Facing Backwards

Chapter Nine--Wingardium Leviosa

The Great Hall was abuzz the next morning--not only was the Quidditch match the last of the year, but, depending on the final score, would put Gryffindor or Hufflepuff in the lead for the House Cup or, if the score was very close, would hand the lead to Ravenclaw. Even the Slytherins were gabbling away--arguing heatedly which outcome would do them the most good.

Both Alithea and Circe waved to Harry as they strode into the hall, each surrounded by her teammates. Circe walked over to the Gryffindor table and gave Sidi a hug, which Harry's daughter returned somewhat timidly.

Harry Weasley was nowhere to be seen.

Harry was about to ask Ron whether he had seen his nephew at all during the previous day and a half when the owls came in with the morning mail. To his surprise, Harry watched a small brown barn owl swoop down and land immediately before him. At first he thought the bird might have come from the Ministry, carrying a message from his wife. But it was just the school owl that he had sent to Remus. It stuck out its leg and lackadaisically pushed its beak into his water goblet while he retrieved the letter, then floated out of the hall.

"What you got there?" Ron asked around a forkful of omelette.

"It's from Remus," Harry said, and read out loud:

Dear Harry,

Dealing with angry women was always something you were better equipped for than I. I remember your mother leveling her full, red-headed rage upon me when she first worked out why I went missing every month, demanding to know why I hadn't trusted her before, and I must say no Boggart or Dementor ever frightened me half as much.

Ron and Neville both chuckled at this; Luna hummed into her spelt porridge and Ginny raised a ginger eyebrow.

I am well. Neville's been getting the boringly positive reports on a daily basis, but the upshot is that the treatment does not seem to have had any negative side-effects, and when the moon rises tonight, we shall see how efficacious it actually may be.

Teaching at Hogwarts can be exhausting and disconcerting, I know. The ghosts--both literal and figurative--run so thick in those old stone corridors that it can become difficult to avoid becoming spellbound. Try to remember that you are there to serve the students' needs, and then let the rest take care of itself as best you can.

I am excited to hear about the Boggart. They've been hard to find the last few years, but yes, I've noticed our potions master becoming a steady favorite of late. Nott has always been a bit of a puzzlement to me, but a pleasant one. I've watched him with Professor Studdiford, and with the students, and I've grown to like and respect him, but I cannot say that I know him, for all the time we've spent together.

Nott, whom Harry hadn't noticed walking behind Neville, murmured, "Once a Gryffindor, always a Gryffindor. No bloody subtlety."

At the center of the table, Professor Snape's nose rose, as if sniffing.

"So I've been told, Nott," Harry said, and Nott nodded and passed on.

"Anything else in there?" Ron asked.

"No, just saying the students are, uh, lucky to have me, 'especially that Gryffindor third-year girl with the black curly hair who sits on the right-hand side.'" Harry looked up and found Sidi sitting next to Circe Taylor, her eyes focused on the door to the hall. Both girls looked positively grim.

Harry once again began to ask about his godson when a bright flash of flame on the table immediately between his breakfast and Ginny's startled the entire assembly. A buzz ran through the already-excited student tables as Fawkes shook a couple of feathers off of his rather bedraggled head, and began to walk forward, a parchment envelope in his mouth.

Harry reached out to take the letter, but the phoenix shook its head and waddled over to Ginny. When she took it, Fawkes fluffed his feathers and leapt up onto the back of Harry's chair. He could see "To Ginevra Molly Weasley Longbottom" written in Hermione's tiny precise script on the letter. Ginny peered at him and all Harry could do was shrug. She opened the envelope.

"Is that old Fawkes!" came a garrulous voice from Ron's chair. Professor Grubly-Plank was exuding gruff good humor and the smell of stale tobacco. "Damn, but he looks terrible. Near a Burning Day, is he?"

Harry smiled wanly and nodded, running a hand through the magnificent if somewhat the worse-for-wear tail.

"Listen," said Care for Magical Creatures teacher, "I don't suppose he could, um, stick around for a few days? Only, I'd love for my students to get a chance to see this part of a phoenix's cycle--so astonishing, isn't it?"

Harry agreed and said they could make arrangements for Fawkes to stay down by Hagrid's old quarters.

