For reasons Hermione couldn't quite fathom, she found herself pacing the kitchen of Pansy's loft, wringing her hands as she waited for Malfoy to arrive. She hadn't seen the man in years―never mind the fact that they had never even shared a civilised conversation before―and she couldn't wrap her head around why he had invited her to a baseball game.

Even if he simply had an extra ticket in the face of Pansy's sudden absence, surely he knew other people who would want it.

Shortly before he was due to arrive, a knock sounded on the door and Hermione froze, her eyes darting to the entrance. It wasn't too late to back out of the situation if she simply didn't answer.

But Malfoy had been pleasant and polite the day before, and if she was honest, curiosity had been driving her spare ever since. Hermione smoothed her slick palms along her jeans before tugging the door open, fixing a smile onto her lips.

Malfoy leaned against the doorway, dressed in the same leather jacket and baseball cap from the day before, and his grey eyes slid up to hers. His lips tilted with a smirk.

"Hello." For a moment he only stared at her, before he added, "I half expected you to cancel on me."

"Right, well," Hermione responded, her voice a little breathy as she stepped back from the door. He followed her inside, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Nothing else to do I suppose."

His smirk broadened. "Of course."

Objectively, Malfoy had always been attractive, especially after he grew into his sharp features. But there was something about seeing him a little scruffy and disheveled that made him seem less of all the things she used to hate about him.

Less of a prejudiced, conceited bigot, prone to looking down his nose at the masses.

She would find out today whether any of that still held true.

"Can I offer you anything?" Hermione asked, waving a vague hand towards Pansy's cupboards. It was more of a cursory offer than anything, as she hadn't even learned where everything was yet.

But Malfoy's eyes flickered down to his watch―an elaborate silver timepiece which probably cost more than a vehicle―and he said, "We ought to go soon." He eyed her for a moment longer before reaching into his pocket. "I got you something for the occasion."

A gift. Malfoy had brought her a gift.

He enlarged the item, holding it out to her. It was a baseball cap―branded with a New York Yankees emblem, to match his. He reached up, arranging it atop her loose curls. His grey eyes lingered on hers briefly before he stepped back. "You need to represent."

Hermione found her mouth dry. "Thanks."

"Best to Apparate," he responded, as if there was nothing out of the ordinary about the situation.

Swallowing back her nerves, Hermione nodded when he offered a hand, slipping her fingers into his. He gripped her hand tightly, twisting her stomach into a mass of knots, and moments later, he whisked her away.

If Hermione thought the idea of attending a baseball game with Draco Malfoy was strange, the actual execution of it was borderline surreal. He sat beside her in silence, gaze fixed on the game and lips pursed. Finally he broke the awkward tension between them, glancing towards her. "Pansy hates baseball."

"Then why did you get two tickets?" Hermione asked, feeling humour tug at her lips.

Malfoy clicked his tongue. "Because I don't like to come alone. And she knows it's the only way to convince me to watch basketball with her."

"Interesting," Hermione mused, eyes tightening when his stare lingered on her. "I'm having a hard time believing that you and Pansy Parkinson like Muggle sports."

He shrugged, removing his hat and sweeping a hair through his pale hair before resituating it. "There aren't as many Quidditch teams here to watch as there are back home."

"So you've swapped Quidditch for baseball."

"Something like that."

Hermione settled into her seat a little more, relieved that they wouldn't be spending the entire game in stony silence. "What brought you to New York anyway?"

If the question crossed some sort of unspoken boundary, his expression didn't show it. But even so, he hesitated for a moment before answering. "Pansy moved here after the war. I came to visit for a while and…" He shrugged, taking a swig of his beer. "Let's just say there wasn't anything for me in England at the time. I've been here five years now. I don't imagine I'll stay here forever but for now it's not bad."

"Fair enough." She rolled her face towards him, offering a tentative smile. "And did you already have an interest in photography or was that something you picked up here?"

"Pre-existing. But it wasn't anything more than a hobby." His eyes searched hers for a moment and her stomach flopped before she glanced away.

"I suppose there would be lots of options for something like that here." Idly, she wondered at the life of a photographer in New York City. Fashion designers and runway shows and beautiful, glamourous models.

But Malfoy gave a noncommittal shrug. "If you know the right people."

Judging by the hissed conversation from a group of women who eyed him from several rows back, Hermione could only assume he knew some of those people.

