Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters, etc. belong to J.K. Rowling's wonderful mind. The only thing I own is this plot. Oh, and the dictionary definition is from my handy-dandy Webster's Collegiate Dictionary (yes, I'm just that weird).
Author's Note: This story is my first HP-based story. Actually, this is the one I was hinting at in my profile for a while. I'm a fan of Harry Potter, and I really relate with Hermione. This story really has no point other than to maybe give some inspiration or just make you think. There is a question at the end that you don't have to answer, but it would be neat to see what people think about the whole concept.
Enjoy!
The crisp winter wind howled against the window of my room, the contrast of temperature obviously shown by the condensation collected on the windows. With my index finger, I lightly touched the window; the cold glass almost instantly extracted the heat, leaving only a stinging, wet sensation. I brushed my finger up against the glass again, making a curved line. I continued drawing until I noticed what I wrote. In loopy, almost illegible writing, the word "freedom" was smeared on my window.
My eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Why would I write such a word on my window? It held no hidden meaning; nothing I have ever done has made me think of this word, and yet, here it is. As if on impulse, I opened my bedside drawer and pulled out my dictionary. I opened it to the "F" section, and flipped through the pages until my scanning eyes caught it. I ran my finger carefully along the line, reading it aloud.
"The absence of necessity, coercion, or constraint in choice or action."
The words came easily enough; the basic concept of freedom is easy to grasp. It's basically being able to freely express one's self without being punished. My analytical mind continued on its deep-thinking course. Maybe it's not so easy to explain after all…Maybe there's much more to it than a book explanation. I decided that I would return to this matter at another time in the day. I didn't want to be late to class, after all.
As usual, I got to my Charms class 10 minutes early. I already spotted Harry and Ron talking animatedly about Quidditch. I decided to ask them the same question that was settling itself comfortably in the back of my head, waiting to be answered. I sat down next to Harry, and their conversation died down shortly after. Harry smiled warmly at me, and then his expression changed.
"What's on your mind, Herms?" He asked. I set my bag down next to my chair with a sigh, and then I focused my eyes on Harry.
"Harry, what is freedom? To you, I mean," I asked reluctantly. Merlin, I must sound insane. Harry seemed obviously taken aback by my question, but he seemed determined to give an honest answer. After a long moment, Harry's face lit up.
"Freedom… It's the same feeling I get when I'm flying on my broom."
I smiled at his answer, wanting to be satisfied with it, but my mind wouldn't allow it.
"Could you…describe that feeling?" I questioned.
Harry looked at me somewhat suspiciously before a small grin appeared on his lips. I couldn't help but smile as well.
"It's like…I get this feeling, right here," he pointed to his heart. "I feel like yelling at the top of my lungs, and I have no worries, because I'm soaring in the clouds." Harry's eyes were glowing after his answer, making me smile all the more widely.
He looked almost as if he had more to say, but he chose not to. A smile remained on my lips throughout the rest of the class period. I never expected Harry to be that passionate about Quidditch; he almost made me want to fly sometime, despite my fear of heights and any form of flying, muggle or otherwise. I want to experience it for myself, but I know I'm not that daring.
Somehow, I managed to take sufficient notes on the topic of cleaning spells, even with the current question pressing at my mind.
So, freedom is more of a feeling than something one can see or feel. It definitely requires a more abstract way of thinking.
Arithmancy and Muggle Studies were both uneventful. I spent the majority of the time staring off into space, something noticeably "un-Hermione-like" as Harry would put it. I didn't have anyone I knew in my classes except for a few Slytherins, and asking them about freedom, of all things, would probably not be the best idea. At lunch, I had some studying to do in the Library, so I decided to leave lunch early, barely giving Ron and Harry time to say hello.
After lunch, I carefully wrapped my cloak around my shoulders and followed the boys out to Hagrid's cabin. Upon reaching there, I noticed that the entire Care of Magical Creatures class was situated around a large crackling fire. I moved to a spot close to Hagrid, so I could hear the lesson clearly.
"Alright now. Shut yer mouths an' open yer ears. Today we're learnin' about animals that thrive in the winter. First off…"
I always liked Hagrid. He seemed to be cheerful all of the time. I suppose I could compare him to Santa Clause, without the laugh and a fetish with the color red. He always is so in tune with animals, even if they were…a bit dangerous.
I felt a smile creep up to my lips and a small chuckle rumble in my throat. Hagrid's animal friends were rarely, if ever, completely harmless. I wonder how he always manages to stay in one piece, and in good spirits…
"Hermione, would'ja like ter pet lil' Chrysanthemum here?" Hagrid's voice made me realize that I had tuned out his lecture. I tried to act as if I had been listening the entire time, and I decided to play it safe. Chrysanthemum looked like an interesting combination of a bird and a wolf, a very cute and cuddly one at that, but I didn't want my hand ripped off.
