Takes one to know one
You're like a mirror, reflecting me
Takes one to know one, so take it from me.
You have to be a lonely person to recognize another.
You have to be someone who has already faced their inner demons to recognize another person who's facing the same battle.
You have to be someone who's already fallen to the mighty claws of sorrow to recognize another who's looking at the deep end.
Draco Malfoy, who had already been face-to-face with emptiness, knew Hermione Granger was falling apart.
He didn't use to pay attention to her. She didn't use to pay attention to him. It was a little over a year since he left the Dark Lord army to be part of the Order, under Harry Potter's protection, and since then, all Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger have exchanged were barely there nods when they passed each other in the halls. Or some words at the dining table. Sometimes, when they both were alone in the same room, she would say something about some mission. Or about the weather. Or about the front page of the Daily Prophet. And he would be polite and answer her, as he should be, but soon he would stop talking when the awkwardness of whom they were – old school rivals/enemies – would appear.
After all, they were strangers. Strangers with a mutual past, a present that was falling apart, and a future that might not exist.
But then, one night when his failure at falling asleep ate at him, making him wander around through Grimmauld Place, he found her sitting in the living room, alone, with only a book open on her bent knees, and a vacant expression on her face; one that showed Hermione Granger carried a burden much heavier than she could bear.
And he recognized it. He saw in her the same deep end he almost visited the year before.
She was falling. She was broken. And she was alone.
But he turned away from the living room, he turned away from the door, turned away from her, without courage or any pretence that he could say anything that could help her. She was Hermione Granger, after all. She was part of the Golden Trio. She was, supposedly, strong and unbreakable. And he was Draco Malfoy. The one everybody was still suspicious about. The one with the dark mark. The one who almost killed Dumbledore. The one who fought beside the Death Eaters for years before realizing his side would not win. He was the boy who called Hermione Granger mudblood for years, spitting the words like they were arrows full of poison.
So he didn't step into the living room. He didn't ask if she was alright. He went back to his own room, facing the ceiling while sleep evaded him like smoke passing through his fingers.
But the next day, even though he didn't mean it, his eyes followed her. She was energetic, bossy, intelligent and fast. She gave advice to Potter during breakfast, corrected Weasley while planning some mission, argued with Longbottom about the amount of supplies they needed to stock Headquarters. She carried piles of books from one side to another, laughed at a joke Ginny Weasley made, asked Lavender if she was feeling alright. She was the bond connecting them all. The person they could always count on. She was their pillar.
But no one noticed the pillar was falling apart.
Its corners shattering, the columns crumbling.
He saw.
But he said nothing.
And the next night, he went downstairs and saw her again, in the same chair, a book open on her lap, the vacant expression on her face. And again, he didn't enter the room. He didn't ask if she was okay.
She was Hermione Granger. He was Draco Malfoy.
For days and nights, he watched her without being noticed, following her with his eyes. Her smile always warm to her friends. Her quick hands bandaging someone. Her hair that kept falling from the tight bun she would put it with her wand. The little crinkle on her forehead when she was reading. And the look, lost and petrified, that marked her face every time he found her sitting on that chair in front of the fireplace.
She went high just to fall abruptly, no one to break the fall.
But he said nothing. He didn't ask if she was alright.
She was Hermione Granger. He was Draco Malfoy.
Until one night, while he spied on her through the door left ajar, she plummeted. That was it. A hiccup took form somewhere, escaping through her lips and the tears burst from her eyes, crossing her face. She bent over herself. The book fell. She put her hands in her mouth, to stop the sound from her pain to be heard all over the house. She shattered and crumbled and fell.
He said nothing. He didn't ask if she was alright.
But this time, he entered the room and sat on the chair right in front of her. She stared at him, her eyes big and drenched in tears, her hands on her mouth, the hiccups breaking her chest.
"Malfoy…"
"It will never stop, Granger." His voice was low and hoarse and felt strange there, the place where she sat in silence for so many times. "The hole you carry in your chest. It will grow and grow and consume you. Until the day there will be nothing left to consume."
She dried her tears with the back of her hands, took a deep breath and sat straight on her chair.
"I have no idea what you are talking about, Malfoy."
"The war. The losses. All the wounded people that come and go from this house every day. All the problems everyone expects you solve. All the sorrow that comes in but never out. One day, you won't be able to absorb it all, and it will be too late to close the hole in your chest."
When he stared at her, she turned her face to the fireplace, her dried tear tracks shining with the light of fire.
"They need me."
"They are used to needing you, it's different."
"I do what I have to do, Malfoy."
"Yes, you do. You carry the world on your shoulders and one day, your legs will break from the weight. You are smart, Granger, you know what I'm saying."
She looked at his through her damp eyelashes, a tired smile appearing on her face.
"You think I'm smart?"
He rolled his eyes.
"It hurts to admit, Granger, but you are. And you're so smart you think it's your job to solve all the problems in the world, bear all the pain from the wounded, bear all the losses. They will still be there, you know? These friends of yours. Even when you can't help them. So, don't push yourself too hard. You'll fall."
She didn't say anything after that and both fell into a silence only broken by the sound of the fire burning and their breathing.
"What… what do you suggest I do, then?"
He took a deep breath, looking at his own hands, as if he was deciding how he would answer.
"Live. This is a war. Tomorrow you and I might be dead."
"Very inspiring, Malfoy."
"Someone needs to be bloody realist at this house, you know. "
Hermione rested her head on the back of her chair and looked at him. And Draco asked himself if she saw in him the same he saw in her. All the loneliness in their chests, hidden from the world.
"That's a very smart advice, Malfoy. It seems you've been thinking about it for some time already."
He squinted his eyes at her, and crossed his legs at the ankles.
"Don't infatuate yourself, Granger. Not everybody in this house needs you. I'm just… willing to share my wisdom with my fellow Order members."
She smiled at him, that big and strange smiled she would show to her friends when they made her happy and Draco rolled his eyes again. She was strange. Bossy. Lonely. Human. And she smiled manically when she was happy. She was beautiful.
And his heart jumped in a strange way when Hermione rested on her chair, opened the book she had picked from the floor and focused on the pages, looking very different from the woman who half an hour ago fell apart in front of him.
"Thank you." He heard she whispering, without looking away from her book.
Draco didn't answer, but stayed there.
She was Hermione Granger. He was Draco Malfoy.
And maybe, they were the same.
-Hey guys! This is my first one-shot and I hope you guys like it! And if you enjoy playlists, I wrote this story listening to Saturn by Sleeping At Last, Theses are the days by Zach Winters and Dust to Dust by The Civil Wars.
Disclaimer: Don't own anything, of course.
(And Juli, thank you for being my particular tumblr...)