Storm Clouds

School Days

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The following morning Harry overslept, resulting in a rush into the Great Hall for breakfast. A disgruntled Hufflepuff sixth year passed him his class schedule, mumbling about inconsiderate students. He ignored her, studying the timetable as he quickly grabbed some toast and poured himself a glass of orange juice. He had to stifle a groan when he saw that it was Potions class first thing. Snape, first thing on the first day back?

His eye went down the page. History of Magic was right after lunch. He was actually looking forward to that class for the first time in his Hogwarts career. Professor Griffith had turned out to be the new Deputy Head of Gryffindor house, although beyond chivying them to bed the previous night she hadn't had much contact with the students.

Someone dropped into the seat beside him in a swirl of black robes and red hair.

"Oversleeping on the first day back. . ." Ginny mumbled. "Stupid, stupid, stupid." She looked up and met Harry's eyes. "Pass the juice, would you please?" He handed the juice over to her and waited until she poured a glass and took a sip.

"Rough night last night?" Harry asked.

Ginny cast him a sideways glance. "Don't tell me, let me guess. Weird dreams?" Harry nodded and Ginny sighed. "Me too. Not so much nightmares, though." She shrugged." Just weird."

"Care to be more specific?" Harry asked.

Ginny glanced at her watch and stood up so abruptly her knees bumped the table. "Not now! I'm going to be late!" And grabbing one last piece of toast she ran from the Great hall, robes billowing in the breeze of her passage.

"I believe you are also dangerously close to tardy, are you not Mister Potter?" a voice behind him asked.

Startled, Harry stood and spun around. Professor Morgan Griffith stood there, a slight smile curving her lips. Up close the blue of her eyes was even more compelling, and Harry felt slightly dumbstruck. Her voice was low, her accent neutral but with a touch of Welsh. His mouth worked, but no words came out.

Morgan smiled to herself. "I know that some teachers are understanding about lateness on the first morning, but do you really think Professor Snape counts as one of them?" Harry shook his head fervently. "Off you go, then," she said with a nod towards the doors of the Great Hall.

Without a word Harry grabbed his bag, took a last swallow of juice, and sprinted from the room. Morgan watched him go, a look of intense concentration on her face. She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn't hear the headmaster come up behind her. She started when he spoke to her.

"Is he what you expected?" Dumbledore asked.

"More," was Morgan's quiet response. "Even his father would pale in comparison."

**~**~**~**~**~**

"I swear he gets meaner every year!"

"Ron!" Hermione scolded.

"Who else would take fifty points from Gryffindor on the first day?"

"You got your revenge," Harry said. "Twenty points from that second year Slytherin for using magic in the corridor." He smiled. "I'm guessing that you like being a prefect, now."

Ron could only grin.

The three of them arrived in the Great Hall for lunch to find it buzzing with an undercurrent of excited conversation. Most of it seemed to be coming from groups of seventh years, and from what little he could hear Harry thought they were merely discussing the upcoming Quidditch season. When he sat down beside George, however, he discovered that was not quite the case.

"How the heck does she know all that stuff?" George asked, shaking his head. "And I thought I was a Quidditch fan!"

"She who?" Ron asked, sitting on George's other side, between his brother and Lee Jordan, another Gryffindor seventh year.

"Professor Griffith," Lee answered. "She's unbelievable. Absolutely brilliant."

"And absolutely gorgeous," Fred chimed in as he took a seat across the table and reached for the plate of roasted potatoes. "Did you get good look at her eyes? Man, she looked right at me and I could barely remember my name!"

Harry thought back to his own experience with Morgan that morning and could only agree with Fred's assessment. But it was more than her physical beauty, he realized as he thought about it. There had been something in her presence; a quality of patient stillness, as if she had been watching and evaluating him somehow. But why? And for what?

And was she doing it to others?

Ginny arrived at that moment and took a seat. She had a slightly dazed expression on her face, and she didn't speak to anyone.

"Are you all right, Ginny?" Hermione asked, looking at the other girl with a genuinely worried expression.

Ginny shook her head slightly, as if clearing it of a fog. "I'm fine," she replied. "Well, not completely."

A small grin crossed Ron's features. "What class did you just come from?"

"Defense Against The Dark Arts. We're going to concentrate on curses and counter-curses this term." She shook her head again. "Maybe I'm naïve, but some of that stuff. . ." She looked around and finally caught the faces of Fred, George and Lee. "What's with you three?" she asked.

Hermione sniffed. "They're busy praising a teacher based on her looks alone." Her voice dripped with disapproval.

"And that's something you would never do," Lee commented. "You'd never even notice a teacher on that basis, would you?"

"Of course not!" Hermione was indignant.