"No, that's alright, Professor. I'm quite fine with watching others pet her," I answered with a polite smile. Hagrid looked saddened, but he nodded and asked Harry to try. I felt my smile widen when Chrysanthemum suddenly bared fangs out of its beak and snapped at Harry. It's a good thing that I decided not to participate this time, especially when my mind was elsewhere.
"'Harry, what you need ter do is put yer hand out for her ter see. There ya go!" Hagrid nodded as Harry knelt down in front of the creature, and held his hand out for it to sniff. Soon after, Ron came out and pet it as well, and a good portion of the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs had at least let Chrysanthemum lick their hands. I stood up and moved to the back of the crowd so people had more room. Hagrid had the same idea. A little voice was pecking at my mind. Ask him! See what he says! I decided to listen for once, and with a quick adjustment of my cloak, I turned to Hagrid.
"Hagrid, what is your definition of freedom?" Hermione asked, causing Hagrid to tilt his head to the side as he looked down at her.
"You doin' a project on it or sommat, Hermione?" Hagrid asked. I shook my head. I figured that he would be like this.
"No, I just wanted to know what you thought it was," I answered, my head still shaking. Hagrid stroked his unruly beard for a long while.
"Well, Hermione. Freedom is definitely somethin' I want. You've heard abou' all those people discriminatin' against us giants. I'm not even a full-blooded one and they're still keepin' an eye on me!" Hagrid answered. I nodded in understanding.
He glanced over at the students to make sure no one was getting hurt, and then he continued. "Freedom would be a great thing ter have, but it would be hard-earned, that's fer sure. A world where everyone's treated the same, regardless o' yer appearance, or ancestry. Tha's my definition o' freedom."
I smiled thoughtfully at Hagrid and nodded again. "Thank you, Hagrid. That was extremely helpful," I said gratefully. Hagrid smiled back at me before dismissing the students to lunch.
I caught up with Harry and Ron, who were now back onto their topic of Quidditch. I easily tuned them out.
So, freedom is different for everyone. Harry thinks that freedom is when one has no worries or cares, no one there to scold you when you make a mistake or run too fast. Hagrid's idea of freedom is more generalized. He wants the freedom not only for himself, but for his people and anyone else discriminated against. Freedom to him is to not be treated differently because of his appearance or background. I suppose that's sort of the same for me in a few cases. There are some people that don't like muggle-born witches and wizards. I still don't quite understand the logic behind that. Our blood is all exactly the same. It's not like ours has green spots in it or any other rubbish like that.
In the end, it all looks the same when it's spilled, doesn't it?
We reached the Great Hall just as the rest of the students were seated. Luckily, there was room for the three of us to sit together at the Gryffindor table. While Harry and Ron ate their food as if they hadn't had a decent meal in days, I thoughtfully picked at my mashed potatoes while I was wondering who to ask next about the subject of freedom. I suppose I could ask Ron; it would be interesting to see what his reaction is, but I don't think he would want to answer such a random question.
Well, I guess it never hurts to try, right?
"Ron?" I asked, causing the redhead to look up from his food, swallowing it down with a loud gulp. I wrinkled my nose a bit at his bad manners.
"What is it, 'Mione?" He asked, leaning his elbow on the table, narrowly missing his plate full of food.
"Ron, what is your definition of freedom?"
Ron's eyes widened, but he smiled knowingly at me.
"I knew that brain of yours was up to something. Freedom? Merlin, Hermione, that's hard to answer…" He began, and then leaned his chin on his fist, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.
"'Mione, freedom to me is getting some privacy. Merlin knows I don't get any of that here or at home. Having so many siblings can be a curse, sometimes. I want to be able to be myself and have a chance to show that I'm just as good as any of my brothers!" He finished, his voice rising in volume until the rest of the Gryffindor table was staring at him oddly. I giggled as Ron's ears reddened.
He picked up his fork and scooped up another bite of mashed potatoes. "'Mione, I want to be an individual. Everyone always compares me to my family. It's always 'Why couldn't you be a prefect like Percy?' or 'I was hoping you would've been as talented at Quidditch as Charlie.' We even bloody look the same!" Ron exclaimed, holding up a lock of his shaggy red hair and staring at it with disgust.
I gently placed my hand on Ron's shoulder in an attempt to calm him down. He seemed to comply right away, especially when he remembered he had yet to clear his plate.
"Thanks, Ron. You've been a great help to me," I said, smiling at him. He looked back at me and mumbled something that sounded like, "You're welcome," but he had food in his mouth, so I couldn't be sure. I shook my head with a smile and commenced in eating the rest of my dinner.
