Disclaimer: I do not own anything mildly related to Harry Potter, nor anything by the fantastic Albert Camus (whoever has not read him absolutely MUST! It is quintessential for inquiring minds).
A/N: I believe my fanfiction hit tracker is broken, I have gotten three reviews and 0 hits and 0 visitors, which is statistically impossible...so if you do not mind, and if you have the time, would you drop a review so that I know it is being read. I was very discouraged by the zeros.
It was a few days after the first of the semester, students were beginning to fall into their productively stressful routines. The fall semester was officially underway; which some considered a shame due to the pretty summer weather that had stuck around. But not all students were interested in the weather.
A lithe figure with pale skin and soft hair sat in a well used reading chair in a dimly lit corner of his small apartment. The fact that all of his furnishings were second hand and all of his clothes were new but cheap did not seem to bother his subconscious in private as it did in public. He had no intention of entertaining guests in such a menial place, so what did it matter if his furniture was not a pristine antique worth more than most college educations? It would appear that Draco's standard of life was significantly more relaxed than his upbringing, something he did note to himself but was uninterested in pondering the implications.
He was more interested in the well read and loved paperback book he was holding with his pale hands. 'The Rebel', by Albert Camus, was a distinctly well written and intelligent prose over metaphysical and historical rebellion, rebellion and art, and rebellion and murder. It was completely muggle, but it crossed over the discriminating titles of muggle and wizard, black and white, nationalists and foreigners, and was easily applicable to every human being on earth. Not that he had ever truly and purposely thought that muggles were people, a habit of his upbringing, but it would appear that all discriminating titles used to distinguish one group of people from another did nothing to deter the fact that they all were titled homo sapien sapiens scientifically.
His science class, a prerequisite and a general education credit, was one of the most fascinating things he had ever encountered. The more he wandered around the muggle world the more he was convinced that they must have some sort of magic to create the things that they did, many inventions, while sometimes not as advanced as magic and sometimes more advanced, were simply mind boggling.
At first he thought of laughing aloud when he learned that there were things called 'DNA' and 'RNA' that decided his physical and mental attributes, surely his mother and father were responsible for that. But upon further perusal of the subject and its intricacies and its relation to blood; the thing his whole life was based upon, he found himself slowly amazed that muggles had discovered how their bodies worked. He was not one hundred percent sure that his worked exactly the same way, he produced magic so there must be some deviation from non-magical bodies, but he was unsure what the deviation would be; they both had blue blood that bled red.
Perhaps when they met, he would ask Granger. She seemed to know it all.
Speaking of Granger, he was unsure whether he was grateful for her effort or annoyed at her assumption that he would need help adjusting to the domestic life of muggles. Among his books for other classes she had left an extensive 'guide' to muggle living, hand written in loopy cursive and purple ink; from how to grocery shop, to cooking, to preserving his food, and in depth instructions on how to work muggle contraptions like computers, refrigerators, ovens, coffee pots, and showers. Not that he couldn't, after some assuredly frustrating attempts, figure it out himself. For items like showers he was annoyed that she found him so simple minded, but for more complex items like computers and ovens he felt a small stab of gratitude for her foresight.
But the thing he was most grateful about was a small stack of books he found on his kitchen counter with a small note attached explaining that they were a house warming gift and well worth the read if he felt like doing some introspection. He felt torn between satisfaction and disconcert when he realized that they were Granger's personal books. His pride preened beneath the knowledge that he was important enough for her precious books, his conscious worried over the implications of this newly found importance.
All she had to do was watch over him and make sure he could and would live peacefully and productively with muggles, nothing about the situation deemed her personal interest as a necessity. Donating books that seemed entirely revealing about her person caused his stomach to sit uneasily. Surely she knew that these books and their thoughts could be used as ammo against her, things to ridicule her with, or at the very least tease her with.
It was not until he actually began reading 'The Rebel' that he found the books, at least this one, would not be able to be used to ridicule her. It all made sense in a dark philosophical way. He was surprised to find that all of her donated books were from foreign authors, not one Brit among them. He was even more intrigued by the idea that they all seemed to touch on the subject of existentialism and rebellion.
At first he scoffed because she had recently said philosophies were not a valid reason to exist, and then she turns around and gives a stack of books almost purely philosophical; However, the more he read, both the written works and her notes on the side, he realized that existentialism could not truly be called a philosophy.
