Disclaimer: I own nothing regarding Harry Potter or any of the other works of art mentioned in this chapter and hereon.
A/N: This idea has been stewing for a bit and I decided that even if the updates are sporatic someone out there might like to read them and I should not prevent that =]
Draco Malfoy was seated in an odd muggle contraption, it was made of a very hard plastic, quite uncomfortable, and it appeared to be a chair with a desk top attached, although it was not an entire desk, hardly enough for one person to take notes on.
There were several round metal bars connecting the chair and the desk, even one metal bar on the right side ensuring that the occupant had to slide into the seat from the left side; underneath the chair there was a small metal basket for which school books could be placed. The chair part was a deep blue color and the desk top was a pale beige.
All in all it was a very standard school desk, but Draco Malfoy had never encountered such a desk, he had mixed feelings about it, it did look impossibly sturdy, but still, what if it did more than a chair was necessarily entitled to do...what he did not know, hence his discomfort. Adding to the mixture was the multitude of muggle students nonchalantly occupying the other twenty some odd desks in the medium sized class room, okay, so perhaps multitude was a bit of an exaggeration. The point is that he was greatly outnumbered and acutely aware of it.
Many were quietly chatting with their neighbor, some were reading, others were eating some in between class snacks, and a select few were sitting silently. Despite the neutral environment of the room Malfoy was nervous. His skin was crawling in the muggle clothes we was wearing; a simple black button down collared shirt and a part of regular jeans.
Essentially muggle clothes did not differ too greatly from wizarding garb, after all wizards and humans share the majority of physical attributes so it only makes sense that their clothes are similar. Perhaps the major grievance he was facing was the quality of cloth; jeans were rather coarse and his shirt was a far cry from the silk he was used to wearing. That and his robe. He was explicitly told that under no circumstances was he allowed to wander around in a robe; muggles did not approve of such garb, which he felt was a little prejudiced but considering his life a whole he never had the right to complain about people being prejudiced towards him. He never considered that he was more upset by the fact that his new status in the world was middle class at best, resulting in middle class accommodations.
A short gwaff was heard somewhere near the front of the classroom as a beefy man rolled his eyes at whatever his smaller feminine counterpart was saying. It was a normal occurance; witches always said ridiculous things, but he was still unaccustomed to the stark similarities between muggles and wizards.
Up to this point in his life he had never once been fully submerged in such a purely muggle situation, it is no wonder he was unsure of himself, there were not even mudbloods around, at least they knew he was a powerful wizard, but these muggles around him did not seem to care who or what he was. It was an odd experience to be 'uninteresting' to the general public, but perhaps Draco just didn't know the feeling of blending in.
All through school, Voldemort's second rise, and then his fathers subsequent rise to power and madness Draco always had attention directed at him, be it envious or hated. A small part of him, his ego we presume, missed that attention. But unless he felt like stupidly drawing their simple and moronic muggle attention to him in what would probably be considered a rude and unseemly manner he would just have to deal with their ignorance. He truly did not feel like making any more enemies, and though he doubted their puny muggle powers posed any threat to him, he did not feel like causing problems at the moment.
That, and how he performed in the muggle submersion program these next few 'semesters' would literally decide if he were to be subjected to Azkaban or cleared of his crimes against the wizarding world.
His icy gray eyes subconsciously drifted over the other occupants of the classroom as his thoughts carried him far away. A small frown pulling his pale pink lips down, almost imperceptibly so.
Voldemort had been killed in what was thought to be the final battle that had taken place his seventh year at Hogwarts by Harry Potter. The death eaters somehow terribly underestimated the inhabitants of Hogwarts and indeed the school itself, they were not even close to winning. The only reason the other side had any casualty was because one curse from a death eater spelled death. They were instructed before the attack that they were to only use spells that caused irreversible death; the cruciatus curse did not result in death and was thus forbid, as were many other dark curses.
