Marble Walls by Titangirl797
Nope. Don't own Harry Potter or any of its characters. Jeez, I wanna be JK Rowling!
She sat straight up in bed, unsure as to why she was awake. Sure, she remembered the bad dream she just had, but she felt so alert and…scared? It took her several moments to register that it was still dark out, probably around three in the morning. All of the other people in her dormitory were sound asleep – she heard faint snores coming from Lavender Brown's direction. She rolled her eyes and then stood, slipping her feet into plain white slippers. Grabbing her bathrobe and pulling it tight, she exited her sleeping quarters, careful to tread quietly. She didn't want to wake anyone up, and it's not like she had an Invisibility cloak.
She had just reached the girl's bathroom when she remembered it was out of order until the staff could convince Moaning Myrtle to move back into her original bathroom and to stop terrorizing first year girls when they pop in there before breakfast. Sighing, she wished to heaven that she had the damn Invisibility Cloak. She briefly considered sneaking into the boy's dormitories to get it, but decided it wasn't worth it in the end.
Shuffling quietly, she made it past the snoring Fat Lady, whose head was resting on the frame of her portrait, an empty wine glass dangling from her limp hand. Ah, so she'd been at it with her friend Vi again – as a Prefect, she felt morally obligated to have a talk with Professor McGonagall about the Fat Lady's rather unladylike displays of alcoholism.
The cool hallway made her feel less stuffy and worried (about what? she wondered), but after a minute or two, she was wishing she was near the fire in the Gryffindor common room, or at least that she had bundled up a bit more. It was the middle of November. She was nearing the closest girl's bathroom, on the sixth floor, when she spotted him. It wasn't more than a glimpse, but she saw him alright. He was hidden in an alcove behind a suit of armor, which did and didn't seem like him at the same time. Sure, he was known for running, but he was also known for being dramatic and conspicuous. There was just enough space for one, maybe two people behind that suit of armor, and, abandoning all thoughts of the girl's bathroom, she squeezed herself behind it and sat on the opposite side of the ledge.
He didn't seem too surprised to see her – maybe she, Ron, and Harry had snuck up on him enough times to make it not bother him. A small smirk formed on his lips, frustrating her even though he'd said nothing yet. Then he spoke in his cool drawl that he was so famous for.
"You're breaking curfew, Granger?" he asked, seeming amused. He raised one eyebrow as indication that he was curious. Well, he wasn't going to get what he wanted so easily.
"What are you doing up, Malfoy?" she asked, attempting to put malicious intent in her voice, but she couldn't. He just looked so damn vulnerable. The smirk on his face wasn't even a true Malfoy smirk.
"Quid pro quo," he said, but Hermione could tell that he wanted to add something more to the end of it, but stopped himself. She knew what – what she wanted to know was why.
"I'm going to the bathroom, Malfoy, since the ones in the common room aren't working," she said stuffily, attempting to douse a little 'Holier Than Thou' on the poor kid. She looked at him, hiding her expectancy, as she truly wanted to know why he was awake. Then it hit her that he hadn't actually said a horrible thing to her all night. Was Malfoy alright? She debated checking his temperature, but restrained herself.
Malfoy seemed to struggle with saying whatever he was thinking, but she said nothing. Finally, he admitted, "I like the nighttime. It's great for thinking."
Hermione could concur. The castle was different at night. There was no bustle, no yelling, no random spells going off. The halls were silent, the ghosts were gone, the teachers sometimes patrolled, and even Peeves had swooped off for the night.
"What do you think about?" Hermione asked, curious and thoughtful. A hard glint came into Malfoy's eyes.
"My father," he began hautily, and Hermione hoped to God that he wasn't going to tell her that his father condoned murdering muggleborns in cold blood…again.
"My father expects me to think of the Dark Lord. To think of killing muggles and mudbloods. But I don't. I generally think about the world outside of Hogwarts."