When Harry looked back to Ginny, her face was screwed up in an uncharacteristic frown. She held the letter out to Harry.

Dear Ginny,

I am so sorry it's been so long since we've had the chance to talk. My duties are no excuse--you are still the best friend I have, along with your brother--and of course my husband. I've been thinking of you quite a bit of late.

I have something I need to speak with you about--it's something exceedingly personal. I have, therefore, set a coding spell upon the rest of this letter. To unlock it, simply tap the letter with your wand and say the name of the fellow below.

The rest of the parchment was taken up with a beautifully inked drawing of what looked to be a stuffed unicorn. "It was a Christmas present from Hermione the first year I was here," Ginny said. She was peering at Harry intently. Harry could feel hundreds of other pairs of eyes weighing down on them, including Ron's, Luna's and Neville's. He felt a twinge of panic thrill through him.

Leaning forward, Ginny whispered, for his ear alone, "Look, if this is something that affects you in any way, if it's about you and me or, heaven forbid, about Hermione and my brother, I promise I'll show it to you, okay?"

Harry nodded and leaned back. Fawkes nibbled on his other ear.

Through the rest of the breakfast, students kept wandering up--no doubt curious about what was going on, but mostly to get a good look at the phoenix, who sat there on display, proudly disheveled. Sidi walked up with Circe just as Alithea Weasley approached.

Harry leaned forward and wished both Circe and Alithea good luck. They faced each other, each bearing an expression of fierce determination. After a moment, they each nodded to Harry and walked out of the Great Hall. They left the room side by side, but they might as well have been on different planets.

"Well," said Sidi mutedly, "better get out to the Quidditch pitch."

* * *

Out of habit, Harry started to walk towards the Gryffindor stands, but Luna, Ginny and Neville pulled him towards the teachers' section. "What do you think you are, a bloody plebe?" Ginny teased.

It took Harry and both Longbottoms to get Luna up into the stands and settled into a seat. "You know, Luna, I'm sure you could miss the match," Harry said, trying not to be too obvious about gasping for breath.

"Oh," Luna said airily, "I don't care much for Quidditch. I just love to watch Ronald fly." With a puffy finger, she pointed out to where Ron was standing in his referee robes, getting ready to release the balls and start the game.

"So," Neville said jovially, leaning across Ginny, "I hear you've been plotting the demise of my house's team."

"I hope you don't really think that," Harry retorted.

"No, no!" Neville laughed. "Our one and only Weasley showed up in Greenhouse Five yesterday morning and revealed her somewhat less lovely side, claiming that there was a plot afoot to steal the match for Gryffindor."

"Yes," Harry said, "she bared her beak to me, too."

"Harry! That's my niece you two are talking about," Ginny yelped, and punched him in the thigh.

Harry was about to tell her that he, like Remus, knew what it was like to be at the receiving end of a red-head's wrath when Ron blew the whistle.

"And they're off!" boomed the amplified voice of one of students--Krishna Finnegan, Harry saw.

Fifteen figures--seven red, seven yellow, and Ron in black--zoomed into the sky and immediately began to loop and dive.

Within minutes it was clear that Ron was right--Gryffindor was dominating control of both the Quaffle and the Bludgers. The Chasers worked together as a unit more smoothly even than Katie, Alicia and Angelina ever had; it was beautiful to watch. And the two Beaters--one was the white-blond boy who had almost challenged Harry in his first class--kept the Hufflepuff players totally off balance. It was 30-0 before five minutes had passed, and Harry was sure that Alithea had predicted correctly: if she didn't grab the Snitch soon, the match was going to be a landslide for Gryffindor.

Harry peered up to where the Seekers should be scanning for the Snitch--and there they were. Alithea, desperate to end the game quickly, was slashing up and down the length of the pitch, her light red ponytail snapping behind her like flame. Circe, smaller but more maneuverable, was dogging her every move--sticking to her like a shadow.

Harry smiled. Each was following the strategy he had suggested. He had said to Circe, "Look, it doesn't matter if you get the Snitch--you just need to keep the other Seeker away from it long enough for your team to score a couple of hundred points. Block her. Don't let her turn. Force her off-track." It was a strategy he had learned once upon a time from Cho Chang.

