Chapter: The Overman

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"We are always in our own company."

-- Friedrich Nietzsche

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Like every other day, when Hermione arrived home she dropped her bag on the carpeted entryway to her flat by the door. She let loose a great sigh, fisting her hand in her neat hairstyle and loosening the great mass, allowing it to fall in a tangled heap on her shoulders. She caught sight of her face in the mirror and saw that she looked very tired.

And like every other day, she stripped off her robes as she traversed the width of the neat sitting room to her bedroom, kicking off her heeled shoes and setting them in an orderly fashion by her closet. This left her in a respectable skirt and blouse, her panty-hosed feet looking strangely desolate without shoes on the carpet of her bedroom. She went to her dresser.

Like every other day, she opened the dresser. Like every other day, she reached into the drawer and shakily pulled out a large, slightly worn muggle t-shirt. Like every other day, she felt the pressure begin to build behind her eyes. Like every other day, she brought the cloth to her face and breathed.

Ron.

Hermione sat abruptly down on the foot of her bed, her vision blurred as she remembered. The shirt was wrinkled with age and the salt of her own tears.

His scent was fading.

An ashen face and blossom of blood.

Ron had slept in this shirt. Ron had eaten breakfast at her table in this shirt. Ron had made love to her in this shirt. Ron had lived in this shirt.

Hermione closed her eyes and the tears spilled over her eyelashes to track slowly down her cheeks and into the treasured cloth bunched so very close to her.

They all said it was unhealthy, the way she was grieving. She hadn't worked. She hadn't read. She hadn't done anything. She would forget to take care of herself and skip meals, remembering the next day when her stomach felt as if something was gnawing at it from the inside that she needed to eat. She wouldn't sleep, afraid of the nightmares.

But this class, this Ministry ordained task, was making her live. She had to work and research and prepare and be strong so that her once-enemies couldn't detect her weakness. It was exhausting.

Ron's scent was soft and unassuming, shampoo and detergent and sweat and something else distinctly male.

She felt the pain curl in her core and later she couldn't remember how long she sat, still with memories.

Finally, as if muffled through a blanket wrapped around her head, she heard a knock at her bedroom door. It was Ginny's voice telling her she and Harry had come to take her to the Weasley's for supper and she heard the class went well and what was she doing in there?

-

Harry and Ginny frowned at the redness of her eyes but said nothing when she emerged, face washed and hair neat once more, from the bedroom. She was running low on Floo powder so they apparated to the Burrow.

The Weasley family had been forever changed during the war. Molly Weasley greeted their arrival with a smile that did not hide the sadness in her eyes. Arthur maneuvered through the house on his enchanted chair, the stump of his right leg still bandaged even after months of peace. And Fred… Fred never laughed anymore.

That, Hermione thought as she gazed at their drawn faces through the doorway of the Burrow, was what disturbed her the most. It was Fred, once ever the jokester, who now looked morosely down at his plate during dinner. Hermione rather thought he lost half of himself during the war.

She tried not to notice the three empty spaces at the table. Mrs. Weasley still set their places, the napkins white and crisp, the silverware untouched.

Hermione could not imagine what it would be like to loose three children.

Mrs. Weasley ushered the three of them through the house, kissing Ginny and Harry on their cheeks and enveloping Hermione in a comforting hug. Hermione allowed herself to collapse momentarily against the older woman, allowed the tension and pain to leak from her for just a moment, before straightening as Molly insisted that the potatoes would burn if she was gone from the stove for one more second. They sat in the sitting room, the conversation at once turning concerned.

"We saw the article in the Prophet, Hermione. How come you didn't tell us?" Mr. Weasley asked, his eyebrows—nearly white now—drawing inwards.

Hermione started. "What article?" She turned to Harry and Ginny, both looking distinctly uncomfortable. "What article?"

"W-We didn't want to worry you, Hermione," Harry explained.

Fred, having watched the exchange mildly, handed her the front page of the Prophet without a sound. "Thank you, Fred," Hermione said pointedly, her eyes flitting towards Ginny, who stared at her lap.

She scanned the page. The headline was not hard to miss.

Death Eater Class To Be Taught By Friend of Harry Potter, Ministry Says

They had left nothing out. For the Prophet, Hermione noted, it was surprisingly accurate. She rubbed her hand over her eyes, sighing as she read.

"Look who the author is," Harry said quietly.

Hermione snorted as she did so. "I should have left her as a beetle. What an infuriating woman. She makes me sound like some sort of zealot, trying to rid the world of evil as revenge for—" She stopped abruptly at the look on Mr. Weasley's face. "Anyway, she has all of the facts right, but the way she words them makes it seem like I went to the Ministry and volunteered readily for the job."