She couldn't quite reconcile this version of Draco Malfoy who enjoyed baseball and wore a leather jacket and jeans, but the flicker of curiosity she had felt since their chance encounter the day before escalated and roiled within her.

"Yesterday," she hedged, "you said you didn't want to be a fashion photographer forever."

"I don't." His eyes darted towards hers with a single-shouldered shrug. "But it works for now. Granger, working in New York is so much about the name you build for yourself. I've been fortunate to work with some of the best."

The words lacked the conceit she might have expected from such a statement; a mere offering of a truth he had come to know.

But his gaze slid away. "I know that look. It isn't all you're expecting."

"It isn't all runway shows and supermodels?" she asked, her voice carrying more of a teasing note than she'd intended.

Malfoy fired her a look, his brows unimpressed. "There is that. But I can't imagine you believing anything is all glamour."

She bristled, not quite understanding the statement, when out on the field one of the batters swung at a pitch with a great crack, and Malfoy shifted forward in his seat, clenching the empty seat in front of him.

As Hermione watched the baseball soar through the air and overtop the fence at the back of the outfield, the crowd went up with a roar.

Malfoy only offered a slow, crooked grin and said, "That, Granger, was a grand slam."

"I was raised by Muggles, Malfoy," she responded, rolling her eyes. "I know what a grand slam is."

He didn't falter, only nudged her shoulder and said, "Just checking."

Hermione wasn't entirely certain why her stomach twisted up at his touch.

His stare lingered on her as the smile faded from his face, and after a long pause he said, "And just between me and you, Granger―even the runway shows and supermodels get boring after a while."

Surprise flickered through her. She assumed Malfoy would love that sort of thing. Snagging her bottom lip between her teeth, she dared ask, "So what would you rather be doing?"

Malfoy stared at her for a moment longer before flagging down a man walking by selling popcorn, and he proffered a Muggle note from his wallet. He ate a piece, tilting the container towards her. Despite herself, Hermione smiled and popped a bite between her lips.

"You're here for two weeks, right?" he asked. Hermione nodded slowly, and his lips curled into a secretive smile. "Maybe I'll show you before you go home."

Hermione gaped openly at him―at the insinuation that they might actually see one another again while she was in New York and at the suggestive tone to his voice. Her face flooded with warmth and she glanced away, turning back towards the game.

Curiosity ate at her but she only shrugged. "Sounds good."

She could still feel his stare on her―as if he could see through her―and it left her feeling raw and vulnerable in a way she had never anticipated. When she caught his eye again, his smile had softened into something entirely different.

"Thanks for coming with me, Granger."

"Thanks for the invitation," she said with a brisk nod. "And might I add… you aren't anything like I remember."

Sadness pulled at his brow. "No. I can't imagine I am." So quietly she had to strain to hear him in the din of the stadium, he added, "Maybe you'd be willing to accept today as a peace offering. I'm sorry for the way I treated you in school."

Disbelief flooded through her but Hermione only stared at him, wondering at the person he had become. "Okay Malfoy. I appreciate that." Blowing out a breath, she swiped a piece of popcorn. "Fresh beginnings and all that?"

His teasing grin returned. "I am all about fresh beginnings, Granger." When his shoulder brushed hers again, Hermione wasn't certain whether it was accidental or on purpose. "I'm shooting on location the next few days. If you want, once I'm back I'll take you to some of my favourite places in New York. Places you won't see as a tourist."

Hermione gazed at him, searching for an ulterior motive. He had been one surprise after another.

At last she smiled, her words honest as she said, "I'd like that."

She couldn't quite fathom the way he made her feel; the warmth in his stare and the soft curve to his lips as he met her eyes. But there was no sense dwelling on it when she would be returning home in less than two weeks.

If nothing else, it would be nice to know someone else in such a large, bustling city.

And one less ghost haunting her from the past.

Pansy answered a knock at her door, distracted by a book of sketches in her hands. Her eyes swung up to her visitor, and she wasn't entirely surprised to see Potter on the stoop brandishing a bottle of wine.

She released a breath of relief. "Much better. I'm tired of Granger's swill."

"Well you drank it all," Potter quipped, "so you don't need to worry about it anymore."

Pansy elbowed him in the ribs.

But Potter only drifted into the cottage as if he lived there―and maybe he sort of did, knowing how close he and Granger were. Pansy hadn't bothered to ask, but while she had learned he worked in England as an Auror, he obviously wasn't unfamiliar with Ireland.