Knowing this, he had said to Alithea, "She's quick and fast too, but she's smaller than you are--don't let her get in your way. Use your size and strength to your advantage. Fly through her if you have to."

As the game became more lopsided, more and more of the spectators joined Harry in focusing on the two girls, who were whizzing around the stadium, a joined pair of blurs. At one point the two whooshed mere feet over Harry and Luna's heads--Luna barely seemed to notice, since she was watching her husband, who was separating the blond Beater from one of the Hufflepuff Chasers, who had lost his temper. As the girls buzzed overhead so close that the brooms' twigs mussed their hair, Luna gave a startled hiccough and Harry could see Alithea using her foot to push the smaller girl out of her way.

"Bugger," Ginny muttered, "Ali's going to kill that girl."

Harry watched Circe execute a deft roll to move to her opponent's other side, and he grinned. "Nah," he said, "she's tougher than she looks. Kind of like another smallish girl I once saw flying Seeker for Gryffindor."

Neville laughed, which caused little Professor Mundy, who was sitting in front of them, to turn around, her eyes gleaming. "I feel like I'm watching you and Malfoy trying to kill each other up there again!"

Nott, who was sitting beside her, deadpanned, "Yes, except that in that case the threat of death was real, imminent, and intentional." This caused a general howl from all of the younger faculty members.

It would go down as one of the greatest Seeker duels in Hogwarts history. For more than an hour and a half, the two spun and circled, flashing through the melee into which the heart of the game had descended. Twice Alithea spotted the Snitch, and twice Circe was able to use her shoulder to force the taller girl away before she could grab it. Each girl feinted masterfully--Alithea resorting to the Wronski several times to try and plow Circe into the ground. But each time, the other girl spotted the feint for what it was, and the duel continued.

At one point, randomly, Ginny called out to all of the faculty, "Oi, anyone see any redheads in the Gryffindor section?" No one did.

Soon the game was clearly decided--Gryffindor was leading by over four hundred points, and even if Alithea caught the Snitch, the margin of victory would push Professor Armstrong's house into the lead for both the Quidditch and House Cups. Since the game itself was all but academic, the crowd had now joined Harry in focusing on the two whirling Seekers. Their hair whipping free, their robes torn, the girls were slashing and diving around each other like falcons fighting over some poor sparrow. The crowd gasped each time they came into contact and held their breath every time they dived.

Harry was just beginning to worry that one of the girls--Circe, most likely--would literally drop off of her broom in fatigue. Suddenly, just above the grass, he caught a glint of gold. Both girls spotted it too, and pulled into a power dive straight at the bobbing Snitch. Shoulder to shoulder the two sped downward, each jockeying for position, barely pulling out at the last second. Red robes and yellow, fair skin and coffee, they tumbled over each other, off their brooms and onto the pitch. They lay there in a crumpled mass for several seconds--the crowd was absolutely silent and the other players hovered anxiously--until a yellow clad arm rose from the pile, holding the madly buzzing Snitch.

The stadium erupted. The ovation was so loud, that even sitting just four rows back, Harry could barely hear Krishna Finnegan calling out, "Weasley catches the Snitch, but Gryffindor wins! The game is over! Gryffindor 670, Hufflepuff 240! Gryffindor wins!"

Next to him, Harry saw Luna wince, one hand over an ear, and the other on her belly. "We'll get her back up to the castle," Ginny yelled into his ear. "You go and congratulate your girls. You did good, Harry."

Harry nodded and sprinted down onto the pitch. It was a madhouse. Half the student body was on the field, desperately trying to get to the two Seekers. Ron was in the middle, madly blowing his whistle, trying to get everyone to back away. Harry stepped in with Tom Studdiford and the nurse, Madam Skepples, trying to make sure that Circe and Alithea were still in one piece. When they finally fought to the center, Harry found each of the Seekers surrounded by her teammates, being pummeled almost as badly as they had been pummeling each other up in the air. Harry was not surprised to see a look of fierce pride in Alithea's bloodied face; he was shocked and gratified to see it in Circe's.

