Facing Backwards

Harry met Sidi as they both walked down the stairs to the Great Hall for breakfast.

"Morning, Daddy," Sidi chirped. "You look awful."

"Thanks," Harry said. "Your professors are too fast a crowd for me. Don't tell anyone this, but they threw me a party last night. Had me up on the table, singing the school song, would you believe."

Sidi laughed. Then she got her serious look on--it was when she most looked like her mother. "Daddy, can I ask you..."

A red mop of hair exploded at Sidi's shoulder. "Morning, Professor!" said Harry Weasley cheerfully. "Siria, I was wondering, could I look through your Astronomy notes at the table?"

Sidi nodded. "See you, Dad."

"Did you want to ask me something?"

She shook her head and waved her hand. Clearly, whatever it was, she had forgotten it.

When Harry got to the head table, Ginny had already left. "She got up early this morning," Neville said. "Something about needing to doublecheck that the teacups weren't chipped."

"Who knew there was so much housekeeping to teaching?" Harry joked sourly.

"Housekeeping?" asked Luna with a frown. "I'm not very good at housekeeping."

Harry almost managed a smile. "I mean, all the setting up, preparation, cleaning away. I had no idea when I was a student."

Luna nodded vaguely. "I suppose that's why I like Arithmancy," she said, picking at her tofu scramble. "No bric-a-brac. Just numbers."

"And of course," Neville said to Harry, sagaciously, "you haven't had the pleasure of reading piles of essays or exams."

"Lucky me," Harry said. "Neville, is the Boggart back in the Hufflepuff common room?"

"Yes, it rematerialized in the breakfront just after midnight. Scared a couple of fifth-years who were studying for their OWLs half to death. They caught me just as I was coming back from the do in Remus's rooms--that is, your rooms--and I locked it back in. Good thing it's young," Neville mused, "it's still got a lot of fight in it."

"Thanks," Harry said. "I've got a group of your third-years last thing today."

* * *

Harry's first class were a group of fifth-year Ravenclaws, who were followed by second-year Gryffindors. Harry learned to anticipate the younger students figuring out the trick, but made them feel very special for working it out so much more quickly than their elders.

At lunch, Ginny got up just as Harry entered the Hall. She flicked her wand and the almost uneaten salad on her plate disappeared. "I've got some papers I've got to finish marking," she said to the table at large, and she pushed past Harry.

No one looked up, but Harry felt as if everyone was staring at him. He remembered in a flash just how it had felt to be sixteen, and realized that all the magic and gold in the world wouldn't ever make him want to go back.

Ron, who hadn't even glanced up from his usual heavily laden plate, muttered to Harry, "Oi, want to go flying this evening? Weather looks perfect for it."

Harry began to shake his head, but Ron pounded him on the shoulder. "C'mon, Harry, I saw the old Firebolt in the corner of your living room. When was the last time you managed to shake the dust off of that old beauty?"

With a sigh, Harry agreed, and dug into his shepherd's pie.

The classes after lunch went by in a blur: Professor Mundy, the Muggle Studies teacher, who had been one of the youngest members of the DA, sat in with a group of fourth-year Slytherins, and then Harry had led the Hufflepuff third-years down to their own common room to take on the Boggart.

It seemed to sense his presence, this time, because the cupboard began to shake and bang threateningly as soon as he entered.

The Hufflepuffs acquitted themselves brilliantly; he should have known that their characteristic good humor would have made them aces at dispelling Boggarts.

Harry did note, with some amusement, that Theodore Nott appeared twice more, as did Professor Snape (just once), two vampires and another very stylized Voldemort.

He did not step forward himself, this time. He knew very well the terrifying vision that would confront him: Ginny, as she had appeared just before leaving his apartment the night before, blouse torn and eyes murderous. He had no interest in sharing that image with students from her husband's house. No interest at all.

As Harry brought the students back to the Defense classroom, he saw the crooked, black-cloaked figure of the headmaster waiting at the door.