Fred, George, Ron and Lee all grinned and then broke into spontaneous coughing fits. In the midst of the hacking the name Lockhart was clearly audible. Hermione blushed as Harry and Ginny laughed.

"You guys have History of Magic after lunch, don't you?" Fred asked.

"Uh huh," Ron replied, consulting his schedule. "With the Ravenclaws. At least we'll have the super smart kids to cheat off of," he said with a sly grin.

Hermione started to look mutinous, so Harry jumped in to head off the inevitable argument before it began. "What about you, Ginny? When's your first class with Professor Griffith?"

"Wednesday," was the reply. "And I don't really care what she looks like. As long as she's not deadly dull like Professor Binns I'll be happy."

With which sentiment none of the others could argue.

When the bell for afternoon classes rang Harry, Ron and Hermione made their way to the new classroom designated for Professor Griffith. They could hear the buzzing of numerous voices as they walked along the corridor; evidently the word on the newest teacher had been spread elsewhere besides the Gryffindor table. A knot of Ravenclaw students stood just outside the door. Padma Patil kept casting glances inside, looking somewhat apprehensive.

When the Gryffindors arrived they could clearly see why. Professor Binns was in the room, pacing as well as a ghost who floats several inches above the floor could. He looked angry, the only sign of emotion any of the students had ever seen on his pearly face. With an almost audible swallow Harry stepped into the room and made his way to a seat, Ron and Hermione immediately behind him.

"I thought we were rid of him!" Harry heard Dean whisper behind him. "This is not fair, that's all I'm saying."

"Shhhhh," Hermione hissed. "I'm sure its nothing like that."

Almost the entire class was inside the room then, milling about, reluctant to take their seats. Professor Binns glanced up at them and scowled. Before he could say a word, however, the atmosphere in the room perceptibly changed.

"Would you all please take a seat so we can get started?"

Almost as one the students turned and watched as Professor Griffith entered the room and made her way to the front. Her robes of deep burgundy flowed behind her, lifting in the breeze of her passage. Her arms were full of books that she set down on the desk with a grateful sigh. She then turned to Binns, a slight frown marring her features.

"Thank you, Professor, but as I said in my three morning classes I do not need you to monitor my teaching, introduce me to students, or otherwise interfere with the smooth operation of my classes." There was an unmistakeable edge in her voice, and many of the Ravenclaws looked shocked at her words. Most of the Gryffindors, however, were smiling, enjoying the sight of fusty, dead Professor Binns being told off. "Now," Morgan continued, "if you would kindly excuse us. . .?"

Binns disappeared through the blackboard, but not without a last glare for the young woman. He was also muttering to himself, and the name of the headmaster was clearly audible. None of it seemed to concern Professor Griffith, however, who had pulled one book from the stack she had been carrying, then hitched a leg up until she was half sitting, half leaning on a corner of the desk. She smiled at the assembled students.

"Welcome to the new History of Magic regime," she said. I'm sure you'll all be disappointed at forgoing goblin rebellions for the rest of your time at Hogwarts, but that's not why Professor Dumbledore brought me here. He wants all of you to have a more comprehensive view of the world and of your place in it. By which I mean magic's place in the larger world. That is what you'll be learning this year." She slid off the desk and walked behind it. "Are there any questions for me before we get started?"

Most of the class shook their heads, but Lavender Brown's hand rose tentatively in the air.

"Miss Brown?"

"Ummm, Professor, I don't want to be disrespectful, but. . . ."

Morgan smiled and held up a hand to stop Lavender. "But you're wondering just what the heck I'm doing here." She looked around at the rest of the class. "Isn't that right?" A few nods, then before she knew it Morgan had the total and undivided attention of the entire class. "All right then," she said as she came back to the front of the desk and pulled herself up to sit on its top. "A brief History of Morgan Griffith, then we'll get to work. Fair enough?" When they all nodded she took a deep breath and began.

"I imagine the big question on your minds is not why Dumbledore wanted another History of Magic teacher, but why he brought me here. And yes, I've lived in Canada for the last thirteen years and taught at Glenorra for the last seven. But I am as British as any of you. I was born in Cornwall, and after the death of my parents I was raised by my maternal grandparents in Wales. Angelsley, to be exact." A number of the students from wizarding families gasped in surprise and Morgan grinned. "Yes, the holy isle itself. I was educated here at Hogwarts, and I am a Gryffindor to the bone. When the decision was made to expand the History of Magic curriculum Professor Dumbledore hired me because of some work I had done in relations between the Canadian Ministry of Magic and its Muggle government. That is the main issue that he wants you to learn; relating to, and dealing with, the rest of the world. Hopefully I can be of some use, and we may even have some fun along the way." She slid down from the desktop and stood with her hands lightly clasped behind her back. Now, if you would please open Great Wizarding Events Of The 20^th Century to page seventeen we can get started."