Had the other side not been the chivalrous hero's and good doers of the bunch, had even half of them stooped so low as to use a killing curse, the battle would have lasted less than an hour. As it were things were much longer and bloodier. The 'light' side kept to their morals and, quite honestly, suffered needlessly for it. But whatever helps you sleep at night, right?
When it was blatantly obvious there would be no victory for the dark side, ie: when scar head killed Voldemort, the death eaters all fled. Leaving behind a bloody school ground and a group of elated and distraught victors.
But the war was not so easily decided by one battle, and after their leader's death, Lucius Malfoy stood up and banded together the remnants of the death eaters and they continued on their not so merry way. His father's reign never was quite as magnificent or far reaching as Voldemort's, but the insanity and cruelty were still a key element in their credo as they relentlessly carried on their path of 'righteous' destruction.
It was not until around his twenty-third birthday that the death eaters had officially lost when their headquarters were raided by Aurors. There were many moments of confusion and some accidental friendly fire on the death eaters side; they apparently did not handle surprises well. Hind sight is twenty/twenty.
The majority of death eaters that died in the raid were of his fathers generation, Draco and the rest of his generation 'peacefully' surrendered, ready for their involvement in their parents war to end. Somewhere along the dreary way, probably after endless days and hours of torture endured from older death eaters, did their children realize that this was not the ideal life, and that here in the death eater camp they were treated but a little better than their prisoners. Granted it did not make any of them mudblood supporters, it simply made Draco and some of his peers stumble across the idea that perhaps this was not the preferred manner of life's daily operations.
After the war ended and the mudblood lovers, excuse me, muggle born supporters, triumphed Draco knew he stood little chance of denying his involvement with the death eaters considering whose son he was. It took a year before the courts got around to processing his case, they were more concerned with debilitating those survivors of his fathers generation and ideals, and smartly he denied nothing but promoted the fact that many of his actions were performed under duress. The common knowledge that Lucius Malfoy had killed his wife when she defied him only strengthened the courts belief that Draco Malfoy was forcefully threatened to support the death eaters regardless of his personal beliefs.
Many of his once fellow school peers were highly outraged at the ruling; as blinded by their prejudiced as he had been his whole life, but the courts did nothing to ease their qualms. Simply because he was the son of the man who ran the whole deal did not mean he was as big a driving force as his father had been, they said.
So in the spirit of being duly fair the court offered him an ultimatum, enter the 'muggle immersion' program and prove that he could willfully and easily coexist with muggles and muggle born witches long enough to attain a muggle degree from a university, anywhere from two to five years depending on the degree and crimes committed, and be cleared of all charges, or serve one month in Azkaban for every charge brought against him.
When the total number of charges surpassed fifteen Draco had already made his mind up. It was rumored that six months in Azkaban would have a prisoners grasp on reality slipping, a year would result in total insanity, so it was best not to risk it.
He would rather wallow around in non-magical filth for a couple of years in exchange for his sanity, it seemed a fair trade. There were many down sides to the ultimatum, the biggest being the loss of his wand. It possibly bordered on cruel to take a pure blooded wizard's wand away from him in any situation, especially for such an extended amount of time, but the ministry was not willing to risk the lives of innocent muggles if the wizard did indeed turnout to be like their predecessors.
And so sat Draco Malfoy in a muggle classroom, clothed in muggle garb, wandless, and very much apprehensive of the next four years of his life, his degree of choice being Literature. It suited his sentencing terms and it was a solitary action, reading. Truthfully he felt that despite it being muggle literature it would be much easier to drop off into fictional worlds than deal with his all too real crumbling and decaying one.
The ministry provided him with room and board and a small stipend to get by with. But other than that he was on his own in the wide, wide world of muggles. It all seemed very generous but upon closer inspection he could feel the magical wards on his small loft and even on his money; they would know when he was home and what he spent his money on. He would even hazard to say there was a tracking spell on him, they would be stupid not to.