The Health professor and the nurse quickly backed the students away and checked the two girls over. Astonishingly, neither had more than minor bruises and cuts. When the healers stepped back, Circe and Alithea looked at each other. At first, Harry wasn't sure that Alithea wasn't going to try to hit Circe, but then he saw the Weasley girl raise her hand and offer it to her opposite.

Taylor, with the exuberance of youth, took the proffered hand, pumped it a few times, and then threw her arms around Alithea's neck and gave her an enormous hug. The crowd broke into applause once more.

Harry felt Sidi at his elbow. "Daddy," she said over the din, "that was amazing."

"Was, wasn't it?" was all that he could say.

Then the two stars of the day caught sight of him, and together pulled him into a bear hug that soon included both house sides.

"Thank you!" the two girls howled in either ear, and Harry grinned. Alithea, Harry thought, had never looked less pretty or more proud. And Circe looked as if she wanted to jump back on the Firebolt and do it all again.

"Nice broom, eh?" he called to her, and she grinned, holding it up.

Suddenly, the volume dipped, as if a blanket had been thrown over the crowd. Harry looked around and saw students pointing up into the sky, towards the castle.

Harry looked up himself and saw a figure streaking towards the Quidditch stadium at breakneck speed. Over a windswept black cloak, Harry could make out bright red eyes and a snake-like slit nose.

Voldemort?

The whole crowd began to whisper nervously.

When the flyer reached the sky over their heads, a stream of smoke sprang from the back of his broom. Hunched over his broom, still traveling at full speed, the figure began to spell out letters.

Someone nearby muttered, "Surrender Dorothy," and the scattered titters revealed the students who had, like Harry, grown up among Muggles.

But the first letter wasn't an S, it was an L. Voldemort--well, obviously not him, but whoever it was--wibbled as he flew, so that the letters were barely legible: a squashed-looking O, and then V, E, Y, O, U, S, Q, U...

Next to Harry, Sidi gave a frightened squeak.

In the middle of what looked to be a rather unstable I, the broom bucked wildly and its rider nearly fell. Clearly terrified, he wrapped his arms and legs around the broomstick and held on for dear life. Like a stallion bolting to pasture, the broom veered and then shot towards the Forbidden Forest.

Barely pausing to think, Harry turned to Circe Taylor and asked, "Mind if I borrow the broom back?" When she nodded, her eyes as wide as the bruising allowed, he snatched the Firebolt from her hand, leapt aboard. With a savage kick, he launched himself into the air, and hurtled to intercept the out-of-control broom.

The other rider was speeding towards the forest in a sloping downward trajectory, his head tucked, apparently oblivious that he was about to plow into the trees at a speed sufficient to splatter him and his broom across a wide swath of timberland.

Harry leaned hard into the handle, urging the Firebolt faster than it had flown in many years. He kept low, focusing simply on catching up to the other broom, rather than trying to rise to its altitude. Pine and oak branches snapped beneath his feet as he zoomed forward. Peeking upwards, he saw that he had nearly pulled even with the other flier--the flapping robes must be slowing him down. Very carefully, he rose parallel to the speeding broom--a glistening, brand new Clean Sweep XIII, not a scratch on it. The other rider--too short to be Tom Riddle--was wrapped around his broom. Harry could hear a high-pitched whimper. "Hold on!" Harry called out over the rush of the wind. "I'm going to try to slow you down!"

Harry reached across, and pulled back on the handle of the Clean Sweep. They were barely above the treetops now, and Harry knew he had very little margin for error. Holding both brooms, he tried to slow them and steer them into a clearing just ahead. When they were just a few seconds from landing, however, the other broom gave a final vicious buck, broke free, and slammed up against a bent, mossy fir with a heavy thud. Broom and rider tumbled to the ground.

Harry leapt off of his own broom and sprinted over the fallen figure. The skin of his face was oddly lifeless and the neck....

A mask, Harry realized. A mask of Voldemort. No wonder...

When Harry gently pried the mask off, he was not surprised by the battered face he found: his godson, Harry Weasley.

"Can you hear me, Harry?" Harry called. There was a generous lump on the boy's forehead, and one of his legs was canted at an angle that didn't look good. "Listen, son, can you hear me?"

Harry Weasley groaned; the eye opposite the goose-egg opened and he muttered, "Did she see it?"

