Pour Liberte
Chapter OneBy: Travelling Philosopher
Night of September 2, Sixth Year
Fluorescent moonlight poured into the boys' dormitories in Gryffindor Tower through tall windows that, because of the warmth of the air, no one had bothered to shut. It illuminated the room as brightly as twenty lamps, but with a different, more mystic quality. Behind scarlet hangings, and untouched by the moonlight, all five boys slept soundly.
Utter stillness coated the entire castle, and not a single sound interrupted the peace of the night. Owls slept humbly on their perches in the Owlery, leaves in the Forbidden Forest ceased to shift on their branches; not a soul was awake or moving in Hogwarts. That is to say, almost.
In one four-poster bed, Harry Potter was fully awake. His brilliant green eyes were wide open, staring penetratingly into the blackness. Sheets were tangled around his legs and waist; he lay there silently, wondering if he should move, get up and check the time on his alarm clock on the floor near his bed, or do anything. But something stopped him, something he could not even begin to describe. It was immaterial, yet it surrounded him as surely as a blanket and held him in one place.
The minutes dragged by, and Harry tried to be calm. Something was happening. Without warning, his scar began to itch fiercely. There was no pain, only an agonizing, infuriating itch. In his mind, Harry cringed, but could not raise his hands to rub his forehead. Cold sweat ran down his neck; still, he could not move a muscle, not even to clench his hands. Fear trickled through him. What is happening? I can't move! I can't speak! I CAN'T MOVE!
The itching stopped. Utter silence surrounded Harry, threatening to strangle him. His vision went black, and his head swam through deep pools of darkness…
The next thing Harry knew was happiness. Delirium swept over him and he was no longer aware of being at Hogwarts, of being anywhere at all. He floated in space amidst joy, laughter, and complete euphoria. Nothing mattered. Why would anything at all matter except staying here, in this wonderful place? Here, and only here, Harry Potter was finally free. And so he stayed.
Quite a few hours later...
Hermione Granger peered over at the clock on the wall of the girls' dormitories. Automatically calculating the number of minutes until morning classes would begin, she frowned and continued writing her essay on the mating habits of European Jobberknolls for Care of Magical Creatures. Her quill moved at a steady pace, swishing over the parchment rhythmically to create perfectly formed letters.
Every other girl was still asleep, but not Hermione. On only the third day back at school, she quickly was getting back into the daily routine of waking three hours before her first class to do homework, work ahead on activities for the classes, or simply study. There was never a lack of something to do. The other girls in her year, of course, thought that this was extremely weird. Hermione couldn't see why; what was the harm in getting up a little early to review? She rarely saw any of them emerge from their beds until a half an hour before breakfast in the Great Hall, except when they got up (in pairs, always) to do their hair and makeup and talk about boys. Hermione hoped that they'd sleep in this morning. Constant giggling and twittering two feet away from her bed was really quite irritating. It nearly always forced her to move down to the common room where Harry and Ron would no doubt be blowing something up and making a lot of noise; The Weasley twins seemed to be sending them new tricks and explosives every other day.
She wondered about Harry. These last few days he'd been more solemn than she'd ever seen him. Throughout last year and summer vacation it became harder and harder to make him laugh, or even smile. He kept up in his studies, certainly, but he had certainly changed from that boy that she'd met on the train to school five years ago. At some points it was as though he had lost the will to live; at others, he appeared to absolutely love being at Hogwarts, and being with her and Ron. The one thing that ever remained the same was Quidditch. When Harry was flying, he was alive, and both she and Ron could see it on his face. But with Voldemort almost at full power, and Harry being who he was…
Hermione realized that her quill had stopped moving. Girls were starting to stumble out of bed; it was twenty minutes until their first class of the day, Defense Against the Dark Arts. She sighed, and began to roll up her sheet of parchment. The essay was, after all, not due until next Monday, and she was nearly finished anyway. She stood up from her position on the floor, leaning against her bed, and stretched aching muscles. Quickly gathering up her books, some loose parchment, her quills, and bottles of ink, she stuffed the lot of it into her bookbag. Swinging it onto her shoulders, she looked herself over in the standing mirror next to the door: Uniform... perfect. Hat... on. Prefect badge... on. Satisfied, Hermione strode out the door, down the stairs, and out the portrait hole.
Two stops to talk with teachers, five ghosts, and three insane Hufflepuff first-years later, Hermione finally arrived in the Great Hall. She halted, surprised. The enchanted ceiling was so dark and stormy that it was hardly recognizable from nighttime. Hermione shrugged and, still a little unnerved, walked over to her usual seat at Gryffindor table and sat down. Ron was already there, looking somewhat confused, but Harry's seat was empty.
"Hermione, you seen Harry?" Ron poked her with his fork.
"Not since yesterday," she said, eyeing a large, sharp serving fork on a platter in front of her, considering.
"You sure? Because I haven't seen him…" Ron trailed off.
Hermione frowned. She said nothing; Harry would likely turn up just in time for classes. Knowing him, he was getting in a little extra Quidditch practice out on the field, or looking up something in the library.