The ministry told him that there would be someone watching him and monitoring his activities on top of the wards, but he was not informed of how often, how closely, and if they would or even could interact with him. One officer of the ministry hinted that he would have some resources available to make his adaptation smoother but it was quickly glossed over and not mentioned again.
The door to the classroom snapped open instantly focusing his mind to the present as a young professor, around the age of 25 walked in. She had curly brown hair that was pulled into a high pony tail and a pair of reading glasses on her small nose. She was smartly dressed in a lilac blouse and a black pencil skirt, her pantyhose encased legs led down to feet enclosed in black high heels, she had a no nonsense vibe about her.
The majority students in the room seemed unfazed by her, most had her before and knew that despite her age she was wickedly smart teacher that required only the best from her students. She was also the only teacher for several of the classes required for a degree in Literature so it was best not to piss her off because they would be seeing her again.
A few freshman seemed a little apprehensive at having such a young teacher but only one blonde haired student in the class seemed to be having a major issue with the teacher, but it was for reasons purely nonacademic. Poor Draco Malfoy was close to having a heart attack as his brain tried to process this new development. The only indication of his inner turmoil was his eyes widening a fraction and his lips setting in a firm line.
"Good morning class, I am Hermione Granger. You may call me a variety of names but they must be politically correct when in the classroom, off campus I truly do not care" Her voice was crisp and confident, it was voice he had not heard in seven years. This got a chuckle out of some of her repeat students and the few who were new simply gaped at her, Draco was unsure if her voice was comforting or intimidating because of its familiarity.
"I see we have a few new students joining us this semester," her dark brown eyes zeroed in on Draco first and then slowly fixed on the other new students, the pleasant, professional smile never leaving her youthful face, "I am advising you now to make friends with those who have had me before, this class will not be easy by any means and while those who have had me before do not know exactly what to expect they will have some basic knowledge on how I and the class operate."
She paced back and forth as she spoke to the class, her high heels clicking audibly and her pony tail swaying in rhythm. "I will tell you a little about myself, for formalities sake, and then we can get this semester under way."
"I have a bachelors and masters degree in Literature with a heavy emphasis on language and composition, I received my bachelors at the age of 20 and my masters at 22, both from the Oxford University, and directly after that I was given a job here, replacing my mentor after his retirement, this is the beginning of my third year of teaching."
This information was dispersed in an informative manner. No trace of gloating or ego could be found in her voice. They were simply facts of life, facts of Hermione's life, and facts of the school's action.
"That being said, a good chunk of you should have already taken this class," she said shooting a look to a cluster of older looking students, who had the good sense to look sheepish "the rest of you probably should have waited another semester. This is an advanced language and composition class, APLC, for short and generally taken your sophomore year. But I can only tell a select few of you what classes you should take and when." She received a few smiles from students Draco assumed she advised. He briefly wondered if she would have to be his adviser as well before focusing on what she was saying.
Her pacing had stopped and she turned to face the class. "Your first assignment is to justify your existence, it must at least be two pages long. Since this is the first assignment I will be kind about the grammar issues, this is more focused on the thesis anyway. There are a few rules however."
"You cannot justify your existence on the existence of others, religions, or philosophies. Neither your significant other nor your god and or philosophies are plausible reasons to exist. And politics are so convoluted and corrupt I pray you not base your existence off of them, if you insist upon it I will have to excuse you from this class." She said smiling and not at all like she had just turned this already hard assignment into a down right difficult one.
Ignoring the slightly baffled looks of her students she continued.
"Other than that I do not care if your reason to exist is to skinny dip in every major body of water in the world, or to taste every type of chocolate available in Britain. The purpose of this assignment is to kick start your brain into thinking abstractly and writing linearly, it will be painful and frustrating but so is life, and everyone here seems to cope okay with that." a brief flicker of her gaze was directed at Draco, sending a shiver down his spine. Oh, the implications.
"This assignment is due one week from now. You must score an eighty percent in order to justify your existence. Are there any questions?" She ended with a kind smile, an expectant gleam in her eyes as though she was greatly looking forward to grading the assignment.
