Storm Clouds

Divining Quidditch

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

"Mister Potter!"

Harry snapped out of his half-doze to find Professor Trelawney staring him in the face. He shook his head slightly to clear it of the cobwebs.

"Yes, Professor?" he asked, innocently.

With a genteel snort the Divination professor turned away from him and went back towards the front of the room. Almost immediately Harry felt himself sinking back under a fog. He always felt like this in the attic classroom; the stifling heat and the smell of incense combined could tranquilize a hippogriff. And the current lecture on phrenology was not helping matters. Now that they were away from Professor Binns' stultifying presence he'd have to rank Professor Trelawney as the most boring of his teachers.

Especially whenever she got on the subject of Harry's imminent death.

He glanced to his left and saw Ron's head start to droop onto his chest. The softest of snores escaped from his mouth, and Harry nudged him with an elbow before it could get worse. Ron's head snapped up and he cast a grateful glance on his friend. He turned his attention to Professor Trelawney with such a look of faked interest and attention that Harry would have laughed if he had the energy.

Lavender and Parvati glared at the two of them. The girls had a tremendous admiration for Professor Trelawney, and did not take kindly to the derision heaped on Divination by some of their fellow Gryffindors. It was hard not to feel derisive, however. After all, I haven't died yet, Harry thought.

"Phrenology is considered to be the least accurate of the divination arts." Professor Trelawney was continuing her lecture, and Harry forced himself to pay attention. "It is more useful in studying personality traits of the subject, so please keep that in mind." She waved a hand at the class and they broke into pairs for their work.

"The least accurate?" Ron whispered as he sank his hands into Harry's thick, unruly hair, searching for lumps on his skull. "How the heck can anyone tell?"

Harry snickered. "Probably not by studying the bumps on someone's skull," he said. He opened Unfogging The Future to the pages that showed phrenology charts, squinting to read the minute print. "Ok," he said, half to himself. "What does all of this mean. . ."

Ron pressed against the back of his head. "Well, there's a bit of a dent right here," he said, pushing harder. "How much do you want to bet that means you're going to die a painful and agonizing death?"

"Depends. How much do you want to bet that the point on top of your head means you're an insufferable prat?"

Ron laughed out loud, earning them a disapproving stare from Trelawney. He bent his head back down, but Harry distinctly heard him mutter "cranky old bat" in reference to their professor. He had to work to keep the grin off his face.

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

The Saturday of Quidditch tryouts dawned windy, with a persistent and drizzly rain falling. Harry rose before his dormmates; too nervous about his first official duty as captain to sleep. He dressed quietly in the semi-dark, grabbed his Firebolt and made his way to the common room. The fire had burned down to embers, but someone had lit the torches on either side of the mantle. That and the faint light from the eastern windows was enough to prevent Harry from tripping over a pair of legs that were stretched across the carpet.

"Professor?"

Morgan snapped out of the trance she had fallen in and pulled herself into a sitting position. She blinked up at Harry.

"Good morning," she said. "I thought you'd probably want to get an early start, so here I am." She smiled. "Although I didn't expect you'd be quite so early. Nervous?"

Harry was tempted to deny it, but her eyes caught and held his and all he could do was nod. "I couldn't sleep," he said.

"Relax, Harry. Believe me, if you didn't deserve to be captain Professor McGonogall would never have chosen you. You'll be fine."

Harry nodded, feeling the knot in his stomach give a little at Morgan's words. He knew it was true, but it helped to hear someone else say it. He crossed the common room to the board where the sign-up sheet was displayed. He scanned the list quickly, not really expecting that there'd be any new names on it since he had checked the previous evening. His breath caught when he saw the last name and the position on the list.

Ginny Weasley ~ Beater

He turned his head and saw Morgan studying him. "When. . .?" he couldn't finish the question.

"Last night, after you went to bed," Morgan replied.

"I never even knew she was interested in playing! I mean, she's always played with us at The Burrow for fun, but. . ."