"Existentialism is not a philosophy but a label for several widely different revolts against traditional philosophy...Certainly, existentialism is not a school of thought nor reducible to any set of tenets...it becomes plain that one essential feature shared by all existential writers is their preferred individualism."
"The refusal to belong to any school of thought, the repudiation of the adequacy of any body of beliefs whatever, and especially of systems, and a marked dissatisfaction with the traditional philosophy as superficial, academic, and remote from life—that is the heart of existentialism."
The fact that all of the great writers of existentialism, with the exception of one or two, vehemently denied being existentialists greatly amused him. The idea that Dostoyevsky, a man of many existential works, was a Christian duly noted as anti-semetic, anti-catholic, and anti-western Russian nationalist did nothing to abate his amusement.
The fact that the idea of a non-philosophy was created out of authors deeply devoted to other philosophies and religions and then denied by their creators struck a cord somewhere in Draco. He was not sure what it meant exactly, but he felt it meant to be important someday.
It was not until he read "What is a rebel? A man who says 'no', but whose refusal does not imply a renunciation." that Draco knew what he was going to base his existence off of. He was conscious of the fact that Granger had practically defined a viable reason for his existence and aptly provided tools for him to stumble upon the reason on his own. But he did not care.
Draco Malfoy was excited about expounding on the reason for his existence in his own words, creating his own support, and defining himself as an individual instead of a pure blood. After all, Granger only provided the notion, he could have rejected it if he felt it incongruous with his personality. For a wild moment he was stricken by the idea that Granger knew him better than he thought. True, she did not know the majority of his habits and reactions because she had not been around for years, but is not knowing a persons reason to exist, to live, to do anything at all a bit more telling than all of his idiosyncrasies?
He would even hazard to say that once a reason for existing is defined a persons idiosyncrasies serve as support for the reason and not the other way around. If he had money to spare he would bet that Granger had at least one degree in psychology, but due to his situation, he had no money to spare.
A part of him felt like rebelling against her notion, but that would just support her notion all the more. Shaking his head with a sarcastic smile he consented that the girl was brilliant, not that he was ever going to tell her. He was positive she already knew, and surely she did not need his conformation.
Besides the idea of complimenting her left a bitter taste in his mouth, must be from habit.
With an excited light in his silver gray eyes he set about finding a muggle pen and notebook. He had no doubt in his grammar skill, that had literally been beaten into him since birth. He took pride in the pedicure of his upbringing, it was in no way the easiest, but he was very knowledgeable in many subjects. Not so much in anything muggle, but the universal subjects such as reading, writing, and arithmetic were his to control.
"An essay on one man in revolt"
Inspired by: Albert Camus
Written By: Draco Malfoy.
Many times in a persons existence there appears a lack of curiosity, their lives devoid of the yearning for knowledge, a compilation of complacent actions and thoughts. Perhaps it could be considered human nature, but that would ring untrue upon detailed inspection. It is true that masses of society follow certain leaders, ideas, and laws, for the most part, without question. However, there are certain individuals who find it within themselves unable to be led about as a flock, they may acquiesce that the beaten path is somewhat acceptable and somewhat effective only in the notion that the end result is already known. But if life is only going to result in the same thing time and again for the masses, perhaps death would be a more appropriate adventure, at least something new and beneficial would be gained through that experience. Life is meant to be lively, adventurous, and mostly dangerous. Society, it would seem, strives to make peace, despite its many failures of war. The reason that I live is not to be peaceful, complacent, or agreeable, truly I do not think I could be if I tried. I exist for the sole experience of the revolt, a revolt against all that I find unacceptable, both within myself and outside of myself.
This revolt, the reason for existence, stems from a need to be constantly improving. I could, perhaps on occasion, be titled as a perfectionist; but such a thing does not exist, nor will it ever. My upbringing, while somewhat controversial, has taught me many things about life and the way people interact with each other. One glaring lesson I have learned time and again is that whatever you have accomplished, it is not enough. It never will be enough, and it is your duty to acknowledge that fact of life. You can try to improve constantly, and it will surely result in a reason to exist that spans till your death, but that is not my sole reason for existing. I pride myself in being right, as close to perfect as I can get; as such I must employ logical thinking daily. If I can be methodical and logical there is a greater assurance that I will be right.
