blonde eyebrow raised in his father's direction.

She couldn't stop the small laugh that escapes her.

"Remains to be seen," she whispers as Scorpius turns from the room. "Oh, Malfoy, I'm sorry. Your child shouldn't have to hear-"

"It's harmless, Granger." Draco leads her into the dining room with a hand on the small of her back. "It's good for him to learn now, as I'm sure it shouldn't wait until he hears it at Hogwarts from people who are less understanding of my past."

It hurts for her to hear, because just as early as a few days ago, she wasn't very understanding of his past. Though, she'd never wish for his child to hear it. Scorpius, as far as she's concerned, is entirely innocent. He's not responsible for the sins of his father, just as Rose and Hugo are not responsible for the sins of their mother.