**~**~**~**~**~**

The first week went by in a blur. On Friday evening there was much laughter and chatter in the Gryffindor common room. The laughter was because very little homework had been assigned over the first days back. The chatter all seemed to revolve around Professor Griffith. The younger students were sorely disappointed. Dennis Creevy complained loudly that it wasn't fair that they still had to suffer with Professor Binns while the fourth years and above were actually enjoying History of Magic.

"No worries, mate!" Fred joshed with the younger boy. "You have Quidditch tryouts to look forward to soon."

It was true. After being confirmed as captain by the rest of the team Harry had consulted with Professor McGonagall about his plans to not only replace Oliver Wood as Keeper, but to select and train an entire reserve team. They were all aware that at the end of the year they would lose five players, so it was important to get started as soon as possible. A notice had been posted on the house board and tryouts were scheduled for Saturday week.

Dennis's eyes brightened at the reminder. Harry had been surprised to learn that the small, second year boy was a natural flyer. Dennis and his older brother Colin were Muggle born, with no knowledge of magic until Colin had received his letter. But Dennis had taken to a broomstick like a duck to water, according to Madame Hooch. He was the best in his class, and in him Harry saw his potential successor as Seeker.

The portrait hole swung open and much of the conversation died down to a low murmur. They were still getting used to the Deputy Head Of House situation, and the atmosphere often became awkward when Professor Griffith entered the common room in the evenings. She seemed oblivious to any discomfort her presence caused, simply greeting the house as a whole before retreating to her rooms.

That evening Harry had a reason to speak to her, so for the first time he approached the door to her rooms. His tentative knock was quickly answered, so he swung open the door slightly and looked around its edge.

"Professor?" he asked.

She came from a door on the far side of the greatroom. She had obviously been making herself comfortable; she carried a mug of tea in one hand and had exchanged her formal work robes for a pair of Muggle sweatpants and an old, faded Gryffindor t-shirt. She wore slippers on her feet.

"Come in, Harry," she said, gesturing him to a chair beside her overflowing desk. She sat behind it and propped her feet on its edge. "What can I do for you?"

Harry sat on the edge of the chair, feeling somewhat foolish but unable to relax in her presence. It was a feeling he had whenever he was around her, but he couldn't explain it.

"Ummm, I wanted to ask you if you'd be willing to supervise the Quidditch tryouts next Saturday. Professor McGonagall can't, and she said you were quite a player yourself, so. . ."

"Of course, Harry. I'd be happy to. Part of my duties as Deputy Head Of House, after all." She dropped her feet from the desk and leaned forward, fixing him with her midnight blue stare. "Is there anything else?"

"No," he replied, standing quickly to break eye contact. He turned to leave when an impulse came over him. "I take that back. There is something else. Who are you?" Morgan raised an eyebrow and Harry flushed slightly at the inanity of the question. "I mean, I know who you are, or at least I know who you appear to be, but there's more, isn't there?"

"What makes you say that?"

"The way you look at people. Well, certain people, at least. Like you're evaluating them in some other way besides as a teacher. Especially me."

"Is that why you're always uncomfortable around me, Harry?" she asked, getting right to the heart of the matter.

Harry sank back into the chair. "Yes," he breathed. "I don't. . . I can't. . ." His words ground to a halt as Morgan waited. He took a deep breath and tried again. "I get enough of people staring at me, mostly for all the wrong reasons. I don't like it coming from a teacher. Especially now, considering Vold. . ."

"Considering Voldemort's return?" Morgan asked, her voice soft. Harry looked surprised when she said the name, but she waved that off. "Harry, I can't answer your questions right now, but rest assured they will be answered when the time comes. Can you be patient?"

He nodded.

"Good. Its nothing bad, I promise you. And if it helps at all, please understand that chances are I would have returned to Britain at this time with or without Voldemort. So you can stop blaming yourself on that count, at least." She was smiling as she said that last, but there was a distinct edge to her voice.

"I don't blame myself," Harry began.

Morgan again leaned forward and met his eyes. "Like Hell you don't. I can see it in everything you do. You walk around the castle like some kind of ghost. You keep your eyes down in the corridors so you don't have to look at anybody. You barely speak to anyone but those closest to you." She shook her head sadly. "Stop carrying that load of bricks, Harry. Its not doing you, or anyone else, a damn bit of good. Besides, you'll need that strength for something else soon enough."

Harry blinked back on the tears that threatened. She had put everything into the simplest possible terms, and though he still felt the crushing weight of guilt he also thought that maybe he would be able to drop some of the load. He gave Morgan a brief nod and a wan smile before leaving the room.

She watched him go with an almost apprehensive look on her face. "Will he do?" she seemed to ask the room at large. "I certainly hope so."