The second part, a little longer that the first.

Hope you like it.

When next they saw each other, things were much the same, but Draco wasn't injured this time, and Hermione silently thanked God for it, he didn't deserve to be hurt constantly, she'd always liked to think that those who where on the 'good' side got rewarded for it, but Draco's reward seemed to be secrecy, suspicion, and terrible wounds.

She brought him some supper, and once he'd finished she picked up her novel that was still on the nightstand where he'd left it weeks ago and gave him a cold glare, "I don't like people folding the pages of my books." It was then he noticed the black tassel of a bookmark dangling from between the pages.

He smirked, "whatever, Granger."

And that was when the routine became set in stone.

--

Some six or seven months after this odd relationship started, Hermione was sitting at the kitchen table, having a cup of tea with Molly and Ginny when there was a knock on the front door, and Mrs. Black's voice began to screech, but no one paid her any attention anymore, though they still hadn't found a way to shut her up.

She saw Ron walking down the hall to see who was there, and turned back to Ginny to reply to the question the younger girl has just asked when Ron called out, "it's Malfoy!" she put down her cup and hurried out of the kitchen, getting to the front door just after Harry.

Draco stood on the doorstep, left arm hanging limp at his side, blood dripping to the ground from his fingertips, and looking like he could barely stand. "For God's sake let him in!" she snapped, pushing her two friends aside and helping Draco along the hall and into the kitchen, where she sat him in a chair.

"Molly, can you help me fix up his arm?" the woman quickly got up and summoned everything she'd need – bandages, ointments, and an assortment of potions – and set to work on the young man.

While Molly worked, Harry stepped forward, "what happened?" his voice was void of emotion, and his once bright green eyes were now dimmed, he'd been like this for a long while, but Hermione and Ginny hoped and prayed he'd be more of his old self when it was all over.

"What does it matter to you, I'm just here to give you my report." His voice was vicious, and Hermione had learnt this meant he was in pain.

"Was it a raid?" she prompted, her voice calm, and laced with caring, she'd gotten to know him, and how to deal with his different moods and emotions, and the only way to get him to open up was to be soft and gentle, demanding anything when he was upset got you locked out completely.

"Of course it was, Granger." He sneered, but she could hear the slight change in his voice, it was softer, if only by a fraction. He stood, his arm now in a sling, and glared at Harry, "I've got somewhere to be," he pulled out a few crumpled sheets of paper, "here's your precious report, Potter." Without so much as a glare in Hermione's direction he stalked out of the room, a few seconds later Hermione dashed after him while the other's seemingly couldn't have cared less.

"Wait!" she reached out, touching her fingertips to his un-injured shoulder, "can't you just stay a little while, have something to eat or -"

"No," he snapped at her, yanking his shoulder away from her touch, "I have to go."

"Alright, but you're coming straight back here and I'm not letting you leave until I say you're well enough." He glanced back at her look of determination.

"Whatever, Granger." And left.

--

He didn't get back until half past midnight, and the house was as quiet and dark as he would of expected, not even Mrs. Black made a sound as he stepped quietly along the hall and slipped through the kitchen door. He stopped and stared at the sight that greeted him, Hermione was at the table, reading an impossibly thick book, with food laid out in front of her.

"You're back." She closed the book and dumped it on the table, rushing over to him, "you're limping." Her eyes were wide in the dark, and the small flickering light from the candle she'd been reading by lit up her look of concern.

"I'm fine." He muttered, but leant on her anyway, letting her lead him over to the food and sit him down in the chair she had previously occupied, he stabbed the roast chicken she'd already cut up for him and ate it quickly.

When he finished, he voiced the same question he'd asked half a year ago, and never gotten an answer to. "Why are you doing this?"

Soft brown eyes looked straight into his, and her book was abandoned a second time, "well, you're helping us, and…no one else…they just…" she took a deep breath, knowing he would probably take offence, "you risk your life day after day to help us, you put up with Harry and Ron being complete arses to you, and you never blow your cover when the Auras do a raid, you get injured and come back here, stay in that silly little room, give us information that saves lives, then head out again, without anyone so much as offering you a piece of toast. No one in the Order even trusts you, after all you've been through for us, I mean, you didn't want to become a death eater in the first place, and I don't understand why they can't stop suspecting you all the time, and why they can't just be decent." She looked up, and flinched, she'd been prepared to have him glare at her with all the anger and hatred he possessed, but it still hurt.

"So I'm your little Gryffindor charity case, Granger's feeling sorry for the little Slytherin, is it?" he spat at her, leaning forward and narrowing his eyes to grey slits, "makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, Granger, makes you feel better about yourself, mudblood. I don't need pity from you, I don't need anything from you." He hissed the last bit, so close to her he was almost speaking in to her ear.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, "Draco, I…I…" she closed her eyes and sniffed, wiping the tears away with the back of her hand.

"You what? And don't you ever call me by my first name again, filthy little -" he was cut off and his head was turned with the force of her slap, he turned back, ready for her to yell and scream at him, but completely stunned when she threw herself into his chest and sobbed, somehow managing not to hit his broken arm.

"Y-you bastard, you bloody stubborn git!" she cried into his robes, "why do you always have to be such an arse?" she lifted her head and looked into his eyes, "why do I always forgive you for being such an arse?" she rested her head on his shoulder, "you insult me, you insult my friends – you always have. You've never, not even once, called me by my first name, I'm always 'Granger', so you're always 'Malfoy', but…" she continued in a whispering, slight embarrassed voice, "but your name…it…sounds alright."