Hermione gaped. What had happened to Malfoy? The once cool and calculating pureblood was deep in thought, allowing Hermione to see a side of Draco Malfoy that she didn't know existed.
"But that's neither here nor there," Malfoy finished, standing, which was difficult in the small alcove. Hermione stood also, which made it strangely cramped in that small niche – a niche just big enough to hide away two very misunderstood souls – one Gryffindor, one Slytherin – for just a few minutes.
Then, the illusion that Gryffindor and Slytherin might have a chance vanished as another, all too real vision filled their sights.
"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Filch asked, stroking Mrs. Norris from her place in his arms, her ugly gray fur bristling. Hermione loathed the cat and had been genuinely glad that it had been petrified in her second year, though she pretended otherwise. She watched Malfoy from the corner of her eye, deciding to follow his lead.
"Mr. Filch, I was just telling Granger here that she should be in her common room, not roaming the castle at night."
Filch seemed surprised and suspicious, but he let it pass for the moment. Sadly, he was not going to let Hermione and Malfoy pass.
"You're still out of bed, wandering the school at night, Mr. Malfoy. Oh, when Snape hears of this…"
Hermione saw hesitancy in Malfoy's face for a moment – just a spark – before it vanished, leaving nothing but a cool trace of indifference and a condescending sneer.
"I don't recommend you bring this up to Snape, Filch," Malfoy muttered in a low voice, and the man seemed appalled, but before he could say anything, Malfoy continued. "If you do, I believe that both he and my father will have something to say about your position here at Hogwarts and the unbeneficial nature of having a Squib living near the next generation of great witches and wizards."
Both Hermione and Filch were taken aback. Here Malfoy was, playing a most intricate game of words, one that Hermione excelled at. She'd never really considered how alike the two were, not only due to their mutual hatred (was it hatred?) but to their differing Houses. She just assumed that Gryffindors and Slytherins didn't have all that much in common. Filch stepped back, allowing both Hermione and Malfoy to exit the small niche, and to stand up straight in the dark hallway of the school. Filch looked from Hermione to Malfoy, and only said, "Back to your common rooms!" before storming away, Mrs. Norris still clasped in his spindly arms. Once he was out of sight, Hermione turned to the stone-faced boy. "How the hell did you do that?"
"Do what?" Malfoy asked lazily, his eyes searching the Gryffindor's face and a small smile – not a smirk – lolling out on his face. Hermione was struck, at that moment, by how handsome the Slytherin was. She had never really looked at him, seen his pale skin, deep gray eyes, and never thought of his white-blond hair as anything but greasy. She looked; his hair looked clean, but shiny.
It took several moments to realize that a) Malfoy had asked her a question and b) she was staring at a boy whom she previously hated.
She rolled her eyes, deciding not to answer his question. She raised her eyebrows at him and said, with utmost authority, "You should be in bed, Mr. Malfoy." She almost giggled – a very unHermione-ish thing to do.
"As should you, Miss Granger," he added, smirking at her, adding, "I'm a Prefect too, you know." She smiled at the boy and spoke, watching the look in his eyes. "It's all fun and games now, but tomorrow, we'll be enemies again, won't we?"
Malfoy took a while to answer the simple question that Hermione already knew the answer to. And then he spoke, and she clung to every word.
"I never said we weren't enemies now, so maybe one just needs to catch one's enemy at the appropriate time to see their true nature."
And as she thought back to her first glance of him in the small alcove on the way to the girl's loo, he snuck away, quiet as a whisper, leaving her with just the memory of a smirk and the thought that maybe, just maybe, this boy wasn't a whimpering figure made of stone. Perhaps, he was made of marble, to be crafted in any way seen fit. And she knew, just then, that she wanted him to be crafted for good, to become a beautiful sculpture instead of a cool marble wall.
So, here I am at the end of another oneshot. I hope that you enjoyed it! And yes, I am also surprised that it wasn't a Teen Titans oneshot, but a girl's gotta have other interests, ya know?
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Thank you, Titangirl797