She fumbled in a drawer for Granger's corkscrew, one eye still fixed on her drawings as she frowned.

"Did you draw all these?"

Green eyes landed on her from where Potter stood at the dining room table, covered with an array of loose sheets. Some were old designs that would need to be tweaked, and some new ones she had come up with since arriving in Ireland.

Most of them would never see the light of day.

"Yes," she huffed, pouring two glasses. Although the last time Potter had been by several days prior they had devolved to drinking straight from the bottle, there was no harm in making an effort at propriety.

She could feel his eyes lingering on her as she carefully stacked up her drawings and set them aside, lest they end up drenched in red wine. She could remember Potter being distinctly clumsy at Hogwarts.

But if she was honest, the man before her was hardly recognisable as the boy she remembered. The thought caused colour to creep up her throat into her cheeks, and she took a quick swig of wine.

"These are really good." His expression was serious as he flipped through her careful stack, peering closely at the designs. "This is what you do in New York?"

Pansy offered a brisk nod. "I have a clothing line."

Gazing at her over his glass, he asked, "What the hell are you doing here, then?"

If it had been anyone else―except for maybe Draco, who already knew everything about her―she would have sneered in their face. But there was something about Potter. He had seen that darkest part of her. He had more right to be angry with her than anyone else, yet his interest seemed genuine.

So Pansy slumped into a seat at the table, schooling her expression. "My most lucrative buyer wouldn't purchase my last collection. Said it was too stiff."

Potter's brows flickered. "I don't know anything about fashion, but I think they look great."

Despite herself, a smile curled her lips at his naive interpretation of the situation. "Thanks Potter." The flush deepened in her cheeks and she was grateful for the wine as an excuse. "Anyway―he told me to go out and get some fresh experiences."

He snickered, setting her drawings aside. "So that's what this is."

Pansy only stared at him.

"I think it's a good idea," he said with a shrug. "If a change of scenery is going to inspire something even better, why not try, right?"

Merlin, what was it about the man?

"I suppose so," she drawled, unable to quite meet his penetrating gaze.

Potter ducked his chin, taking another swig of wine. "If this is what you can do when you're uninspired, I have faith."

Her eyes snapped up to him then, but try as she might, she couldn't infuse her words with any disdain. "You don't know anything about me."

"You're right." Clearing his throat, he leaned back in his seat. Then he cocked a single brow. "Perhaps making the effort is a mistake then?"

She glared at him. "That isn't what I said."

"Look, Parkinson," Potter waved his wine glass, "I told you I'm not holding anything against you. If you don't want me to come by, I won't―but something tells me you could use some company."

"Why do you think that?" she asked, voice dropping to a whisper.

He leaned in, his face cautious. "I know enough about you to know that you're strong. I can also tell you're dedicated to what you're doing, enough to throw yourself into your work and disregard everything else." His throat bobbed with a swallow as he glanced away. "And maybe I just recognise a bit of myself in that."

"So you want the company." A teasing hint of a smirk tugged at her lips.

He didn't respond, but took another deep swig of wine, and he rose to refill his glass, topping hers up as well. She expected him to dance around it but at last he said, "I find I enjoy your company."

Pansy's heart leapt into her throat.

He pressed on. "Six months ago, my fiancée left me. It's fine now―but the only person I've seen outside of work is Hermione."

"Because you threw yourself into your work and disregarded everything else, as if it would make the pain go away," she whispered, uncertain whether she was breathing.

When he brandished his wine glass, Pansy only clinked it with her own. Emboldened by his honesty, she announced, "This is the closest I've come to returning home since I was eighteen."

She had expected judgement in his stare. What she found was understanding. He spoke, his tone deceptively light, "Is it time?"

"No." She shook her head, hesitating. "I don't know."

"It's your call of course," Potter said, swirling his drink, "but I think you'll find the barriers you've built up around it aren't as concrete as you think. England is… still reeling, if I'm honest, even a decade later. But I think people would be more accepting than you realise."

Pansy snorted, uncertain whether she wanted to go any further down this path. "Not my parents. The moment I set foot on English soil they'll try to marry me off. The Parkinson name has been dragged through the mud, and the best way to remedy that is with the right connections."

His expression faltered before settling into a frown. "You're what―twenty-eight? Shouldn't that be your decision?"

She didn't answer him.

