Summer, 1944

A cut-glass lamp crashed to the floor as Isabelle scrambled about the room, shoving her things into a bag. Her golden hair was bound up behind her in hairpins, and she was wearing a rough coat over a simple dress. Everything was ready, but she couldn't leave Mama Jeanne's locket, and the little clasp that she'd gotten in fifth grade, and the book that Mssr. Labisse had given her, and...

The pounding on the door downstairs intensified. "We know you're in there, Isabelle Milies!" cried a harsh voice. "Come out, you little tasspe!"

Shouts rose in agreement, and rocks began to thud against the side of the house's walls. Isabelle frantically laced up the bag and dashed down the hall. They were sure to be watching the back door already, but the roof... they wouldn't think of the roof. She tore open the attic door and mounted the ladder, pushing open the loose section of the tile and clambering outside.

The sun was shining brightly down on gay Paris. The skies were blue, the clouds were white, and the glorious Eiffel Tower seemed to glow with a new life. Music was floating up from the street, raucous cheers filled the air, and everywhere you could see ribbons and flags flying—the glorious tricolor flag of France, that had not been seen in four long years.

An angry shout raised Isabelle from her happy reverie. "There! There! The poufaise's on the roof!" It was Lisette in the street, her finger furiously jabbed upwards, a score of upward-staring faces around her. "Nique ta mere, you German tasspe!"

Isabelle's heart broke, but she could spare no time. She could already hear the door breaking downstairs, and could see others in the street making for the fire-escapes. Quickly she shimmied along the wall, picking up the board she'd stored against the chimney. It bridged the gap to the other roof nicely, and she dashed across, kicking it away as she stepped onto the other side. The shouts were traveling behind her, following her progress. She ran across the flat roof, silently cursing her skirt. At least she wasn't wearing her heels. THAT would be a nightmare.

The buildings in this row were very close, most of them ran right against each other without even an alleyway between. Some were taller, and their roofs had to be reached with a ladder. Others were shorter, and could simply be dropped onto. Isabelle made her way across the roofs as quickly as she could, taking care to stay away from the edges. Already her hair was coming loose from its pins, and her face was flushed with the exertion. Always the shouts followed. Perhaps they were fainter, but not nearly faint enough—Mdm. DeCarde's house was the last on the row, after that the street took a sudden turn and headed up the hill. She would have to climb down and run in the street. But Lisette's angry yell was far too close...

In a surge of desperation, she crossed over to the far left side of Mdm. DeCarde's roof, away from the street. It would give her only a minute or two of delay, but perhaps that would be all she needed.

There! A fire escape! Quickly she clambered down, practically leaping down the stairs. The ladder did not quite reach the ground, but she let go and stumbled to the floor of the alleyway. Already she could hear them charging up the alley to her right, but straight ahead was the light of the street, filled with the noise and cheers of the celebration. Isabelle ran for it.

As she neared the end of the alley, she checked her pace, slowing down just enough so she could step gracefully into the street. Giving her golden hair a cautious pat, she forced a smile to her face and started to weave her way through the crowd, as quickly as she dared.

"Stop her!" shouted Lisette's voice. Isabelle forced down the rising panic and kept walking. Perhaps Lisette had not seen her, perhaps the others would not know who she meant... "She's a spy! That golden haired pouffaise, there!"

Isabelle gave a little sob and broke into a run, but grasping hands seized her from every side and held her fast. The street that before had been so bright and full of smiles was now filled with dark, angry faces. They beat her, kicked her, tearing at her hair and clothing. The bag was ripped from her grasp, and she felt someone spit in her face.

"No... please!" She managed, as rough arms dragged her across the cobblestones, her feet scrambling for a purchase. "You don't understand! I'm with the Resistance! I..."

The crowd suddenly gave way to a small circle of some kind. She could hear the people about her chanting, an odd clicking sound, and... someone crying. Some women.

They pushed her to her knees. Her clothes were half-gone already, ripped to pieces by the mob, but now they stripped her of the rest, leaving her trembling in her undergarments before the crowd. She glanced about in terror, taking in the scene.

Alouette, Jean-Marie, and Mdm. Gastion were all kneeling alongside her, stripped as she was, wailing as barbers shaved away their hair. Mdm. Gastion was already nearly bald, with only rough tufts remaining of her once-beautiful hair. All around, in a pressing circle, the angry crowd shouted in approbation as the pile of shavings grew.

There was a sharp snip behind her and Isabelle stiffened in horror at the sudden lightening of her head. "No!" She cried, struggling fruitlessly. "Wait! Talk to Hugo Cabret, he will...!"

"Don't struggle, petite tasspe, or I might cut off something more important by accident," sneered the barber.

The cold sense of this seized her, and she went limp in her captors' hands. Even if she could break free, where could she go? It was not so bad, she told herself, as the snip-snip continued behind her, and she felt the locks of hair falling to the street. She had feared execution, or being beaten to death. It was not so bad... She felt the razor rasp against her skull and closed her eyes and wept.

"Stop! Stop it! Stop this instant, you idiotic bastards!"

Isabelle's eyes flew open and her head shot up as Hugo came pushing through the crowd. He was wearing a tricolored armband and he was flanked by several men with guns. "This woman is an informant for the Resistance, you pig!" He yelled, shoving the barber away from her. The men on either side of her let go in bewilderment, and the chanting faltered. "She has contributed valuable intel to the Free French Army over the years!" Reaching forward, he pulled Isabelle to her feet and, taking off his coat, draped it over her shoulders. "She does not belong here."

Isabelle hugged the coat about her body and looked up at Hugo. She tried to stop crying, but the tears kept coming, and her frame shook with repressed sobs. He studied her face with care, and his eyes hardened, but he simply put an arm around her. "Come." He said.

Isabelle, still crying, leaned into him and followed. The circle parted before them, and they passed through. But as they did so, Isabelle happened to look up and catch the eye of Alouette.

It should not have bothered her, the look in the girl's eyes.

"Hugo..." she could not help whispering. "...the others?"

But Hugo did not answer, and the crowd closed behind them, resuming the chant.

A/N: As the Allies advanced and the Nazis fled, many liberated towns filled with mobs of angry patriots exacting their own form of vengeance on traitorous countrymen who had collaborated with the Germans. Men were generally shot, women-both in France, Holland, and other places-were stripped and shaved in public before being paraded through the streets with swastikas painted on their heads. Of course, some of these women were spies, but many were simply girls who had fallen in love-or at least slept-with German officers.

Pardon my French in this chapter-particularly if you understand French, though of course THAT begs the question why you studied those terms. I'm not going to provide translations... look them up if you want. Interestingly, French for "idiotic bastards" is essentially "idiota bastarda," hence why Hugo is the only one who doesn't insult in French here. I also apologize for the somewhat dark subject matter, particularly in a fandom for such a lighthearted children's movie.

But hey. That's war.