Morgan rose and walked over to where Harry stood. "You never knew because you never asked. She came to me because she was afraid of exactly this reaction from you. Not to mention the inevitable derision of her brothers," she concluded, a wry smile twisting her lips. Harry glanced at her, his face puzzled. Morgan laughed. "They're all just a bit over-protective, and I don't think they'd appreciate the thought of their baby sister wanting to play that particular position."

"But why does she want to? I mean, besides maybe Millicent Bullstrode I can't imagine any girl wanting to play Beater."

"Can't you?" Morgan asked, one eyebrow raised. Her tone of voice was unmistakably that of a teacher, so Harry waited for the lesson. "Read chapter seventeen of Challenge For The Cup and then we'll continue this conversation."

She walked off to her rooms and came back with an old Silver Arrow broom. Harry's jaw dropped when he saw it; it was in pristine condition and more beautiful then his treasured Firebolt. It was obviously much valued.

Morgan laughed at his reaction. "Like it? It belonged to my grandfather. I've worked hard at keeping it in shape." She turned it in her hands. "I suppose I could get myself something more up-to-date, but I'm hopelessly attached to it." She grinned and gestured to the portrait hole. "Shall we?"

Without a word Harry followed her, wondering if the real Morgan Griffith was ever going to put in an appearance.

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

"Did you see him make that save? That was my best shot! I don't think even Oliver could have gotten it!"

"We didn't get passed him once! Not once!"

"With a Keeper like that they may as well engrave our names on the Cup now."

Harry smiled to himself as he listened to Angelina, Alicia and Katie praise Ron. They had tested him harder then any of the other candidates for the Keeper position. It had been funny, in a way, watching as the three Chasers got progressively angrier and more frustrated as Ron blocked shot after shot. They had tried all their best maneuvers but hadn't been able to get passed him. Not once.

Ron was blushing so deeply that it was hard to tell where his skin ended and his hair began. He was also grinning from ear to ear. It was a lock; none of the others had even come close to Ron's skills and abilities. He would be the new Gryffindor Keeper.

The reserve team was another matter. Morgan had watched the proceedings as carefully as Harry, displaying an expertise that was more then just an historian's knowledge of the sport. He wanted to discuss things with her before making the final decisions.

One very big surprise had been Ginny. Fred and George had both started to protest vehemently when she came out for her trial, but Morgan had cut them off with a sharp comment. The twins were both totally in awe of her, so they didn't say another word. Fred had tossed his bat to his little sister and Ginny had taken to the air beside George.

After that Harry had watched in stunned silence. Although not as strong as the others who had tried out as Beater Ginny's accuracy had been astounding. He had sent the Chasers against her and she had attacked them fiercely, nearly unseating Alicia and testing Angelina's best evasive moves. George had hung back, watching his little sister in amazement and a measure of awe.

The last test Harry gave her was to pit his own flying skills against her. Ginny hadn't flinched; rather she aimed a stunning barrage of Bludgers at him. The Firebolt had all but screamed in pain as he evaded everything. It was close. Very close.

And the grin on her face told Harry that she knew it.

"Thank you so much, Professor." Ginny's voice behind him brought Harry back to the present. "Without your advice and pointers I'd have been a miserable failure."

Pointers?

"Don't be ridiculous, Ginny. You're a natural in the air. I just helped push you in the right direction."

Harry stopped walking, so abruptly that Ginny walked into him from behind. With a murmured apology he stepped aside and she continued on her way. She spared him a quick grin over her shoulder before climbing the steps to the castle. Morgan stopped for a moment as if anticipating comments. When Harry didn't speak she continued on as well.

Harry watched her go up the steps. She seemed no older then the students milling around her as she took the stairs two at a time, her broomstick slung over one shoulder.

But what had Ginny meant by pointers?

"Must be the day for tryouts." The soft voice made Harry start. It was Cho, standing just above him, her Shooting Star in her hand and a friendly smile wreathing her face. "I have three players I need to replace this year," she went on, sounding somewhat exasperated.

"You're the new Ravenclaw captain?" Harry asked, surprised but pleased.

