The next morning, Draco stood at the counter of Bookity Books, the bookshop in Hogsmeade. As he waited for the witch at the till to ring up his purchases (with many grumbles and glares; it was obvious she recognized him as a Malfoy), he fingered the vial in pocket, beside his moleskin pouch. He knew it would be safer to keep the Felix Felicis in his moleskin pouch, but he wanted to be able to feel it, to know it was there. Draco hadn't given in to his urge to sip the potion, but he kept it with him in case he needed a dose of good luck.

Once he had paid for his books, he politely asked the witch if he could read near the back of the store, since he was waiting for someone. After gazing at him suspiciously, the witch nodded briefly and turned away with a sniff.

"Thank you," Draco said gratefully, making himself comfy on a chair near the children's section. He checked his watch; it was half-past nine. He hoped Hermione wouldn't wait til the end of the day before dropping by the bookstore – but he was relatively certain that she would visit the shop, even if he had to wait all day.

The minutes crept by, and the hours. Various students would come and browse through the shelves, and Draco was tempted to ask them if they knew where Hermione was, but he always held himself back. He was also tempted to have just a drop from the vial that felt like it was burning a hole through his pocket, begging to be noticed, but he resisted. He wanted to do this on his own, without the help of a luck potion.

Finally, at quarter to twelve, Draco heard Hermione's voice. "Good morning, Margaret! Lovely day, isn't it? Cold but not wet, at least!" Her voice was coming closer, and Draco sat up straighter in his chair.

"I wouldn't go back there if I were you, Ms. Granger, there's someone there–"

"Draco!" Hermione stopped still as she rounded the corner.

Draco stood up and grinned, relieved to find no traces of reluctance or dislike amidst her expressions of happiness and surprise. He thought she looked cute, her nose and cheeks reddened by the cold.

"Hey, Hermione." There, he'd said it. He'd said her name.

"This is a surprise," she said, moving a little closer. "Or maybe it isn't. We tend to run into each other a lot."

"No surprise," he smiled, trying to hide his nervousness. His right hand went into his pocket, touching the vial, making sure it was still there. "Potter and Weasley said you were coming to Hogsmeade this weekend, so I decided to look for you."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "You were waiting for me here?"

"Looks like I was right to."

She laughed. "I suppose everyone knows I can't pass up a visit to the bookshop."

"Is there anything in particular you're looking for?" Draco asked, wanting to ask her to the Three Broomsticks but not wanting to rush her out of the shop.

"No, I'm just browsing. Harry and Ron say I've got enough books to make a forest, and I hate to admit it, but they're right." She chuckled ruefully. "So I've started depending on the library at Hogwarts for my light reading. Wizarding history is just as fascinating as Muggle fantasy."

"We've got a huge library at the Manor. I'll trade you wizarding history for Muggle literature," he offered. "I've even got some memoirs from my great great great great ancestors. In exchange, you can give me... Sherlock Holmes mysteries."

Hermione smiled. "That hardly sounds like a fair trade, but I'm not going to complain!" She glanced at the two books he had bought. "Your library is full of books, but you can't find anything to read?"

"It's severely lacking in the Muggle Studies section," Draco explained, showing her the titles. "Don't want any future generations making the same mistake my ancestors did." He took a deep breath. "Now that our barter is settled, are you free for lunch?" He thought he sounded a bit too hopeful to be casual, but Hermione just nodded.

"Normally I'd eat with Ginny and her friends, but Ginny still hasn't quite forgiven me for last weekend," she laughed. "Seeing you here in Hogsmeade will probably make her angrier, but I'm quite beyond caring. She can be as immature as she likes."

They began to slowly head towards the entrance of the store. "I rather think you all have a legitimate excuse to hate me," Draco admitted. "Perhaps more you and Potter and Weasley than Ginny, but I'd probably hate myself, if I were her."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "We all hated you before. But you're not who you were, and if she can't see that, it's her loss."

Draco could only look at her in amazement. He felt a sense of euphoria – almost like he was on the Felix Felicis, but he knew he wasn't. It was all because of Hermione.

They passed the witch at the till, who was shooting Draco suspicious glares. "A word, Ms. Granger?" she asked.

"Of course," Hermione said, looking apologetically at Draco. "Can you wait outside?"

Draco shrugged and went outside. He wrapped his cloak around himself, feeling the crisp Scottish air bite into his skin. It was a lot colder than London. He didn't have to wait long before Hermione came bursting out, muttering furiously under her breath.