A small pale hand from some black haired girl in the middle row shot up with remarkable speed, irrationally the scene before him flickered back to an eleven year old Hermione doing the same thing all those years ago.
Hermione nodded in acknowledgment "What does this have to do with language and composition?" she all but squeaked, quickly pulling her hand back down. The squeak broke the illusion of parallel times as they merged back into the present, never in his entire life had he heard the Gryffindor squeak, shriek in anger, yes, squeak in fear, no.
A happy smile crossed their teacher's face, she apparently loved explaining things, although that wasn't remotely new. But the fact that somethings never do change brought a small twitch that his version of a smile to Draco's face, which promptly fell into a frown when her chocolate brown eyes fixed on him while she answered the girls question. "This class is to help students master language and composition, we will focus on the two parts separately and then hopefully after we have a good grasp on both we will combine them and create masterpieces. The first section will focus on composition and it will be explored through creating several essays, this is the first essay."
"This particular prompt was selected because a major part of essays and compositions deal with logic and rhetoric. Justifying your existence solely with your own devices is one of those prompts that will force you to think. After all, how many twenty-somethings out there in the world really know why they continue to exist and live life? Even though writing is a solitary action it has many positive externalities, ranging from self confidence in your abilities to providing a way to deal with stress and challenging questions in life, but you can do none of those things unless you know how to think for yourself and reach your own conclusions confidently."
Her eyes slowly slid from Draco's face back to a neutral spot in the class. Well at least he knew why the ministry employed this program, it was a roundabout way to deprogram his upbringing and that of other pure bloods.
"Once you can confidently create and support your own conclusions the only thing you have to do is express them correctly through language. The two subjects over lap frequently but they are individually and equally important to a successful work of art." There was a clinical, logical approach to her answers but the way she spoke and moved made it appear less so and more indulgent. Hermione Granger was a living version of language and composition. Rhetoric and logic seeping from her very existence. Draco was pulled from his musings by her clear voice.
"Any other questions?" She asked the class with a gentle smile. After silence held for a couple seconds she dismissed her students instructing them to pick up a syllabus on the way out and use whatever time they had left to brainstorm their existence.
Draco had gathered what few belongings he had; a notebook, some pens, and his schedule, and was slowly making his way towards the door while the rest of his classmates filed out. "Mr. Malfoy, may I speak to you for a second?" a voice called from a few feet away.
His stomach did an unhealthy flip as he turned to face a person he had tortured for years and fought against every step of the way.
He had actually liked the class thus far, it was a no-brainer that Granger would make a great teacher, he was just hoping to avoid any personal contact with people and remnants of his past, for some rather obvious reasons.
As the last of his new peers left the class room, the door swinging shut audibly, he came to stand stiffly in front of Hermione Granger, his icy eyes focused on a black mark on the floor, her high heels only visible in his peripheral. They were black closed toe shoes with about a three inch heel and a small strap across the ankle; overall they were quite tasteful, which is something he never thought Granger would have.
His face was impassive and possibly bored looking as he stared at the offending floor, any other person would have appeared nervous. Draco Malfoy, never truly appearing as he felt, gave off more of a defiant air. A smile touched Hermione's lips as she surveyed her former classmate and enemy, only Malfoy could pull off such a contrasting composition of feelings and physical expression.
Although they did not aid much when she knew him well enough to see right through his act. They had spent seven years getting to know the uglier sides of their own personalities and the other's. It could be argued that such a hateful relationship leads to more knowledge of the other than a peaceful one would have.
A light pressure on his arm had his eyes shooting towards the cause, a small white hand with delicate fingers were resting on his arm, he followed the offending appendage up to the body and then the face it belonged to. Hermione Granger was touching him, kindly, with an understanding look in her dark brown eyes and a small pout on her glossed lips. It was the first physical contact he had had in several years.
