That weekend was a Hogsmeade weekend, but Harry decided to stay behind and catch up with his homework. It was now Sunday night, and he had done all of it, including Snape's mind-numbing essay on the Norahlea Potion, so he settled into a plush chair alone in the Gryffindor common room, enjoying the peace and quiet. The fireplace blazed with a pleasant, familiar crackling, and he allowed himself to zone out staring at the fire, the brightness of the intense heat burning in the back of his eyes.
"Excuse me, is this seat taken?"
Harry startled at the soft, silky voice and whirled around in his chair to find Morgan next to him. Oh, god. He found his tongue temporarily paralyzed as he noticed how a few stray black curls fell in front of her face, or the way her blue eyes the color of a clear mountain lake startlingly contrasted her dark skin.
Talk, Potter! "Ah…" he managed to squeak out. He wasn't sure what seat she was referring to, so he just said, "No, not at all."
Instead of sitting on the couch like he'd expected her to, she pulled the footstool of the chair he was sitting on closer to her and sat down facing him. The firelight against her in the background gave her hair a kind of eerie halo, setting her curls alight like black flames.
Surprisingly, Harry found himself making the first move. "I haven't seen you since your little show of valor in Snape's class on Friday."
She laughed and tossed her head like an Arabian mare. "Yeah, well, I've been around. Mostly hiding out."
"I shouldn't wonder. Everyone's been talking about you, you know."
"Oh, hell," she mused and laughed again. "I did kind of cause a scene, didn't I? I just couldn't stand just sitting there and watching him harass Neville. Poor guy's terrified of him. I assume it wasn't the first time?"
Harry shook his head. "We're used to it by now. So where'd you go? That was quite a threat you made before you left."
"I went to Dumbledore, like I said I would. I ranted and raved for several minutes before Dumbledore stopped me and told me that there were things I didn't know about Professor Snape and that I should, quote, 'bear him with patience.'"
Harry smiled sympathetically. "That's just Dumbledore for you, I'm afraid. He trusts Snape; never mind that he's the most insufferable man in the world."
Morgan was just about to reply when someone, two someone's actually, stumbled through the portrait, clinging to each other, helpless with laughter.
Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan. Harry's two favorite sluts.
"Did you see the look on his face, darling?" Dean asked Seamus, wiping away tears of mirth.
"What are you two on about?" Harry asked sternly, though there was a note of affection in his tone. "What did you do this time?"
When Seamus had gained control of himself, he said, "We sent a passionate love letter to Draco Malfoy from none other than his crony, Crabbe. The letter even requested a threesome with Goyle!" He lost his composure again and doubled over with giggles.
"You should've seen it, Harry love!" Dean exhorted. "He walked right over and punched Crabbe right in the sucker! Ah, Fred and George Weasley would have been proud to see it."
Harry, trying not to crack a smile, said, "Now that was just cruel, boys."
"And completely brilliant!" Dean exclaimed, ignoring Harry's halfhearted reproach. To Seamus he said, "You were genius, my love."
"No, you were genius," Seamus replied in adoration. "Come here, you."
He threaded his fingers through Dean's hair and pulled him close, and the two boys proceeded to kiss passionately, Dean wrapping his arms around Seamus's waist.
Harry, used to these displays by now, glanced at Morgan worriedly, but she just raised her eyebrow at him playfully, a twinkle of laughter in her eyes, as if she were trying hard to hold it back.
Seamus and Dean pulled apart, but keeping his arm around Dean's waist Seamus said, "We're turning in, Harry love. See you in the morning. Oh, and by the way, Morgan, we extend our congratulations on making Snape look like a total prat in front of his own class; you're probably the first in many Hogwarts generations to do so. You're an inspiration."
Morgan gave a sardonic laugh. "Thanks. I suppose I'll have to get used to being notorious."
"All right, guys," Harry said, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
"Are you kidding?" Seamus snorted. "I can't keep this handsome morsel's hands off me. Besides, what do you care? You're straight."
"Unfortunately," Dean added.
"Yes, unfortunately," Seamus agreed. Then, as they headed up the stairs, he suddenly objected, "Hey! What did you mean by that?"
Harry laughed, though he couldn't hear Dean's reply as they had already reached the dormitory. Turning to Morgan, he said apologetically, "I'm sorry if that bothers you. They've been together since last year, and they're always like that. You don't seem to mind all that much, though."
Morgan shook her head. "No. They're open. I like people who aren't afraid to be who they are."
Harry wanted to ask her more about what she liked, but he refrained himself. "Is that the way people are in America?" he asked slyly.
Morgan sighed. "Not really. People are always trying to hide themselves. Human nature, I suppose."