"Of all the nerve!" He heard her say as she stormed past him, motioning for him to follow. "No trust – no second chances – as if no one ever changes – and as if I can't take care of myself! Closed-minded cow!"

"Was there a problem?" Draco frowned, trying to keep up with her.

"She thought I was under the Imperius," Hermione said scornfully, "since she heard that you used it on Madame Rosmerta."

Draco abruptly stopped walking, feeling a chill run down his back, one that had nothing to do with the weather. That was what everyone thought of him. They would never forgive him. Why did Hermione trust him? Maybe she didn't, maybe this was all for nothing.

"I told her, of course, to keep her nose out of my business or I'd take my business to another book– Draco?" Hermione turned around, having just realized that he had stopped following her. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, what now?" she asked, exasperated. She walked back to him and tugged on his arm. "It's not like neither of us don't know what others say. Look, whatever it is – if you're having self-doubts – you can have them after lunch. I'm starved."

He didn't budge. "They all hate me."

"Of course they do – they don't know you! And they don't matter! Your parents don't hate you. Dumbledore and Snape didn't hate you. I don't hate you, and Harry and Ron don't hate you." She stepped a little closer, holding his hand instead of pulling his arm. "As long as you don't hate yourself, you'll be fine."

Draco wondered what he had done to deserve a friend like Hermione. She was worth a thousand other friends. He knew he had to do it, he had to ask her, he couldn't imagine not seeing her every weekend. His parents wanted him to marry a Greengrass, and while he wasn't thinking of marriage yet, he knew that Daphne and Astoria were nothing to Hermione. He had to see where this road would lead.

"Hermione–" He gripped her hand tighter; whether it was for comfort or to prevent her from running away, he didn't know. He couldn't look at her, so he directed the rest of his speech to the ground. "Can... Can we – I mean, if you're not busy, and if you want to..." Draco took a deep breath. "Do you want to do something next weekend? With me, I mean. I was thinking, instead of just bumping into each other, maybe we could plan it."

He was a bumbling idiot, he decided. Even Longbottom would have been more graceful in asking a girl out on a date. Feeling foolish, Draco tried to extricate his hand from hers, but Hermione held fast.

"I'd love that," she said honestly, and Draco raised his eyes to look at her. She was closer than he had expected, and his breath caught in his throat. It was too soon to kiss her, but it was something Draco looked forward to doing very much.

She smiled at him, and he grinned back. They resumed their walk to the Three Broomsticks, hand in hand.

"I've already made a revision schedule for the NEWTs," Hermione said. "A lot of my weekends aren't quite as free as they used to be. I can give you a copy, if you'd like. I do have a free weekend next weekend– I was thinking of going to Cardiff on Saturday for an exhibition on the history of Potions-making, particularly the non-Healing potions. Would you like to come?"

"Sure. I haven't been to Cardiff since Father took me with him on a business trip when I was ten." It was on the tip of his tongue to say that the NEWTs were months away, but if Hermione was anything like himself (and Draco knew she was much, much worse) she would have started studying ages ago. An idea struck him. "Hermione, do you think – I mean, if it's not too much trouble... I wouldn't want to be in your way or to inconvenience you or anything, but I was thinking..." She waited patiently as he struggled with the half-formed idea in his head. "Can I study with you sometime?" he finally blurted out.

Hermione looked up at him, surprised. "Study for the NEWTs?"

Draco nodded, looking slightly embarrassed. He unconsciously tightened his grip on Hermione's hand. "It's just... I feel like I'm forgetting. Or at least, that I'm not learning. I know I'll never get the chance to take the NEWTs, but if I can at least study, it'll keep me from feeling stupid."

"I'd love a study partner," she said with a smirk, "but I warn you, not many can keep up with me."

He smirked back, pleased with her acquiescence. "We'll see about that."

They reached the Three Broomsticks, discussing the best methods to study. Draco felt alive, alert, like his brain was finally awake again. He hadn't realized just how much he had missed school. He ignored the dirty looks, and hid his grin as Hermione shot her own glares at the other students. The hardest person to face was Madame Rosmerta. She, who had always been so friendly with the students, gazed at him with a look so full of distrust and disappointment that Draco couldn't take it. He asked to speak to her, with Hermione by his side since he knew she would never consent to be alone with him. Maybe it was the way his voice broke when he apologized, or the look in his eyes when he remembered just how desperate and terrified he had been, or the fact that he looked more like the young man he was, rather than a haughty, spoiled brat that softened the witch up a bit. She would never forgive him, never trust him, but she grudgingly acknowledged that he did what he thought was best, and with scum like that for parents, she could hardly blame him.