"You're not angry, then?" Charlie asked, watching her steadily. "I'd be furious, if I were you."

Hermione shrugged. "It was bound to come out at some point."

Mrs. Weasley emerged from the kitchen and sat down next to her husband. "Yes, but, dear, why didn't you tell us anything about it? We had to hear from Ginny."

Hermione picket at the skin around her fingernails nervously, her eyes on the floor. From the corner of her eyes she could see Ginny look at her sharply, but she wasn't angry. She had never asked her friend to keep secrets from her family. "I didn't want to get you all involved. I thought…" She trailed off, finishing in her head. I thought it would break your family. I thought you wouldn't be able to cope with Death Eaters again, even juvenile ones.

She knew that this was horribly ironic, for they were obviously thinking the same about her. Maybe they were right. "I'll be okay," she said in response to the expressions on their faces. "I promise."

They looked unsure.

-

After Mrs. Weasley closed the door behind them Ginny began to cry. They stood on the doorstep and Hermione stared emptily into nothing as Harry put his arms around his lover and kissed her tears. Hermione, feeling distinctly uncomfortable, shifted on her feet and tapped her fingertips against the side of her thigh. Harry was whispering quickly into Ginny's ear, words of comfort and solace that Hermione knew could do nothing, but the redhead pushed him away after mere moments.

"No! Oh… My family… Harry, my family is gone!"

-

Several days later, Hermione paid Harry a visit at his house, newly constructed over the vacant lot that was once Godric's Hollow.

"How's Ginny?" Hermione asked, concern knitting her brow as she sat on one of the plush couches before the fireplace in Harry's living room.

Harry sighed, taking off his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. "She's doing better. It's very hard for her… hard for all of us. I still…" He trailed off, before seeming to mentally shake himself awake to continue. "She's having a bit of a nap right now, else she'd come and say hello."

"Don't worry. I actually have a little favor to ask of you…"

-

The week passed quickly, and next Saturday found Hermione standing before her class (sans Harry, who she had had quite a time convincing not to come with her), a copy of Crime and Punishment in hand. Her students gazed silently at her, the expression on the majority of their faces that of a petulant child.

"Did you all enjoy the book?" Hermione asked, leaning back casually against her desk.

Marcus Flint spoke up immediately. "I think there is a reason wizards don't read muggle literature," he said mildly, eyeing his copy of the book with evident distaste.

Hermione smiled. "I'm afraid you've got it wrong, Marcus. There is no such thing as "muggle" and "wizard" literature. It's all the same. Either way, you're entitled to your opinion. You didn't like it? Why not?"

He shrugged. "This Dostoevsky person was a nutter, to write a main character like Rask… Raskol…" He struggled over the Russian pronunciation.

"Raskolnikov," Hermione corrected gently.

"Yeah, him. The entire bloody book was about some bloke agonizing about murdering someone. I didn't see a point to any of it."

Hermione heard Vulpecula Lestrange snort from her seat near the back of the room. "Yes, Vulpecula?" She asked, curious despite her suspicion of Bellatrix's daughter.

"Vulpe, please. My parents were sadistic, both with names and otherwise," the girl said, a humorous smile twisting her lips.

Is she… making a joke about her family?

Hermione used quite a bit of effort to control the muscles in her jaw, which was trying furiously to drop open in amazement. "Oh… Well, Vulpe, did you have anything to say about the book?"

"Flint's an idiot."

Hermione waited, but nothing else came. Marcus glared at Vulpe, but his apparent fear of her kept any response at bay. "Hmm," Hermione continued. "Well, Marcus, what did you think about Raskolnikov's article?"

"What article?" He grunted.

"The article that spoke about extraordinary men and ordinary men."

"Oh." He looked confused, and his eyes flitted about the classroom as if he would find help on the faces of his peers. "What did that have to do with anything?"

"Hmm," Hermione said again, turning to pace the width of the classroom restlessly. This might be more of a challenge than she had thought. But first…

"Pansy, in the end of the book did Raskolnikov go to prison?" She asked abruptly, trying not to take pleasure in the look of panic on the other woman's face.

Pansy went a bit red, staring helplessly at her hands. "Umm… no?"

Hermione sighed. "You didn't finish it." It was not a question.

Pansy began to look angry, and clenched her fists hard against her desk. "What did you expect, Granger? It's more than four hundred pages long, for Merlin's sake! You gave us a week!"

"It is long, that I am not denying. But this is important, Pansy. Please try harder in the future," Hermione said shortly, inwardly exasperated.

"How is it important, Granger?" Asked Blaise, his exotic eyes narrowed as he regarded her coldly. "It's a bloodly muggle book. What can that possibly have to do with the Dark Lord?"