"Who?"

"Squid..." he moaned.

Oh. Oh. "Yes, Harry, she did."

With that, the boy gave a grunt, rolled his head onto his godfather's lap, and closed his eye again.

"Hold on, Harry, I'm going to get someone to take care of that leg, all right? Stay with me, will you? I need some company." Don't want you falling asleep. Harry pulled out his wand and shot a flare of red sparks into the sky. At least I can still do that, he thought. "That was very brave, Harry," he said.

"Wasn't," the boy groaned thickly. "It was stupid. I was scared."

"Being brave doesn't mean not being scared," Harry said. "It means doing what you have to, even if you're scared."

Harry Weasley grunted again.

"Especially if you're scared... Look, Harry," said Harry, "I'm really sorry I ever talked to you about..."

"'Bout Squid? Nah, you were right. I mean, I got all these whatchamers boiling around inside me, she has no way of knowing if I don't tell her, right? So I told her. For everyone to see." He started to roll and then winced. "Leg feels like hell."

"I think it's broken. Someone'll be here soon; they'll mend it straight away."

The boy's brown eye peered up at him. "She saw it though? What did she think?"

Harry ran his hand gently through the boy's hair. He remembered Sidi's stifled squeal. "I think she was surprised."

Harry Weasley grinned wanly. "I bet."

At that moment, there was a whoosh as a large Persian carpet bearing Tom Studdiford and Lois Skepples floated gently to the ground beside them. Madam Skepples, who bore the aggrieved look that has marked school nurses since time immemorial, took the boy's head from Harry and shoved the godfather back, quickly taking inventory of the godson's wounds.

"Lucky thing you caught him," Tom said, "or we'd have been bringing him back to the school in a cauldron."

Harry smiled weakly. "He going to be all right?"

"Won't know till we get him back to the castle. But he was conscious, yes?" Harry nodded. "Then he should be fine--just some broken bones, bruises... You didn't try to heal anything, did you?"

"No," Harry said.

Tom nodded. "Thanks. You wouldn't believe how much damage is done by wizards who think they know how to take care of a simple fracture or bruise."

"As a matter of fact, I would believe it." Harry smiled again.

Together the three of them lifted Harry onto the flying carpet--"Had to petition some frightful old fart at the Ministry for months to get this imported. This lad's uncle as it happens. But it's dead useful"--and then Harry escorted them back to the castle and the hospital wing.

Sidi met them at the door, along with Ginny and Neville. They had guessed that this was where Harry Weasley would be headed.

"Daddy?"

"Yeah, Sid?"

By way of an answer, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him hard on the cheek. Then she sprinted inside.

Harry was about to follow his daughter in when Ginny caught his elbow. "This," she said, "is where, having played the hero, you gracefully absent yourself from their story."

"Oh," Harry said. "Right."

* * *

Dinner that night might as well have been a major feast. The Great Hall never quite quieted below the volume of a jet airplane warming up in its hangar. Students were running around, comparing stories about the amazing match and its aftermath. Professor Mundy had brought several bottles of methglyn--a raspberry-flavored mead--for the staff table, and Harry indulged rather more than he should. Ron kept proposing toasts in a more and more boisterous bellow. He was beginning to sound positively Hagrid-like, Harry mused.

Harry Weasley and Sidi weren't present. Tom Studdiford informed the staff table that young Mr. Weasley would be fine--that his pride had been rather more seriously damaged than his body, but that young Ms. Potter was looking to that. The pride, that is, the Health professor had added when Harry had shot him a look of parental panic.

At the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor tables, the two Seekers were being feted in grand style. Circe's housemates had lifted her up onto the table and placed a paper crown on her head. Her smile was so broad it seemed to light the entire room.

Alithea Weasley had chosen not to have her injuries looked to. Still bruised, a line of dried blood still running down from her brow to her chin, she looked every bit the grizzled veteran; yet even then she somehow managed to look beautiful. Harry imagined, however, that this was one time when no one--not even Alithea--cared at all how she looked.

Only two people present seemed not to be caught up in the celebratory mood: Professor Snape, who moodily brushed aside any attempts to fill his wine glass, and Luna, who seemed to have lost her appetite entirely.