Potter flipped absently through her sketches once more, his gaze lingering on an elaborate formal gown she might attempt to sew if she ever found the nerve. "And so you went off to New York to make a new name for yourself."

"Yes." Lifting her chin, she met his gaze. "Parks is one of the only things in this life that I can claim as mine."

"I understand."

And she could tell he did.

"Here's what I think, Parkinson." Potter gazed at her for a long moment, giving her the distinct impression that he could see through her, as if she were paper thin. As if a good breeze could sweep through her. It left her feeling vulnerable in a way she couldn't quite understand and wasn't exactly comfortable with.

But she remained silent as he leaned forward across the table.

"I think you're in pain, and you don't know what to do next." He lowered his voice and said, "And I think you're going to accomplish anything you set your mind to and chart your own path in life, separate from anything else you think currently defines you. But it's okay to let other people in."

Her throat felt thick, her eyes stinging as she held his eyes. At last she whispered, "Thanks Potter." As an afterthought she added, "I do have other people. I have Draco." When Potter's face tightened she hastily added, "As a friend. He lives in New York too."

She couldn't explain the impulsive need to clarify but for the way Potter's green eyes seared through her.

But he snickered, looking away at last. "That's where Malfoy ran off to?"

Pansy opened her mouth to speak, freezing as she sucked in a breath. "I didn't tell Draco I was leaving." Her eyes widened with mirth as she clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. "He was meant to come by for some photos a few days ago."

An incredulous look crept across Potter's face until he threw his head back with a laugh. "So you're telling me Hermione's run into Malfoy, of all people, on her trip to New York."

A wry twist curled Pansy's lips. "I can only imagine how that went."

Potter snorted, rubbing at his eyes. "Knowing Hermione―Merlin spare them both."

New York was an overwhelming place, Hermione soon realised. Even though she had lived near London with her family―and then within the city itself for years after the war―it didn't have anything on the bustling chaos that was New York.

She spent her days roaming the city, strolling the museums and experiencing the history. One day, she ventured towards the magical side of the city, which was as wildly alive as its Muggle counterpart.

As fascinating as the city was, Hermione didn't know if she could live here for any real length of time. Idly, she wondered how Pansy and Malfoy cared for it.

And if she was honest with herself, she found herself thinking of Malfoy more than was probably proper. He had said he would be working on a photography shoot for several days and she wondered whether it had gone well.

Whether he still wanted to show her around when he returned.

She still had a little over a week in New York before the home exchange would end and she would return to Dublin. Alone in such a large, thrumming city, she'd experienced a few flickers of homesickness.

Hermione wondered how Harry had been holding up without her at home. She'd been hesitant to leave him alone, when she knew he still struggled somedays with Ginny walking out of his life six months prior.

She knew he still wondered what he had done wrong.

But she would see him again soon.

And as much as she enjoyed Pansy's loft in New York, she would be happy to return to the comparative peace of her cottage outside of Dublin.

Except for one niggling detail…

Hermione startled from her thoughts at a sharp rap on the door. Unable to quell the anxious leap in her chest, she squared her shoulders and swung open the door.

Malfoy stared at her, a smirk lifting his lips as his grey eyes warmed. "Hello."

He wore jeans and a patterned button down, the crisp sleeves rolled to his elbows and baring the lean muscle of his forearms. If she didn't know better, she might have thought him to be one of the ubiquitous models in New York City, the way his clothes fit as if made for him.

He'd forgone the baseball cap, and his blond hair was swept into a stylish crown atop his head.

Hermione felt colour suffuse her cheeks as Malfoy's lazy stare travelled from head to toe. He dropped his head into a tilt with a murmured, "You look lovely."

"Hi," she breathed, "thank you. And er, so do you." The air between them felt intense, and she added with a hint of a smile, "I've been to the shops."

The corners of his eyes crinkled. "You look very New York."

When he only continued to stare at her, a secretive smile playing about his lips, Hermione blew out a breath and shifted out of the doorway. "Come in."

"I wondered whether I was going to stand on the threshold all day," he snickered.

Her cheeks flared with colour as Malfoy slipped through the door and pressed it shut behind him.

She couldn't escape the heat from his stare and cleared her throat. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Sure."

As she peered into the fridge, feeling the cool air wash across her face, Malfoy came up alongside her, grazing a hand across the small of her back. She felt impossibly warm at the innocent contact. He reached around her for two bottles at the back of the fridge, flashing a grin.