"Battling Boggarts, Potter?" sneered Professor Snape.

It took what little self-control Harry possessed at the end of a long, trying day not to rise to the bait. He knew the sneer was merely a formality, but in that moment it felt personal. "The class performed brilliantly, Professor."

A black eyebrow arched. "Any dresses?"

Harry smiled. "No, Professor, you were not made to suffer that particular indignity. Though one of the students, whose name I shall not mention, fitted you with a particularly impressive pair of glasses and enormous buck-teeth."

Snape's other brow raised. "And that was supposed to be funny?"

The class tittered nervously, gathered their bags, and departed.

When they had gone, Harry sat on the edge of his desk and looked up, knowing what he was going to see.

Severus Snape was standing at the back of the classroom, arms folded.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Professor?" Harry asked, as mildly as he could manage.

"Believe it or not, Professor," Snape drawled, "I was going to ask you the same thing. The reports that I have heard of your classes have been acceptable. I cannot tell you how that has relieved me. You have managed to pass two days without doing any of the students bodily harm. The last substitute instructor to grace these halls--I brought old Emmaline Vance in to try to teach Charms while Professor Flitwick was at a conference on Finding spells in Crete--managed to send half of the Ravenclaw fifth-years to the hospital wing with a particularly inept demonstration of the Cheering Charm."

Harry gave a tired laugh. "Glad not to have let you down too badly. Sir."

"Yes, well, as to that," Snape stood to his full magisterial height, "I hear some of my teachers were... entertaining you last night."

"Um," said Harry. "I'm sorry you weren't able to make it, Professor."

"I was able to make it, Potter. I chose not to." Professor Snape strode toward Harry, suddenly towering over him. "You are here for a purpose, Professor. And that purpose is the education of this school's students, not disporting yourself with your old pals from the PA, or whatever you and your buck-toothed wife used to call that pathetic schoolboy excuse for a guerilla band. I wish you to act as a professional, Professor, even though you are not one. Do I make myself clear?"

Trembling, Harry nodded.

"Good," snapped Snape. He began to go, but spun on his heels and spoke again, in a much smoother, oilier tone. "I will be attending your first class on Thursday, Professor Potter. I look forward to seeing your work." And with that, he was gone.

"Bloody hell," Harry muttered, as he began to straighten the room. This evening he decided he would lock the classroom door--students who hadn't had 'The Lecture' were trying to sneak in, and Harry wanted to get as much mileage out of the mystery surrounding his little trick as he could.

As he finished casting the Colloportus spell--it had taken him three tries before the door had sealed shut with a satisfying squelch--Harry had seen a fringe of red hair poking out from behind the statue of Uric the Oddball, across the hallway from his classroom.

"Hello, Harry," Harry said, not even bothering to turn around.

"Uh," said his godson's very small voice, "Hello, um, Harry."

"Don't let the headmaster hear you call me that, son," Harry said, as the gangly boy sidled out from behind the statue. "You probably heard Professor Snape yelling at me once, just now. I'd rather he not do it again."

Harry Weasley nodded vigorously. Harry put his hand on his godson's shoulder. It was funny: the only sign that his mother had had anything to do with Harry Weasley's begetting was the fact that he was the only Weasley in at least three generations who couldn't blush like a fire beacon at the drop of a hat. But the set of his mouth let Harry know that the boy was embarrassed, whether at being caught or at overhearing Harry's dressing down, he wasn't sure.

"Look, Harry," said Harry, "I'm a big boy. I've been yelled at by Severus Snape before, and no doubt he will yell at me again. I don't care that you heard, and believe me, if the headmaster had wanted our conversation to be private, he would have swooped down on me in the dead of night. I'd rather he did it this way."

The boy's nervous laugh let Harry know that he, too, had been caught out of bounds by Professor Snape late at night. "Still, Uncle Harry, I don't like that he talked to you like that. I mean, it was Uncle Ron and Uncle Neville and Aunt Ginny that threw you the party. It's not fair."