Harry wondered whom she was referring to exactly, or if there were things she hid about herself. "It must've been really hard, being sent away like that to a whole different country, a different magic school."
Morgan just smiled thoughtfully. "No, actually. This is where I belong, where my life essentially began. My mother went to this school, you know."
Harry frowned. "I thought your mother was American."
"She was, a full-blooded Native American, to be exact," she conceded. "She learned basic earth magic from my grandfather as a little girl; then they sent her to Hogwarts. Thought she would make a better life for herself here than on the reservation, I suppose. After she graduated, she met a nice Irish boy with blue eyes. They moved back to the U.S. together and, well, here I am."
"That must be where you get your eyes," Harry noted softly. "From your father."
"Yep. Everything else is my mother Cheyenne's," Morgan affirmed. "Except for my father's Irish temper, of course," she added with a chuckle.
That sounded eerily familiar. Harry recalled how everyone described him as having his father's rugged, disheveled looks, except for his eyes, which he inherited from his mother, Lily. He knew he shouldn't ask his next question, but he couldn't stop himself. "What happened to them?"
Her eyes immediately clouded over, and he wished he hadn't asked. "No one knows," she answered to his surprise. "One night, when I was eight, they packed up, took me to Aunt Josephine's, and kissed me goodbye; then they left and…never came back."
Harry swallowed hard. It was horrible, but at least he knew what had happened to his parents; she didn't even know whether hers were alive or dead. He felt he had to reach out to her, to let her know he understood. "My parents were murdered when I was a baby," he admitted, finding it hard to confide this to someone intimately, though there wasn't a wizard or witch in Britain who didn't know it. "My mother died trying to save my life."
Morgan looked straight into his eyes. "I know," she said, her voice becoming a whisper. "Everyone talks about it. You're the boy who lived. But it's more than that; I could sense it. You have this incredible loneliness in your eyes. I think," she went on hesitantly, "that we are two alike souls, you and I."
Harry found himself unable to look away. That strange feeling had come over him again, like she could see through his eyes, through his skin, down to the marrow of his bones, into his soul. Except this time, he wanted her to see, for he felt he was seeing her as well: her own loneliness, her need for connection, all her fragile beauty and strength. He wanted to heal those sharp crags of pain in her eyes, to take her face in his hands and kiss her forehead and tell her it was ok, she wasn't alone.
Before he gave in to this strange impulse, she smiled that thoughtful smile again. "All I have left are the magic pictures of them. There's this one, it's my favorite, of my mom and her best friend from when they went to school here. Both of them are young and smiling, so happy, not a care in the world. My mom's best friend is kissing her on the cheek; you can tell they were really close. Beautiful lady, too, I don't even know her name. She had this fiery red hair, and these bright green eyes…"
Green eyes, Harry thought, an extraordinary realization slowly coming over him the way a giant wave hovers ten feet in the air before crashing to shore. No. No, it couldn't be…
Morgan had trailed off, and she cocked her head, looking at Harry more intently as if his eyes had suddenly become more familiar to her. "A lot like yours, actually…"
Harry felt the floor under his feet spinning away from him, and he had to catch his breath. Could it be? Was it possible?
Before he could say anything, the moment was broken as the portrait opened and a dozen or so students trailed into the common room, among them Ron and Hermione. Coming back from Hogsmeade. Oh, damn, he'd forgotten.
Ron and Hermione walked up to Harry. Hermione noticed the way Morgan was leaning close to Harry and the odd, wide-eyed look on his face. "Were we interrupting something?" she asked suspiciously.
Harry seemed to snap out of his stupor. "No! No, not at all. We were just discussing the priceless look on Snape's face when Morgan walked out of his class on Friday."
Morgan glanced at Harry when he said that, and Hermione wondered if that was all they were talking about. Ron, not seeming to notice, tossed Harry a box of Honeydukes chocolate. "Brought this back for you, mate. I was going to tell you how bloody brilliant that was of you, Morgan. Nobody's ever had the guts it took to do that. He'll hate you for the rest of the year, of course…but it was well worth it!"
Morgan chuckled at him. "Yes, so people have said."
Harry stood up. "I'm going to go to bed. Thanks for the chocolate, Ron."
Morgan stood up as well. Now that they weren't sitting, Harry noticed how diminutive a girl she was, for having such a strong presence in the room. She was a full head shorter than him, but the straight, upright way she held herself gave her an aura of confidence, almost intimidation. She looked right into his eyes again as she said, "Goodnight, Harry."
After saying goodnight to his two best friends he staggered up the stairs into the dormitory. Stripping off just his shirt, he fell into bed with his pants on, not even bothering to close the canopy curtain. The full moonlight shimmered over his lean body as he fell asleep with visions of dancing flames and golden serpents in his head.