"You okay?" Harry asked her under Ron's uplifted goblet.

"Tummy ache," she muttered. "Think I'll go find a Snorkack to settle it and lie down for a bit."

* * *

When Harry floated into the Remus's rooms nearly an hour later, he was feeling very pleased with himself. Crisis with Sidi averted. Godson saved. Not bad for an old man.

He was about to put in a Floo call to Hermione and the kids when there was a knock on the doorframe. It was Ginny.

"Something wrong?" he asked. Luna? Young Harry? Neville? "You seemed happy enough fifteen minutes ago... What's happened?"

She didn't look angry; Harry knew that look intimately at this point. She seemed more confused. Perturbed. She held up the letter from Hermione. "Do you know about this?" she asked in an even tone.

Harry shook his head. "Know? Know what? Is it about you and me? Or her and your swot of a brother?"

Ginny gave a snort. "No. That's rubbish. Look." She opened the parchment and was about to tap her wand when she looked up, suddenly shy. "Um, Harry, just remember I was eleven when she gave me this, okay? The unicorn?"

"Uh, okay."

She raised her wand and touched it to the drawing on the letter. "Harry." As the ink lines separated and began to move around the page, rearranging themselves into letters, Ginny peered up into Harry's face, her own turning bright red.

"Oh," said Harry. "Wow."

"Just read the bloody thing," she said.

The letter continued:

Given how little I've been able to see you recently, it is more than a little presumptuous of me to guess what's going on in your life, I know. But between the times that we have been able to talk, and the little I've been able to gather from Harry and others who have been better friends than I have managed to be, I gather you have been upset about something for the last few months. When we have had to opportunity to talk, you haven't brought it up, and so I will hazard a guess as to what's bothering you: your and Neville's inability to have children.

As it happens, I have reason to suppose that it is an inability, not a choice, and that the source of this inability is Neville.

This is all presumptuous in the extreme, as I have said. All of it, of course, is rank conjecture. If I have mistaken the case, please put this down to Hermione meddling again.

If, however, my suppositions are correct, I would like to offer a remedy: Harry.

I am reasonably certain that neither you nor my husband would object to such an arrangement. You would be welcome to avail yourself of either artificial insemination--although I understand this is usually considered less than efficacious by most Wizarding healers and midwives--or of the more traditional arrangement.

I do not make this offer lightly. It is very much an expression of the love I feel for you and for Neville.

Think this over. Discuss it with your husband and please let me know what you have decided.

Yours very truly,

Hermione Jane Granger

By the time Harry had reached the end, he was laughing so hard he could scarcely breathe.

"What?" Ginny asked sharply. "Harry, did you put her up to this? Did you tell her about Neville? Because if you did..."

Tears streaming down his face, he shook his head emphatically and stumbled over to the closet, pulling the Pensieve down from its shelf. Still breathless, he placed it on the table, drew a memory out of his mind, grabbed the bewildered Ginny's hand and dove in.

They were sitting on the northern shore of the lake. Neville and Harry were chatting as they stumbled on the rocks that were strewn across the path. In the memory, Harry was blathering. "You had lost your parents too, even if they were still alive, and no one made any fuss about that."

"Not that I gave them the chance," said Neville. "But for you not to be resentful at all, it's really quite remarkable, Harry."

Ginny began to open her mouth--no doubt to ask the perfectly reasonable question of what this had to do with anything.

Harry raised a shaky finger to his lips as his memory-self said, "I've got as wonderful a life as a wizard could ask for. An amazing wife, a loving family..."

"Yeees," Neville mused, "when it comes to that, I must say I've always rather envied you, Harry. Ginny and I..." Neville stopped and looked out toward the castle, his ears pinkening slightly. Here it comes, thought Harry. Woohoo! "Have you ever wondered why Ginny and I don't have any children?"

Ginny's eyes popped wide as she listened to her husband stutter through his proposal. "Did they?..."

Harry shook his head, the giggles overcoming him again.

"And you didn't say anything to?..."

"No," Harry managed to get out. "Wanted to talk to you first..."

And with that, they both collapsed onto the sand, laughing and cackling like hags in a particularly bad Panto.