Harry smiled at that. "Professor Snape has many admirable qualities. Fairness cannot said to be one of them. And you're not supposed to know about the party."

Harry Weasley grinned, and Harry felt himself almost involuntarily look around; Fred's son looked so much like his father in that moment that Harry expected an identical twin to poke his head out of one of the other statues on the hallway.

"Look," Harry said, shaking his head and laughing, "I have a couple of questions for you. Do you think you could actually give your godfather a straight answer?"

"Uh, sure."

"First of all, what exactly were you trying to keep Sidi from asking me this morning?"

The grin turned sheepish, and then impish by turns. "Oh. Well, I think she was going to ask you if it was okay if we poked around in your classroom. Just a bit."

"I see. Couldn't wait till the lecture on Thursday?" This elicited a snort. Harry now took a deep breath--he was going to be pushing the limits on the next one. "The next question is a little tougher. I've noticed you and Siria are spending an awful lot of time together. I don't mind that, really, not at all. Honestly. But--and I know I'm prying here, but I feel responsible for both of you--what exactly is your relationship to my daughter?"

Suddenly Harry Weasley looked deadly serious. Though he didn't quite blush, his face darkened, and he looked down at his scuffed shoes. "Nothing," he said. "We're just pals."

Harry felt terrible for having brought the subject up. "That's fine," he muttered. "It's fine either way."

The younger Harry shook his head violently. "It's nothing like that, honest. I just.... I used to hear Mum and Dad talk about being at school with Uncle George and Aunt Alicia, and Katie Bell. How they were always pals together. And you and Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione... And that's what we are. You know. Pals. Mum and Alicia are still pals. And you and Uncle Ron."

Harry thought about all of those friends, about Angelina and Alicia, who were always more than pals. "Yeah, Harry, but most of those pals... they eventually got romantically involved. They're married to each other, you know? I mean, it doesn't make any difference. It doesn't have to turn out that way, but... Oh, damn, Harry. I won't kill you if you hurt my daughter, though I might want to. I'm just trying to say to you, don't take it for granted. Don't decide you know how she feels. Merlin, don't even decide you know how you feel, alright?"

Mortified, Harry Weasley seemed to be studying his shoes even more carefully. The top of his red head bobbed in acknowledgement.

"Look," Harry said. "I'm sorry. I'll never bring the subject up again, unless you or Sidi do, okay?"

With another head-bob, Harry Weasley scurried off down the corridor, in the opposite direction from the Gryffindor tower.

Oh, bollocks, thought Harry to himself, watching his godson slink out of sight. Another fine mess I've gotten myself in to. Why couldn't I have left well enough alone?

* * *

At dinner, Ginny once again disappeared as soon as Harry stepped onto the dais of the Head Table. Looking down at her half-eaten lamb chop, Ron said, "'S not good that she's not eating...."

Luna looked up from her chickpea stew and mused airily, "Perhaps it's morning sickness."

With a start, Harry glanced at Neville, and immediately regretted it. Ginny's husband stared at Harry and then shook his head. "No, Luna, I don't believe so. No."

Great, Harry thought, someone else who's thinking the worst of me. Could this day get any worse?

* * *

On his way to meeting Ron at the Quidditch pitch, Harry stopped in at his rooms to talk to his family. Kneeling in the fireplace, he wondered whether he should just tell Hermione everything that was happening. After all, there was nothing he'd done that he should be ashamed of--nothing that he should be proud of either, since their last conversation, but he owed her the honesty...

When Hermione's face appeared in the Grimmauld Place kitchen, however, she was clearly upset. "What's wrong, Hermy?" Harry blurted as soon as he could see her.

"Oh! Harry," she answered, her jaw set, her face flushed. "Just Ministry silliness."

"C'mon, Hermione, we've been married too long for me to buy that. Something's eating at you."