Draco wanted to defend his parents, but Hermione's grip on his arm stopped him. "Thanks for your time, Madame Rosmerta," she said. "Draco and I will go back to our lunch." Draco had forgotten how hungry she was when he went to talk to the proprietress.

"If there's anything I can do for you," he added eagerly, wishing there was a way to atone for his crimes, "please owl me. If you ever need help around the bar, I could learn, or if you need..." He was about to say money, but he could see that the idea wouldn't sit well with Rosmerta, who took pride in her successful pub. "If you need anything at all, just let me know." He had no idea why he was offering – it surprised even himself – all he knew was that he was really sorry, and that this was the only way to make up for things.

Rosmerta waved him away. "Just go back to your table," she frowned. "And don't come back here unless you've got Ms. Granger here with you. If I see you here alone..." She left the threat hanging, and Draco backed away to their table, nodding profusely.

He slid into the seat next to Hermione, and she smiled at him. "That was good, Draco."

"Wasn't easy." His heart was still beating rapidly, and he wiped some sweat from his brow.

"That's why it's so good."

They placed their lunch orders, and spent most of the meal talking about Hermione's plans after getting her NEWTs. It was when she was talking about a possible career in potions research that Draco remembered the bottle in his pocket. He remembered thinking, months ago, that Hermione would be one of the few who could identify the potion on sight. Perhaps it was because he was deliriously happy to be spending time with Hermione, or because she had rubbed off of him over the past few months, but his Slytherin sensibility left him. He took out the bottle and waved it in front of her face.

"Can you recognize this potion?"

Hermione snatched it from his hand and held it up to the light for better inspection. "Draco, where did you get this? It's Felix Felicis, isn't it?"

"Right in one!" He was rather proud that his prediction was right. "My parents gave it for my last birthday, hoping it would bring me some happiness, I think. I didn't know what it was, and at the time I couldn't ask you, but I eventually guessed it was Felix Felicis, so I tried it one day, that day I first met you and Anna in London. And the next time I tried it, it was that day at Regent's Park..." Draco trailed off, noticing Hermione's expression for the first time.

"Go on," she said, narrowing her eyes at him. "So you used it again, and we met up again, and every single time we've met up has been because of that potion?"

"Well," Draco said, stalling for time, "take it as a compliment. I'm lucky to know you."

"A compliment," she replied angrily, "would be you asking me out instead of relying on a stupid potion to make sure we see each other! Did you take any today?"

"No! I swear I didn't. I told you I was waiting for you, and I did ask you out this time. And besides, it's not like you ever invited me!"

"I– but– you–" Hermione spluttered, eventually settling for "that's beside the point."

They both were silent, staring at the remainder of their food on their plates. Draco wasn't quite sure why Hermione was so upset, but he supposed she hated the thought that she'd had no control over her actions, and was guided by the potion. But if anything, he'd been guided by the potion, not her. He knew she would realize it soon enough.

Hermione gave him a sidelong glance. "You really didn't take any today?"

"I told you, no. Why do you keep asking?" Draco asked, irritably.

Again, she looked at him from the corner of her eye and seemed to hesitate before speaking. "I was just thinking that it must be your lucky day," she finally turned to face him, "since I feel inclined to forgive you without much of a fight." She smiled at him tentatively, but he just scoffed.

"I wouldn't call that lucky. I'd call that normal. I don't see why I shouldn't be forgiven, if there is in fact any thing to forgive. So you see, Hermione, you are wrong." He chuckled to himself as she went rigid. It was mean of him, but he rather enjoyed telling her she was wrong.

"You should consider yourself lucky," she snapped.

"But considering myself lucky and being lucky are two totally different things. Which is it, Hermione? You can't be right about both." He was enjoying himself immensely, but knew that he ought to stop soon, before he drove her away. He still planned on spending the rest of the day with her, after all.

"Of course I can."

Draco had just opened his mouth to argue, when she invaded his personal space and kissed him. It was short, unexpected, a bit rough, and over too fast. When she moved away, he leaned forward to return the kiss. She pushed him away gently after a few seconds, and raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

Draco felt a foolish grin spread across his face, and was helpless to stop it. "You're right. Lucky me."

Even hearts like mine get lucky sometimes.

Some Hearts, Carrie Underwood

A/N: Last chapter! Sorry it took a while for us to post it. This fic ends as Draco and Hermione begin another level in their relationship. You can all just imagine what it'll lead to. ;) Thanks so much for sticking with us through the whole story, and for your wonderful reviews! We're glad you enjoyed the fic! :)