"Voldemort, you mean," she corrected him.

"Voldemort, then."

Hermione thought for a moment. "You'll see. Let's continue, shall we? Does anyone else have any comments about Raskolnikov's article 'On Crime'?"

Malfoy, having been silent throughout this entire exchange, finally spoke. Hermione had ignored him thus far, but she had felt his infuriating smirk directed towards her the entire lesson. "I think Raskolnikov was a genius," he said, his eyes fastened firmly upon her.

Hermione fought not to cringe, and when she met his gaze the expression on her face was instead calmly inquisitive. "How so, Malfoy?"

She still would not call him by his first name.

"Because it's perfect," he sneered. Hermione felt the familiar anger tightening in her chest again as she realized that he was purposefully acting nastier than usual to get a rise out of her. "'Ordinary men have to live in submission, have no right to transgress the law, because, don't you see, they are ordinary. But extraordinary men have a right to commit any crime and to transgress the law in any way, just because they are extraordinary,'" he continued, apparently reciting the passage from the book from memory. Hermione refused to be impressed by this. "It stands for everything we all believe in, and it's perfect. The Dark Lord would have been impressed. Congratulations, Granger, you've finally recognized the truth of it all."

Hermione fisted her hands in her robes but said nothing until the grunts and exclamations of agreement that rang from around the room died down. When it was silent, she said, "You've obviously read the book, Malfoy." A pause. "This philosophy was indeed the justification Raskolnikov used for the murder of the old pawnbroker. Raskolnikov considered her ordinary, a particle of filthy dirt in the entire scheme of things, a 'louse'. He, on the other hand, was an extraordinary man, a Napoleon. This explanation, whether subconscious on Raskolnikov's part or not, was why he killed her. He needed to prove that he was extraordinary, that he could have power. Are you all following this?"

Most people nodded, many seemingly entranced by her words.

Yes.

"Good. I am assuming this was what appealed to you, Malfoy?"

"Of course," he said simply, shrugging one lead shoulder.

"I thought so," she said quietly, a gleam of triumph evident in the brown of her eyes. "The idea that morals and laws mean nothing if one is extraordinary. 'Ordinary' human life means nothing, and therefore can be disposed of in order to gain power and recognition as something above everything else. This is what appeals to you all."

The chorus of affirmations sounded strangely sweet to her ears. Hermione smiled. "Have any of you ever heard of Friedrich Nietzsche?"

Unsurprisingly, no one had. She saw blank stares.

"I didn't expect anyone to know of him. He was a muggle philosopher. German, born in 1844. He was, interestingly enough, entirely insane for the last ten years of his life." Hermione paused for effect, smiling benignly. "His ideas vary greatly. He shunned Christianity, morals, and nihilism, although many scholars today consider him a nihilist himself. Morals, he believed, were a complete waste of time, and love of God caused people to be unappreciative of life on earth. He is famous penning the phrase 'God is dead.' But we aren't going to be focusing on those things. Do any of you here speak German?"

Several hands rose above the sea of heads before her, Malfoy's included.

"Can you tell me what 'übermensch' means?"

Malfoy drawled his translation almost boredly. "'Superman'. Or perhaps 'overman'."

"Exactly," Hermione affirmed, nodding. "Nietzsche believed that this overman was a select species of human, and everyone below him had a value equivalent to zero. His overman is not bound by the conventional standards of morality, and thus law. To put it simply, the übermensch can do whatever he likes, simply because he is better than everyone else. The mediocrity of the majority is something to be ignored and even eliminated. The overman exists in order to exert power over the rest of the inferior beings, and he is 'above the law.' He must have contempt for himself, a contempt that soon transfers to the rest of mankind, and which will then convey to mankind's moralities and laws. A rearing of a higher order is more important than the sacrifices of masses, sacrifices of the lesser species. This sacrifice, according to Nietzsche, is progress towards a greater, more meaningful world.

"Granted, I'm putting this in much harsher terms than Nietzsche did, but the idea is the same. Some would even argue that I have his philosophy all wrong, that Nietzsche was in fact working for the benefit of mankind, not for exertion of power over it. I believe, however, that Nietzsche considered power to be the driving force of the world, and that a higher being is meant to have three things: absolute power over the mediocre majority; the ability to transgress any law he wishes; and a complete lack of morals, for morals, in his opinion, spell for weakness. Does this sound familiar to anyone?"

"Obviously," said a voice from the back: Vulpe. "It's Voldemort. He was an overman."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "He believed he was an overman. Morals were nothing, power was everything; he did not care for the greater good of wizardkind, despite what you all think. He only cared for power. He most certainly did not care about any of you."