"These are mine," he said, cracking the cap off one and proffering it to her, before opening the other.

She couldn't tell whether he'd done it intentionally to save her the money that would be deducted from her account by using Pansy's drinks. Maybe he simply wanted to share his own.

But she smiled and took a sip, leaning back against the counter. The bottle contained some sort of refreshing, fruity ale with a pleasant zip on her tongue.

She wondered whether it was a wizarding liquor.

"Thank you," she said quietly, "this is delicious." When he leaned back alongside her, his hip nudging hers, she asked, "How was the photoshoot?"

"It went well. Aside from the creative director trying to override everything I did and the models refusing to cooperate."

"That's well?" she asked, flashing him a grimace. "It sounds like a hassle."

His lips twitched. "That's well compared to some." He took a swig of his drink. "What have you been up to? Making the most of your trip, no doubt."

"Trying to," she said with a bit of a titter. "New York is very overwhelming."

"It can be."

Snagging her lip between her teeth, Hermione glanced at him. "What did you have in mind for today?"

Malfoy shrugged, pursing his lips. "We can do low-key if you like. Lunch―maybe a bit of exploring?" Hermione nodded, feeling grateful for low-key after the past few days. But then he added, "I'm going to a runway show tonight. Extra couture. No pressure, but I can bring a guest if you'd like to come along."

"Will you be working?" she asked, a frisson of nerves chasing through her. She wasn't the couture type.

"No," he said, meeting her gaze. "Just watching. If you want to take in the New York City fashion experience while you're here, this is your chance."

He planted a hand on the counter behind her, his arm grazing her side, and heat chased through her at the innocuous contact.

If she knew what was good for her, she wouldn't let herself get in any deeper.

But she flashed him a smile. "It sounds wonderful."

When his answering grin ignited butterflies in her stomach, she knew she was in trouble.

Her afternoon with Malfoy was more than Hermione expected. He took her to a wonderful, intimate spot that served the best tapas she had ever tasted, and they shared a series of plates while discussing things of little importance.

After lunch, they strolled the back streets of a neighbourhood she hadn't seen, before Malfoy led her towards a quiet park. The sun was warm overhead and she shrugged out of her jumper, feeling his gaze linger on her for a moment before he glanced away, squinting into the sun.

"You haven't told me why you wanted to get away from home," he drawled at last.

Hermione hesitated, thinking back to the conversation weeks ago wherein Cormac had told her she wasn't long-term material. The sting of the break-up had waned―they hadn't been together all that long―but the words lingered.

As if sensing her doubts, he slipped his hands into his pockets and said, "You don't have to share. It's not my business."

Wringing her hands, she said, "My ex left me for a twenty-year-old."

"Your ex is a fool." His grey eyes snapped up to hers, a hint of coldness she almost didn't recognise anymore. A muscle feathered in his jaw. "And you're better off."

Taken aback, Hermione breathed, "Thanks Malfoy."

Realistically, she knew it to be the truth. She had been swept up in Cormac's words, but Hermione was glad she had seen his true colours before she ended up in too deep.

But still…

"He said it was never meant to be a long-term thing. Apparently, he forgot to tell me that."

Malfoy clicked his tongue as he settled onto a bench in the park. Hermione slipped into the seat beside him. "I'm no expert Granger, but you seem more stable than most of the women I know. It sounds to me like your ex just wasn't ready to settle down and he ignored your true value."

Heat flared within her at the words, at the way he slung an arm along the back of the bench, just behind her shoulders.

"Thanks," she said again, casting him a look. "It wasn't really that serious. I'm not pining after him or anything."

"But it still stings."

She sank back against the bench. "Yeah I suppose so."

As he shifted on the bench his thigh grazed her own, and he propped the other ankle across his knee. "Look, Granger. I don't know you that well but one thing I've always known about you is that you don't take shite from anyone. I've always sort of respected that about you." He fell silent, contemplating his words. Her stomach twisted at the admission. "And I know you're not going to let some insecure piece of shit make you feel like less than you are."

Hermione swallowed, emotion welling within her as she sought comfort in the warmth of his presence. She offered him a wry smile. "You're right; I'm not."

His eyes darkened. "Good girl." Just briefly, his arm slid down the bench to curl around her shoulders; he gave her a quick squeeze before retracting his arm. "You're definitely coming out with me tonight."

Thank you so much for all the wonderful feedback on the first chapter. I hope you enjoyed!