After the meal was finished, the three of us headed back up to the Gryffindor tower. The stairs were filled with other Gryffindors making their way up to their rooms for a good night's rest, and we, because we took our time in leaving the Hall, were pushed to the back and forced to wait before we could get on the stairs.
This gave me extra time to digest the recent information I had received. Ron believes that freedom is being able to express one's self. He feels that he's been forced into his siblings' shadows and that he's never going to break free. I, being an only child, have never had this problem, but I'm sure it would be difficult to cope with if I had to deal with going unnoticed as far as achievements go.
The next time the idea to ask about a definition of freedom occurred once we had reached the top of the stairs and stopped in front of the Portrait of the Fat Lady. Harry and Ron had already spoken the password and went in after I told them to go on ahead. That little voice in my head started buzzing again, screaming, Ask her! Ask her! I had no choice but to comply.
I leaned against the wall next to the portrait, an odd feeling settling in my stomach.
"What is freedom?" I said, aiming the question at the Fat Lady. In response, the portrait moved and glanced at Hermione.
"Well, I can tell you what it's not, dearie." The Fat Lady explained, gesturing to her portrait.
I glanced over at the woman, my gaze settling on the portraits surrounding hers. I wonder...
"How long have you been-?"
"Too long, dearie. I do suppose it's better than being dead altogether, though," the Fat Lady interrupted.
"What is it like, to live in a portrait?" I questioned, lightly tracing the frame with my fingers.
The Fat Lady sighed, leaning back onto her cushioned chair.
"It is rather luxurious, for the most part. Every once in a while, I can visit some other portraits as well, but that's a rare occasion, because I need to guard the students," she answered, matter-of-factly.
Another question popped into my head. Though it seemed a bit odd to be asking a portrait such a question, I decided to anyway.
"What do you do when you need to eat?" I questioned.
The Fat Lady sighed dramatically.
"The portraits are like ghosts, dearie. We don't need to eat or sleep. It's not a necessity for us. We just exist in these walls, and, in my case, these frames," she answered sadly.
I nodded slowly at her words, feeling sorry for her. I suppose it was a better alternative than to die altogether, but still, it must be saddening to watch students pass by, knowing that they still have life and freedom to go where they like, and you, the portrait, don't.
"Thank you so much, Madam," I slowly said, not sure how to address a portrait.
The Fat Lady smiled down at me. "Oh, dearie, you can call me Bella," she said. "Now, you should probably be getting to your schoolwork. What's the password?"
I smiled and said, "Mysterium."
The portrait opened and I walked in, feeling complete with the newfound knowledge I had gathered. My thirst was quenched, at least temporarily.
I headed up to my room, which was void of the rest of the sixth-year girls, as they were all in the Common Room, procrastinating. Fortunately, I had finished all of my schoolwork before it was due, so I didn't have to work on any tonight. I changed into my pajamas and lay onto my bed, pulling the covers up to my chin.
I closed my eyes, my thoughts filling with the knowledge of the day.
Harry thinks that freedom means to have no worries, no one to tell you what to do, or tell you that you're wrong.
Hagrid wants freedom for his people, because they are discriminated against as dangerous creatures.
Ron wants individuality, something he lacks because of his many older brothers, all of whom have had some sort of achievement beyond what Ron has already accomplished.
The Fat Lady believes that freedom is having life and being able to move freely about, not being cooped up in a portrait with nothing but the necessity of protecting the students of Gryffindor House.
I lazily glanced over at my window, where the word was still faintly visible. My dictionary still lay open on the page I had been reading. I grinned a little as I remembered the definition.
"The absence of necessity, coercion, or constraint in choice or action."
I think that my definition of freedom is a mixture of all of the ones I had learned about. I greatly dislike being told what to do, and sometimes having no rules can be fun, if in the right situation. I have individuality, but it's not exactly the most desired kind. I am known as the bookworm, the brains of the three of us: Me, Harry, and Ron. I sometimes feel discriminated against, just because my parents happen to be Muggles, but it's not as publicly spoken as discrimination against giants, even half-giants. And finally, not having the freedom to go where I like, when I like would drive my up the wall. If I couldn't go to the library and quench my hunger for knowledge, I don't think I would know what to do with myself.
I suppose, in a desired world, all of these freedoms apply, and not one idea is left out of the dreams for a better life. Maybe, one day, that world could be a reality instead of just something that people of this existing world desire. It's most certainly a possibility. I shifted onto my stomach, feeling a wave of drowsiness coming over me as I closed my eyes and finally drifted into slumber, my dreams filled with visions of what could be.
I hope you enjoyed the story as much as I enjoyed writing it. It's probably one of the more unique ideas for fan-fiction out there. Now, for all my reviewers, I have a question to ask you, but keep it as simple as you can:
What's your definition of freedom?
CC