Silence. Hermione could tell she had struck a definite nerve and smiled, fighting to keep a strange sort of cruelty from her voice. "Did I say something wrong? Were you all under the delusion that Voldemort had some special place in his heart for his followers? That his goal was a utopian society in which purebloods reigned supreme? No. He wanted a world in which he reigned supreme. In which you would be his followers, his minions even. All he cared about was power."

"That's not true, Granger," Malfoy stated abruptly, his voice quietly dangerous as his eyes burned smoky tracks into hers. She remained silent, waiting for him to continue. He sat up in his chair, leaning over the desk and resting his elbows against its surface. Hermione had to force her body not to shiver at the odd look in his eyes, now very dark gray with something she couldn't describe. "You can't possibly understand what the Dark Lord wanted. You never even met him—"

"I did," Hermione interrupted plainly, her voice flat. "Continue, please."

"All the same. He wanted a society where people like us," here he motioned broadly around the room, "had control. Where we wouldn't need to worry about half-bloods and mud—muggle-borns corrupting it. It was for the greater good, don't you see? Our greater good."

Hermione began to laugh.

"What are you laughing at?" Malfoy demanded, his lips pursing tightly in annoyance. "Stop laughing!"

Those in the room began to glance at one another uncertainly, wondering if their "teacher" had finally cracked. And then the laughter stopped.

"I have something to show you all," Hermione said quietly after her unexpected outburst. It had been too amusing, how utterly delusional these people were. Silently she reached into her bag and retrieved an ornately carved bowl from which a soft silvery light emanated.

"A pensieve?" Goyle guessed, surprising most of the occupants of the room with his apparent knowledge of the subject.

"Yes," Hermione confirmed, stirring its contents with her wand absently. "What I am going to show you all is a memory from Harry Potter." She ignored the strangled gasp that the majority of the inhabitants of the room emitted. "I don't know if many of you remember the incident during his first year at Hogwarts with the Sorcerer's Stone? Harry encountered Voldemort, face to face, and survived. At the time Voldemort was possessing the old Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Quirrell, who was his loyal servant and student of his philosophy."

With a wave of her wand, Hermione signaled the pensieve to do her bidding, and the odd, turbaned figure of her old professor rose from the swirling depths of the pensieve, revolving slowly and repeating the eerie phrase, "I met him when I traveled around the world. A foolish young man I was then, full of ridiculous ideas about good and evil. Lord Voldemort showed me how wrong I was. There is no good or evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it…"

After several revolutions, Hermione signaled the pensieve to return to its normal state, and let silence reign over the room for several moments before speaking. "There you have it… straight from the mouths of the devoted. The most devoted, perhaps, of them all."

She saw the shocked expressions of her students and smiled gently. "It's difficult, is it not, to see the truth for how it really is? I'm afraid you'll find that sentiment rather common throughout life. Now you see the connection. Dostoevsky is Nietzsche, Nietzsche is Voldemort. You read Crime and Punishment because you needed an introduction, a deliberation on crime and its repercussions, the latter of which we will discuss more next lesson. Oh, and one last thing to consider before class is over:

"Hitler read Nietzsche. He based some of the ideals of the Nazi party on Nietzsche's philosophy."

Hermione's statement was met with blank stares. Finally, Millicent Bulstrode said, "Um… Who's Hitler?"

Hermione shook her head. "Next lesson."

-

"I am not a man—I am dynamite."

-- Friedrich Nietzsche

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Author's Note: There we have it. I hope this was sufficiently intellectual but not overly so, and definitely not boring. I must say it's nerve-wracking to do a story that requires a lot of research, because I'm afraid I'll get it wrong and some Nietzsche fanatic will get mad at me. So I have to say that the opinion portrayed in this story is not the universal opinion of Nietzsche, and don't let it discourage you from being interested in him. He is very interesting, and I have used the parts of his philosophy that help get my point across, not necessarily the entire picture.

Also, lest I get scads of Dostoevsky/Nietzsche purists yelling at me, I am aware that Crime and Punishment was written before Nietzsche published his works, and that it is likely that neither is based off the other, but I still had to make the obvious connection.

Anyway, that said, I have to ask: is this too boring? I promise that we will get more D/Hr action in later chapters, but you have to remember that they still pretty much hate one another right now. I'm not going to suddenly have Hermione have this inexplicable desire for him when he was terrible to her in school and a bloody Death Eater to boot.

Oooh.. the first part of this chapter was so sad… I was nearly crying when I wrote the first part. Sniff sniff.

Next chapter ought to be interesting… Hitler did in fact, read Nietzsche, and we will see how Hermione connects that to their own five year war. Enjoy your week, and I should post the chapter next weekend.