His eyes must have given away his current panic mode, Granger would never touch him willingly, perhaps this was Azkaban after all and he was hallucinating, although he hadn't the faintest idea as to why he would hallucinate about the mudblood. "Mr. Malfoy, many things have changed since we last saw each other." She said calmly removing her hand from his arm, eyes still compassionate but voice guarded. She was not expecting Draco Malfoy to be kind in return, it was simply not how the world worked.
He just gave her a calculating look, a small scowl on his face, but his silence allowed her to continue. " I haven't stepped foot in the wizarding world since that day in our seventh year, I only have second hand knowledge of what transpired over the last couple years. It is a bit of a coincident that you were placed in this class but only a small one. I was a teacher here before the ministry approached me with the program and requested my compliance, I agreed mostly because I felt that the chances of having any one from the wizarding world choose a Literature degree were slim to none. The idea of a death eater being interested in muggle books was a little beyond my powers of imagination." Although it seemed as though the information was personal her delivery was clinical, it appeared Granger had lost some of her emotional qualities.
"And the others?" He asked with a sharp tone, but all she did was look at him confused, "The other programs available. It seems improbable that all the courses offered in the recompense are taught by those familiar with the wizarding world and what happened therein." He clarified his tone a bit softer, bordering on polite, but still nowhere close.
A look of comprehension dawned on her young face. "You are actually quite lucky Mr. Malfoy, all the other courses are taught by muggle professors, and those wizards and witches enrolled in the programs are tracked and assisted by aurors from the ministry. For obvious reasons the ministry felt that I would be qualified to track and protect all parties involved without the aid of an auror." The entire time her voice was polite and encouraging, but it never strayed from her teaching voice. She was not emotionally invested in the conversation, he thought mildly. It was an interesting change not to be yelled at by the rash Gryffindor.
This rather odd and understanding version of Hermione was one he never really wished to encounter, it made her too much like a real person, and not just a mudblood. But then again perhaps his views on mudbloods had imperceptibly changed after watching his father literally ascend into madness in his fight against impurity. He had honestly not sat down and thought about it. Survival mode is not conducive to deep pondering thoughts.
"I can see you are uncomfortable, so I will make this quick. Here are your books for this class and your others, I have a copy of your schedule and your apartment key. In theory I am supposed to check on you regularly this first semester but I honestly do not feel like it so, if it is okay with you, we will meet once a week after class for an hour and talk about everything. Sound okay?" She said all of this as she literally summonsed her wand out of thin air and then summoned his books. He paid more attention to her actions than her words.
"I thought you said you left the wizarding world behind Granger." He said accusingly, the sight of Hermione Granger with a wand was still something to be alarmed about in his mind.
A Cheshire smile twisted her lips up in a rather attractive, rather Slytherin, way as she replied "Mr. Malfoy, I justify my existence through the pursuit of knowledge, I have turned my back on a society, not its knowledge, all forms of knowledge should be revered." Had he not known the mudblood for years he would have thought she almost sounded and looked like a scheming cat.
"Even dark arts?" He snidely replied before remembering that the fate of his future literally depended on how well Hermione Granger thought he adjusted to the muggle world. It appeared she still had the effect of making him say things he'd rather not, ah chemistry, volatile chemistry.
Her eyes darkened a little and the smile disappeared as she told him seriously "Knowledge is a neutral object, it is the wielder who decides if it will be put to good or evil means. I would have thought that you of all people knew that." Her voice was level and her words unrushed, a few more moments of direct eye contact and she blinked and shook her head as if to clear her thoughts.
"You are dismissed, Mr. Malfoy. Do try not to be late to your next class." Her voice was back to the professional professor and her face was impassively polite. Malfoy gave a sharp nod before gathering his things and leaving the classroom in a flourish, his robe would be billowing had he been allowed to wear one.
As they parted ways the resounding thought of "well that wasn't too bad" floated through their minds.
"The very purpose of existence is to reconcile the glowing opinion we hold of ourselves with the appalling things that other people think about us."- Quentin Crisp, English Author, 1908-1999