This being established it must be stated that many things in society and personalities are not logical. These are the things I am in revolt against. I am not out to start a revolution, public or personal. A revolution is essentially claiming that the way of life has thus been unacceptable in every way and must be demolished, preferably in the most violent way possible—I have no intentions of staging such a thing. I am rebelling, which essentially means "up to this point yes, beyond it no". A simple example could be academics, while myself or another is putting forth their effort to learn, improve, and achieve I am in agreement; it is up to that point I find nothing amiss. It is when the pupil becomes complacent, achieving less than their potential that I must find myself protesting. No, this is not acceptable. It is owed to yourself to do the most that you can. There are few acceptable reasons for underachieving.
I am in revolt against my upbringing as well. The rules of life I was governed under demanded perfect, in every way, shape, form, vowel, and concenant, I find this logically impossible and I must protest against it. The justification of my existence is not to condemn those who fail to achieve perfection because perfection is unachievable, I find myself justified in protesting the demand for perfection, I am here to commend improvement and achievements, not be unduly cruel for falling to the inevitable.
I am also in revolt against myself. For many years I was led about as a stupid sheep, obeying the flock, certain ideologies. After walking off many cliffs because I was unable to think for myself I finally fell hard enough to knock some sense into my empty head. I must say it was a difficult transition to sift through the hazy, disorienting demands of dictatorship to discover that I was but a pawn of little consequence, as we all are to society. The horror at this realization sparked the revolt within, subconsciously it grew and strengthened itself, biding its time until I had developed enough good sense to attempt thinking for myself.
I know first hand how dangerous it is to blindly follow those who are too willing to lead, it is with a steadfast purpose of leading myself that I set out every day. Mistakes and disasters with befall me, but they will be because of me and my actions. I am mentally at peace with this outcome, it distresses me when mistakes and disasters prey upon me from the actions of others, I do not feel they are justifiably my penance to pay. Society's mediocrity will have no control over me, nor will the other powers that be.
I, Draco Malfoy, am justified through my rebellion. If I receive protests and opposition it will simply be viewed as being successful. Free thinkers and those who do not play by the rules because they find fault with the rules are threats to those who have power and vast reigns of control over the dull minded. I will be among the ranks of these free thinkers, all of us individuals who have not in common but our rebellion, our individual voices declaring "there is a limit beyond which you shall not go." Logic, critical thinking, and knowledge will be the weapons of my revolt. With these I will conquer those who ignore my limitations, I am my own person and as such I have given no man the right to control my thoughts, actions, and reasons. Though my revolt may not lead to a long life, it will lead to one I am proud to have earned. Should my revolt end in death, as I hope it does, death will be but another adventure to decipher.
Draco sat back and look at his essay with unease in his eyes, pen poised over the paper, unsure of what to do next. Perhaps it was a worthless essay, he felt, despite believing every word, that it sounded unemotional and fake. Granger would think that he was being his regular cunning self by penning such lies to 'impress' her and ultimately influence her decision on him.
A frown creased his face as he wondered aloud "What if it is all lies? What if I really am just doing this to get my way?"
Sitting back with a puzzled look on his handsome face he absent absentmindedly chewed on the bottom of his pen. What if he was just caught up in the books? Was he truly any closer to justifying his existence than when he was with his father?
What if he did not have a justification, what if the world would be better had he never existed? His face paled as he felt a cold sting of truth in the thought. Maybe his essay was worthless because he too was worthless...
Slowly he worked himself into a mental frenzy, the world would have been infinitely better had Lucius Malfoy never existed, he was concrete in that belief. Logically it would be better had he not been born too: light cannot come from darkness, Apples falling from the trees, and all those time tested cliches ran through his head.
Without really paying attention to what he was doing he gathered his things and began hurrying to the university. It was not until he found himself outside of Hermione Granger's office that he came back to reality and hesitation took hold. The door was closed, but through the small glass pane the light was on. A glance to a paper hanging on her bulletin board declared that normal office hours were almost over, so she was either in or had left her light on.
But did he really want to enter? What if she confirmed his unjustified existence? A strange look crossed his face as he tried to figure out when her opinion became important to him. He concluded that it was probably because she was the only person in his life right now who actually knew him, his history, and his immediate future. Shaking his head and regaining more control of his mental facilities he turned to leave, but as fate would have it he only made it one step before she came waltzing out of her office, almost physically into him.
Surprise lit her face as she registered the former Slytherin who looked as though he had been caught in the act, of what she was not sure, but he did look guilty. "Mr. Malfoy, what a surprise. Is everything okay?" Her voice was not accusing, merely curious and slightly amused.