He reached up to her shoulder and pushed her back just a little so he could see her face, she was blushing. "Granger," he got her attention, his voice softer, "if you hate calling me by my last name, then why do you? And about it sounding alright," he lent down and whispered in her ear, "When you say it, it does."

She shivered, "Draco…?" if his ear hadn't been only inches from her lips he probably wouldn't have heard it.

"Yeah." His breath tickled her earlobe.

"Why…why do you help the Order?" it was the question no one had asked him, when he had first come to the Order one rainy night, Harry had talked to him, and everyone had heard them yelling, but thanks to some charm or another they couldn't make out actual words, but Harry had said Draco would 'be fine for the job', and no one had asked questions, not with the cold expression that had been in those brilliant green eyes.

She could see him stiffen, his jaw clenching slightly, and she waited, not realising that her hand had move to stroke his hair calmingly. Eventually he spoke, "because Voldemort -" he spat the name with such hatred it almost frightened her enough to move away from him, almost, "- ordered that my parents be killed, my father for failing in a mission, and my mother was killed first, Voldemort made my father watch, as an example." His voice was shaking, and something inside Hermione told her to hold him close, so she did.

She shifted toward him and wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her forehead on his un-injured shoulder, and tried to radiate comfort and caring.

"He made sure I was out of the way, sent me off on some menial errand, and told me when I got back that Auras had raided the house and killed them," something that she supposed was meant to be a bitter laugh, but had turned into a half-sob escaped his lips, and she pressed the warmth of her body closer, "but I found out, we still had house-elves, and one of them told me as I was leaving – I didn't want to stay there without my mother, it wasn't the same place without her. I wanted to make him pay for it, my mother didn't even want me – or my father – to be death eaters, she had nothing to do with any of it, but she was still killed. I came to help the Order to get revenge, and some part of me thought it was the right things to do."

Hermione knew he'd just let her in deeper than anyone else, he was telling her things she could heard hurt to think about, things he probably would prefer never to speak of, but he'd always answered her questions, if she asked in the right way, and he wanted her to know, he'd always tell her, and she'd never really thought about it, never realised how significant it was, it had just felt so natural to talk to him, even when he threw in insults here and there.

"But it changed, revenge…revenge became less important…you…you were always there, and every time I told the Order something important, your eyes would light up, and I could see you thinking, forming a plan, using every last thing I'd told you and making it worth something. It started being about that, I'd spy just a little more to see it become important, to see you turn every word I said into some brilliant plan. And then, after…this started, I had a reason to come back, too." He rested his cheek on her head, "it was all about you, I would've died at least twice now if I hadn't been determined to come back here and sit with you, I don't know why, there's something about you, it's safe, and it's warm." He slid his arm around her waist, "do you mind be the centre of a death eater's world, Hermione?"

She gasped, "I…I…Draco," she gave a little smile, she did enjoy saying his name – even though she'd only ever said it three times now – almost as much as she enjoyed hearing him say her name, it was like her name had always been just a word, but he made it something real and living. "I think you've become the centre of my world too. Even when we're all really busy, and Harry's telling me to come up with something quick, I always wonder which of my novels you'll want to read next, and…" she lifted her head to look at him eye-to-eye, then blush returning to her cheeks, "I…" she flicked her gaze to the tabletop, "I came up with a new timetable for the Order, one where'd you'd have to come in at least once a fortnight." She was a little ashamed of herself, planning on re-organizing the whole of the Order just so she could see Draco more often, not that she'd actually proposed the plan to Harry, she just kept it in the top draw of her nightstand, tucked away in her favourite book.

"You do know that is rather…" he smirked, "childish, not to mention selfish, I'd have to go to so much trouble to get here more often." He said jokingly.

She shot him a glare, "I know, it was only an idea."

There were a few long moments of silence, before he spoke, "what are we to each other?"

"I…I'm not sure."

"Something Granger doesn't know, my, my."

"I think…well, it's got to be…"

"What are you mumbling about, Hermione?" he smirked, rather pleased with the smile he received at the sound of her name.

"Love." She said rather bluntly, "it's got to be love. Personally I never really believed in it, I mean, I always thought two people were just compatible, that's all, I never thought it possible for there to be something strong enough to make to people really, truly care for each other and be able to spend the rest of their lives together. And love at first sight, well, that's just rubbish."

"You can believe in magic, but not love?" she nodded, and he gave a snort of laughter, "what a strange witch you are. I always thought love was real, my mother insisted on reading me fairytales every night until I was nine, no matter how many times I told her they were for girls."

She gave a small smile, she could imagine a nine-year-old Draco insisting that fairytales were too girly to be read to him, "I was afraid of love, I heard it was unpredictable, and I've always liked things to be planned out, and how can I plan out my life with something like love hanging around waiting to strike?"

"If this is love, can you plan around it?" his voice was serious, and she could hear his need for her to say she loved him, but if she gave him what he wanted so easily she couldn't be sure herself if it was real, and she needed it to be real, whatever 'it' was.

"I don't know. And the war…you have to promise me something," she held his face in her hands and looked him right in the eye, deadly serious, "don't get yourself killed. We're going to sort everything out when this is over, so you need to stay alive." She reached forward and her lips brushed his.

"Whatever, Granger." He murmured, his lips hair's breath away from hers.