Her eyes wandered over the Hall, sometimes meeting the gaze of people she knew. She grabbed a muffin and chewed on it absently. She looked up at the Staff table, and her eyebrows shot up. Professor Dumbledore, who usually was cheerful, especially on the second day of school, looked positively furious. His face was stony, and his expression was darker than the blackness of the enchanted ceiling above. Other people had noticed as well, it seemed. Students around her were muttering and shooting nervous half-glances up at the Headmaster. Hermione shivered and looked away from the staff table.
Next to her, Ron was inquiring after Harry's whereabouts. The responses he got from the rest of the table confused them both.
"Harry who?" Seamus Finnigan said through a mouthful of scrambled eggs.
"What're you talking about?" Neville yawned.
Ron sighed. "Is he out on the Quidditch field or what? C'mon guys, just tell me! We have to be at class in ten minutes!"
"Who's Harry!" Seamus exclaimed, looking exasperated.
"His invisible friend," Dean Thomas snickered.
"What?" Hermione said. "What are you all saying?"
"I think that would be our question, Hermione." Seamus said calmly.
Ron turned to her and shrugged. "All I did was ask these morons if they knew where Harry was, but they have to act stupid…"
"We're stupid?" Dean said. "You're the one spouting all this Harry - stuff!"
"Yeah," Seamus nodded. "Why don't you tell us who Harry is?" He sounded extremely patient, as if he was speaking to a group of toddlers.
Ron grimaced and shoved an entire piece of toast in his mouth.
"Harry Potter." Said Hermione, raising her eyebrows at Ron. "We haven't seen him lately."
There was a long pause. The three boys gaped at them. After several minutes –
"Well DUH you haven't seen him!" Seamus stared at them as if Ron had turned into a bug and Hermione was sprouting a green plant out the top of her head.
Hermione frowned. "So… you know where he is?"
"Wait a minute," Dean said edgily, "We're talking about the Harry Potter, right? The one who stopped You-Know-Who? That guy?"
Hermione nodded. Ron was frowning and chewing on four muffins at once.
"Ahh… oh dear," Neville said.
Dean scowled. "Either you two are the biggest idiots in the world, or you're just kidding around. Please say that it's the second one."
"What?" Hermione leaned forward. "What – are – you – talking – about?!"
Before they had a chance to answer, Hermione felt a hand press down on her shoulder. She looked up quickly and nearly jumped. Professor Dumbledore was standing behind her and Ron. His face was so grave that she wondered if someone had died. His voice was just as solemn when he spoke.
"Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, please step in to my office."
Her eyes widened. It was only the second day of school! What was going on? She nervously rose to her feet. Ron swallowed and copied her.
Dumbledore gave them each a blue-eyed piercing look, then turned around and strode out of the Great Hall. Hermione met Ron's eyes and they set off, following him out into the corridors. The hallways seemed darker than usual. No one spoke a word. Looking over, she saw Ron muttering something inaudibly and shaking his head.
Hermione sighed inwardly. Why were Seamus and Neville and Dean saying all that? Was it some kind of joke? She made a mental note to pry more information out of them later.
Dumbledore stopped in front of a stone gargoyle and said clearly, "Chocolate frogs."
Ron grinned weakly at her. Hermione watched curiously as the gargoyle sprang to life before them and jumped to the side to reveal a spiral staircase that was moving upwards of its own accord, similar to Muggle escalators.
Dumbledore nodded and motioned for them to walk up. Hermione took a deep breath and stepped on to let the stairs carry her up. Ron immediately followed her, and Dumbledore entered last, allowing the gargoyle to hop back into position. The stairs lead them to a thick oak door, with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin. Hermione knew she should feel scared, but her mind seemed strangely blank. The only emotion that she could define was a vague confusion. Ron obviously did not feel the same. When she looked back at him, his face had gone pale, and he appeared absolutely frightened.
Opening the door, Dumbledore ushered them inside. Hermione smiled. She'd been in the Headmaster's office only once before – when she'd been given the Time-Turner – and it was just as beautiful as she remembered. Whirring silver contraptions lined the shelves and pictures of old Headmasters and Headmistress's lined the walls. Most of them were sleeping in their frames but a few nodded and smiled kindly at her. Fawkes the Phoenix peered at her quizzically from his perch before taking off in a rush of feathers and landing with a soft thump on Dumbledore's shoulder.
Ron was looking around curiously. She realized that this was his first time in Dumbledore's office. He didn't look as afraid as he had; the circular room seemed to have a calming effect on people.
Hermione looked at Dumbledore. He said nothing, but continued to gently pet Fawkes and look down at them. Hermione met his gaze; he seemed to be considering them. The characteristic twinkle in his blue eyes was gone. Suddenly, she was scared. Something was going on that troubled the Headmaster greatly. She shivered, but stayed silent.
Ron peered over at her, and she looked back at him. They both turned and looked at Dumbledore, waiting for him to speak.
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A/N: This is one of many things I've written, but one of the first that I've published on fanfiction.net. I hope to finish this in a err… reasonable amount of time… Please review, I like reviews… constructive criticism is eternally welcome; I know the ending isn't very flashy, but read chapter 2 before you flame. By the way, brownie points if you tell me what the title means ;) … okay, now that I've spent more than 10 hours straight on this computer, I think I'll go to bed! Chapter 3 will be up within the week if we're lucky, g'night!
~Travelling Philosopher~
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. The end.