She leaned casually against her door frame watching the male in front of her, at some point it appeared he had grown out of being a pale, skinny boy into being a pale, lithe man. He was quite attractive she noted, but he always had been, even back at Hogwarts where he was so cruel he was handsome. He opened his mouth, revealing a set of pearly white teeth, all in a line. Perfection, as always. Her dark chocolate eyes drank in the image of Draco Malfoy at a loss for words, it would certainly be one for the history books. After a few seconds of watching thoughts dart across his eyes but no words coming forth she decided to save him the trouble.
"I was just on my way out for dinner, have you eaten?" Her voice almost sounded motherly and he found himself shaking his head 'no' before his mind caught up with him. His blank mask was quickly placed over his face as he hid is discomfort at practically agreeing to have dinner with Hermione Granger, mudblood genius extraordinaire. If Granger noticed his discomfort she showed no sign and began walking down the empty hallway towards the exit doors.
Draco found his feet following without his approval. When had he lost control of his body? She paused at the doors, allowing him to catch up to her before continuing to walk through campus. They walked in silence, she did not appear uncomfortable with it though. Draco's mind was going hyper speed as he tried to figure out how he got into this situation and how to get out, he came up empty, but that did not stop his attempts.
"Granger, I'm not sure this is a good idea." He stated plainly, his voice devoid of emotion, when she shot him a curious glance he continued. "Considering our volatile past, and all that is on the line for me, I would feel infinitely better if we could limit our exposure to each other." There, he said it, and he said it politely and eloquently. Good job Draco.
"What, you do not think you can keep your tongue in check?" She teased, smiling somewhat wickedly. A quick nod in affirmation was all she received from her stiff walking partner. Laughter lit her eyes at his concession. Draco Malfoy was trying to behave, what a hilarious idea.
She paused in her walking and turned to face him a semi-serious look on her face. "Malfoy, if you do not feel comfortable with me I understand. I know what if feels like to be tossed into a world you have very little knowledge of, I am simply trying to be helpful. Where it not for Harry and Ron, Hogwarts would have been vastly more confusing and aggravating."
The idea of Hermione trying to be his friend like she was with Scar head and Weasel made him pull a face of slight horror. But all she did was laugh at it. It was light, tinkle of a laugh and it floated nicely through the air.
"I won't force you to have dinner with me, but I must insist you tell me what you felt was so important you had to track me down at school." Despite her light and casual tone Draco remembered her temperament at Hogwarts well enough to know that she was stubborn and almost always got the answers she wanted, and so, feeling suddenly tired he conceded.
"I was unsure of the paper." He said tightly. She nodded in understanding. "You aren't the first one, have you anything written yet?" He gave a small nod, to which she gave him an expecting look. When he made no motion to continue the interaction she huffed childishly. "Would you mind if I look at it? And no need to be shy, I will have to read it eventually." She looked slightly exasperated.
"It's at home." his voice was still stiff, speaking volumes of how his discomfort had risen exponentially, he didn't want to trust or confide in Hermione, he didn't want her friendship or her understanding; truthfully, he knew that regardless of what he wanted he would get those things anyway. It was apart of her being a Gryffindor, unless you were outright attacking them, which he could not do, they were the most loyal, understanding prats to ever walk the earth.
Hermione stared at the stoic man before her with one eyebrow cocked up. "Is that so?" She drawled quietly. "Well, I suppose there is nothing to be done about it now. I am hungry and do not feel like forcing you to be somewhat social by intruding in your home." There was an emotion on her face that he could not place but it was something akin to disappointment. Despite this he breathed a sigh of relief and unconsciously ran a hand through his slightly tousled hair, he could hide away for a little while longer.
Granger must have read his thoughts because with a knowing smile she nodded her head in departure and began to leave. He watched her walk a few feet before turning towards him once more. "For future reference Mr. Malfoy, you won't be able to stave me off forever. I find you a mystery, and we both know how I feel about mysteries." She sent him a wink before turning and walking away once more.
A tidal wave of emotions swept through the stunned man. He was flabbergasted, flattered, slightly appalled, confused, and apprehensive. Nothing, not even the former dark lord himself, was able to stop Hermione Granger from solving mysteries. She seemed to take great enjoyment in unraveling the hidden clues and innuendos, and Draco Malfoy had many of those. Oh she was going to have a field day, heck she was probably already having a field day.
Shaking his head at his doomed future he turned to walk back to his small apartment, but a thought about half way there had him stumbling over his own feet. Did Granger just hit on me?
"The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisible."-Oscar Wilde, 1854-1900