It was hard to tell through the green flame, but she seemed to blush--it looked something like Harry Weasley's colorless darkening. "Someone at the Ministry. I just talked to. And... this person was a real prat." Hermione's eyes, so often steely and determined, began to moisten.

Harry smiled in spite of himself. "Percy is a git, isn't he?"

Hermione just bit her lip.

"Look, love, I'm telling you, Percy's fancied you for years," Harry teased.

Usually this approach got at least a smile out of Hermione. Now, however, she wasn't at all amused. "Don't joke about that, Harry, please," she snapped.

"Um, okay..."

"Well, shall I get the children? Minnie wanted to tell you something," Hermione said, suddenly energized.

A few moments later, a young witch with a nose piercing and pink hair brilliant enough to rival Nymphadora Tonks ushered the younger Potter children in to the kitchen. Celestine Smith, Harry thought, right.

"Daddy!" squealed Albie, and plopped himself down in front of the fire.

For the first time all day, Harry felt happy to be where he was. "Ullo, sport!"

"Guess what! Celestine showed me how to play Endless War with cards and I won, Daddy!" Behind Albie, Minnie rolled her eyes.

Harry grinned. "That's great, son."

"Hullo, Daddy," Minerva said primly. Merlin, she looks like her mother, Harry thought. "Could you tell Aunt Ginny something for me?"

"Um, if I get a chance to see her, sure I will."

"Well, tell her that I've been doing that animagus exercise, the one she taught me last fall?"

Harry nodded.

Minnie nodded sharply back. "Well, I can get through the third step, but I need to know whether I'm supposed to choose what animal to see, or am I just supposed to think about whichever one comes into my head?"

Her serious face made Harry smile again. "I'll ask her."

"It's a dragon," Albie said.

"Albie! Stop it!" Minnie yelled.

Hermione knelt between them. "That's enough. Time to go upstairs with Celestine." After saying goodnight to their children, Harry was alone with his wife again, and wondering what he should say. Hermione broke the silence. "Harry, the American Undersecretary of Magical Education wants to come up and visit Hogwarts next Tuesday. I'd like to come up with him, if that's all right."

"Well, of course it's all right. Hermione, it'd be wonderful to see you."

Hermione nodded her grey curls and let out a breath. "Good. We'll be up there mid-day, and we'll be staying overnight."

"Can Celestine handle the kids? They seem to love her."

Again Hermione let out a sigh. "Oh, yes, Celestine will be just fine. I hate being away from them, though. This is supposed to be my opportunity to spend some more time with them."

"I know what you mean. I've missed you all terribly. I can't sleep properly at night. It's too..."

"Empty. I know." Harry and Hermione stared at each other through the Floo. Harry knew he should talk to her about Ginny and about Harry Weasley. And he was certain Hermione was holding something back. But he couldn't bring himself to say anything.

"At least I'll be able to see Sidi. How is she?" Hermione asked.

Harry thought of the shape the Boggart had taken to try to terrify Siria, and he gave a quick shudder.

"Something wrong?" Hermione queried.

"No, no," Harry said. "She's great. Getting too damned grown-up and too damned smart."

"Ah," said Hermione. "I love you, Harry Potter."

Harry began to feel his eyes fill up. "I love you, Hermione Granger."

Swirling, twisting, Harry found himself back on Remus's floor.

With a sniff, he picked up his old Firebolt and went to meet Ron at the Quidditch pitch.

* * *

He was surprised to run into Ron at the main doors. "Oh, good," Ron said. "I was afraid I'd be late. After dinner, Luna was..." Ron made vague hand gestures, but Harry got the idea.

"Fine, rub it in. Tell me all about your amorous dalliances with your preggers wife. I don't even get to see mine till next week." Harry slung his broom over his shoulder and began to make his way down the hill.

"What, is she coming up for the visit of that American bloke?" Ron asked.

"How do you know about it?"

