"Freedom...only those deprived of it know what it really is." -Anonymous
Harriet Potter is a great many things.
She is the Girl-Who-Lived.
She is a hero.
She is a freak.
She is strong.
She is a Gryffindor- she is brave.
But she is not free.
Harry has always been tied down by something, everything.
When she was young she had been- still is- to the Dursley's, subject to their every whim and desire. She had been tied by the chains of their fear- forced into her little cupboard and made to do their menial tasks like a servant. They subjugated her- tried to make her into less than what she was.
When Harry first entered Hogwarts, it should have been better. She should have been able to do what she wanted, but alas she had only entered a more gilded cage.
It was better, of course, but now her chains came not in the form of fear but in expectations- she was not the little freak anymore, but now she was The Girl-Who-Lived. She had to be the best of the best, she had to be the savior of the wizarding world. She had to live up to all the books and expectations of her adoring fans- she had to be as clever as Lily Evans and as daringly charming as James Potter.
Even her friends had images for her to live up to- Hermione expected her to be the ultimate paragon of goodness and even Ron saw the visage of the Dark Lord's bane before he ever saw Harriet Potter.
Hermione tried, really, she did, but Harry knew not to expect too much from her best friend and she had long since given up on ever fully shedding the picturesque views Ron held for her.
The bottom line still remained- Harry was always caged. She was always traveling from one cage to another, from Number Four Privet Drive to Hogwarts to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.
And that, perhaps, is the reason why she cannot take her eyes off of him at this present moment.
Of course, Harry is not the only one staring at him.
Aunt Petunia had sent her out to buy the groceries- apparently not even her ever-growing magical powers were enough to save Harry from her chores. She had had a few pounds left over, just enough to buy herself some tea at a local cafe without arousing too much suspicion.
She had gone to one of the cheaper cafes of Little Whinging- a small, quiet place that served a more eastern selection of teas. There hadn't been very many patrons present at the cafe, but there was one in particular that had caught everyone's eye.
He was of clear Asian descent, with much sharper features than the beautiful Cho Chang and eyes a lovely shade of blue-ish silver. He was tall, easily towering over Harry's small form.
However, it wasn't his beauty that had truly caught Harry's eye like it had in the case of the cafe's other occupants.
No, what has entranced Harry is the way he moved.
Harry had always thought that you could tell a lot about a person from the way they moved.
Aunt Petunia, for example, moved as though she was some kind of a spoiled queen- with snobbishly exaggerated steps and her chin held far too high on a neck far too long.
Dumbledore, on the other hand, moved with experience. Genial and quiet in his steps with a certain weary tension that could only be obtained through countless years of blood and war.
Snape, the old bat, moved with what Harry could only describe as shame. His head was held just a bit lower than what one would expect from a prideful Slytherin, his steps weighed down by what Harry thought to be some sort of loathing- for the alternative was only too human for such a man. Sorrow.
This man (boy?) was an elegance of an entirely different sort.
Each step he took as he picked up his order- simple jasmine tea- was taken with the utmost deliberation- not even an ounce of energy was wasted.
He moved as though he knew himself to be the most powerful in the room- like a predator who could strike fear in the heart of whomever he so chose.
Like a carnivore surrounded by a pack of helpless herbivores.
But most of all- he moved as though he had freedom in its greatest form.
There was nothing tying him down- he did as he pleased. His eyes betrayed only cool confidence but Harry thought that she could see something more- dominance, control and so much more that she couldn't quite put a name to.
Harry wasn't quite sure how long she had been staring at him- certainly not as long as her fellow admirers.
But, of course, she would be the one to be noticed.
For it was then that their gazes met, cloudy-silver clashing with emerald-green, and Harry wondered if Voldemort really was so scary after all.
Dedicated to the lovely Natripper- to brighten up her stressed days and to thank her for brightening mine.