"I am." Cho grinned widely. "I may regret accepting the job, but for now its mine." She looked at her watch. "I need to get going, Harry, but. . ." Her voice trailed off and she looked unsure.

"Yes?"

She looked up and met his eyes. After swallowing deeply her words spilled out. "Will you meet me in The Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer next weekend? As friends, and. . ." She gestured vaguely but didn't finish the thought.

Harry felt a blush climb his cheeks but found himself nodding. Cho smiled and continued on her way, resting a hand briefly on his arm as she passed him.

It was a few moments before Harry could find his voice again. "Cho?" he called out. She turned. "Slytherin spies are all over the pitch. You might want to cast a fog charm before you start the try-outs."

She laughed out loud. "Is that what you did?"

"I had Hermione do it."

Cho laughed harder and an answering smile lifted Harry's lips.

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

That evening in the common room Harry lay sprawled on a sofa with Challenge For The Cup open, propped against his knees. He was vastly interested, in spite of himself. The stories, tales, and legends of all four houses were entertaining, and even gripping. History of Magic had never been like this before.

Reluctantly he turned his attention away from the story of Aelfric the Elder (Hogwart's Headmaster 1224 - 1238) and went to chapter seventeen. Morgan had said he might find the answer to his question about female Beaters there, and now that he had one on the Gryffindor team he wanted to figure it out.

The chapter heading immediately caught his eye: 1973 ~ Lions Are Kings of Hogwarts. He started to flip through the pages before reading, random phrases catching his eye. Undefeated Quidditch season. . . House Cup winner by more than two hundred points. . . record number of N.E.W.T.s earned by seventh years. . . Then a pair of names jumped off the page at him.

Led by captain and Seeker James Potter and the astonishing play of Beater Morgan Griffith the Gryffindor Lions decimated the competition. Griffith, a second year student, was the first female Beater in school history. Known for pinpoint accuracy rather than overwhelming strength she set a new standard for the position at Hogwarts.

He shut the book hard, making three first years sitting nearby start in surprise. The door to Morgan's rooms was closed, so Harry stood and made his way to the portrait hole. He was less than a foot away when it swung open and Ginny clambered into the common room. She grinned.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" she asked.

"What?"

Ginny shrugged. "You look awfully intense." She started to look worried. "Nothing's wrong, is there?"

"No, nothing wrong." He held up the book that was still in his hand. "Just something I want to check out in the trophy room."

"I'll come with you."

"You don't have to."

"I know. I want to."

So with Ginny walking beside him Harry made his way down from Gryffindor tower and along the corridor to the trophy room. The torchlight raised a gleam from all the precious metals. Harry knew exactly where he was going and made his way to the 1973 Quidditch Cup. He already knew that his father's name was on it. He was looking for something else, and he quickly found it.

M. Griffith ~ Beater read the small plaque to the left of his father's. He looked at Ginny. "Did you know about this?" he asked, pointing at the trophy.

"Yes, I did." She raised a hand when Harry tried to speak. "Nobody kept this from you, Harry. Professor Griffith doesn't live off of old Quidditch glory. She only told me about it because I wasn't sure if trying out for Beater was a good idea. She convinced me otherwise."

Harry turned away from the trophy case to face Ginny. "Why didn't you talk to me, Ginny? About trying out for the team, I mean."

"Would you have taken me seriously?" she asked. Before he could answer she went on. "Maybe more serious then my brothers would have taken me, but would you really have accepted it? Honest answer, Harry."

"No, I wouldn't have taken you seriously." He smiled. "So it's a good thing you didn't talk to me. You were great."

Ginny blushed. "Do you really think so?"

Harry nodded. "You weren't fooled even by some of my best moves. You came a little too close for comfort on more then one occasion." He looked around guiltily. "But if you spread that around the school you'll live to regret it."

Ginny giggled. "I'll keep it to myself, I promise. I'd hate to damage the reputation of the great Harry Potter." She glanced at her watch. "Its about time for dinner," she said, gesturing to the door. "Shall we?"

Harry nodded and started toward the door. When Ginny slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow it felt like the most natural thing in the world.