"Oh, got this very pompous, dry letter this afternoon by owl from Percy," Ron muttered. "He's coming up too. Lots of hints about the importance of the visit, and who should and shouldn't know, all sorts of rubbish like that." Ron squinted at Harry. "Poor bloke. Can you imagine being escorted around by Percy and Hermione? They're as likely to kill each other as not. 'Welcome to England, Secretary Blah-blah, and pardon me while I place my steak knife in the Minister's chest.'"

Harry snorted. Then he became pensive as he strode with his friend down the hillside. "You know, I've been teasing Hermione about Percy fancying her for years. Usually she just rolls her eyes and laughs. But tonight, she nearly bit my head off."

Ron grunted. "Wonder if they got into some sort of row at the office?"

Harry considered that. "Yeah, could be."

They strode into the coach's changing room and got into flying robes--Harry into his faded Gryffindor gold-and-reds and Ron into his all-England royal blue robes with red trim. Which fit him more than a little snuggly around the middle.

"Ought to have these let out a bit," he smiled, and patted himself on the middle. "Anyway, the Gryffindors are practicing on the pitch this evening, so we'll go over towards the lake. Just try not to fall off--the snow-melt'll kill you quicker than the squid, even this late in the spring."

Harry glanced up at the swarm of red-and-gold in the air overhead. "Good team this year?"

"Yeah," said Ron, looking up. "Best in years, actually. They'd have won both of their matches so far by two or three hundred points if it weren't for the Seeker."

"Who's that?"

"Third-year. Hell of a flyer--almost in your class, but she doesn't have the confidence to go for it, you know?" Ron looked up and picked out a tiny figure zooming high above the stadium. "Circe Taylor. There she is."

"Yeah," said Harry. "I met her. Sweet kid."

Then they kicked off, and Harry felt as free as he had in ages, streaking past Ron, whose wide-tailed keeper's broom was built for stability rather than speed.

At first they flew together just for the joy of it, as they had when they were students all those years ago. Soon Ron brought out a snitch and started Harry on a series of Seeker drills. Harry dove and circled around the bobbing gold snitch, laughing as he caught it and released it, over and over again.

As they landed in the last fading twilight, Harry saw a tall figure waiting on the ground with a broom. "Hullo, Circe!" Harry said as he touched down.

Circe Taylor stood, mouth open, eyes glowing, clutching her broom in both hands. "That was... Professor Potter, you were brilliant. I've never seen anyone fly like that. Even when Professor Weasley had Professor Krum work with us during the last Tri-Wizard Tournament...."

Harry looked at Ron, who was grinning broadly. "Uh, thanks, Circe... Miss Taylor."

"Could I?... Is there any chance I could get a lesson from you? Professor Weasley's always saying what I need is to work with a proper Seeker..."

"Of course, Miss Taylor. Of course." Harry shrugged. "Tomorrow evening?"

She nodded vigorously, her windswept dark sponge of hair bouncing as she did. She ran up the hillside, long-legged and springy as a unicorn colt.

As they settled in to the coach's steam room, Harry peered at Ron through the mist; without his glasses all he could see was a pink oval topped by a bright orange blur. "You set me up, Ron."

Harry heard Ron laugh. "Yeah, maybe. I've tried everything I could think of with our Circe. I thought a little outside help might do the trick."

Harry tossed a spare towel across the small room, knowing he would miss. The heat and steam and the joy of flying seemed to be leeching the day's disappointments out through his pores. "I need to tell you something, Ron."

"Sounds serious, mate."

"Yeah, deadly. Or maybe not deadly, but close enough. And it's not something you're going to like, but I need to talk to someone about it." Harry felt sweat dripping down his chest. For once, he was happy to be blind, not to be able to see Ron's face.

"Is it about Hermione?" Ron's voice, usually so boisterous, was very small.

"Not exactly."

Ron let out a loud, wet breath. "It's about Ginny, then."

"Yeah." Harry closed his eyes.

Ron shuffled damply across the steam room and sat on Harry's bench. "What is it, Harry? I swear, I won't kill you, no matter what it is."

Harry gave a sad laugh. "You know, I said the same thing to your nephew this afternoon. Nearly scared him to death."

"What, Fred and Angie's Harry?"

"Yeah. Asked him what his intentions were with my daughter. What an idiot. Sidi will have my kidneys for breakfast when she finds out. And I won't blame her."

Harry expected at least a chuckle of commiseration, but got silence, broken only by the sizzle of water dripping from the ceiling onto the magically heated rocks at the far end of the room.

Finally, Ron asked, "Harry, what's up with you and Ginny?"

So Harry told his friend everything, starting with the reunion dinner the previous October--the accidental kiss and all of the outpouring of memory and desire on both parts--and continuing through Ginny's angry exit the night before.

When he finished, Harry finally opened his eyes. He could barely make out Ron's profile, screwed up in thought.

"And that's it?" Ron asked.

"I'd think that was plenty!" Harry cried.

"Merlin's beard, Harry, I thought you and she might actually have done something, the way she's been jumping around, the way you flinched when Luna mentioned morning sickness."

"Ron, I was snogging with your sister--with our friend Neville's wife. I tore her blouse open. And what's worse, even when I finally said I couldn't go through with it, I cocked that up so well that she's furious with me." Harry let out an anguished groan. "Don't you think that's enough to be going on with?"

Ron sniffed, but Harry couldn't tell if it was due to emotion or perspiration. "Look, Harry, I'm hardly one to lecture you on fidelity, and well we both know it."

Harry shook the sweat off of what was left of his fringe of hair. "But you since you and Luna were married, have you ever?..."

"Well, Harry, I haven't actually slept with anyone else, no. But I've thought about it. Had the opportunity more than once when I was playing Quidditch hither and yon. And more than once found myself in exactly your situation--some lovely bird's hand on my fly, looking up and thinking, What the hell am I doing?"

Harry couldn't think of anything to say. The heat and fatigue had struck him dumb.

Ron shifted, bending forward until his head was almost touching his knees. "You remember when Hermione and I came to you? Spilled the beans? I've never felt worse in my life, and that's a fact. Hermione there blubbering, you lying there like a statue. And I thought, Damn, I'll never have a relationship with either of these people if I try to stay with Hermione. You would have always been present--you were present every time we touched each other, every time we talked to each other. I could never really love Hermione, knowing I was hurting you. And I thought, There's someone who loves you, who you care about, even if she is weird and barmy and does wear vegetables as jewelry. Luna and I'd been seeing each other for the last few months of school, and there it was, November, and I had hardly even thought of her since she went back to Hogwarts. But the minute I did, I could see her face and I thought, that's who I want to spend the rest of my life with. Not someone who thinks of me in terms of my family or even my best friend." Ron patted Harry wetly on the shin. "Someone beautiful and sexy and funny who loves me for me. And so I came up here, and that was that."

Harry felt the moisture moving down his face, and he knew it wasn't water. "You're a lucky man, Ron."

"Yeah, I know it." Ron's face stretched into a broad smile that Harry could make out, even through the blur. "And she can do things with that mouth..."

"Yeah, Ron, I'd rather not know, thanks," Harry laughed. "Listen, Ginny told me Luna was the one who sort of... orchestrated the way we all paired up. Did she ever tell you that?"

Now Ron laughed throatily. "Yeah, on our first date. Typical Luna: 'I asked Hermione to let me see you. So it's all right with her.'"

Harry joined Ron. Soon they were laughing giddily.

It wasn't until the cold April evening air hit them as they walked back up to the castle that Harry's mind cleared enough to ask the one remaining question: "What do I do about Ginny?"

Ron looked up at the stars for assistance, but apparently got none, and shook his head. "Forty years of watching her get unchuffed about one thing or another have only taught me this much, mate: when she's done being angry, she'll be done. But till then, you're better off not pushing it."