thought better of it. Holding his breath, he approached the door, thumbed the latch, and pulled it open as quietly as he could.
There didn't seem to be anyone in the corridor. Lantern light flickered silently, reflecting on the tiled marble floors and white walls. Leaving the door slightly open, James padded along the corridor in the direction that the shadowy figure seemed to have gone. He reached the end of the corridor and entered a larger hallway lined with statuary and doorways on one side and tall crystal windows, interspersed with pillars, on the other.
Beyond the windows, the city seemed very dark in its watery bed. Only a few lights could be seen glimmering in the blue distance. Under a glass-enclosed bridge, a whale maneuvered deftly, its bulk black in the dimness, its tail waving ponderously. James saw his own reflection in the crystal; saw his tee shirt, pyjama bottoms, and bare feet. His hair, as usual, was stuck up in a wild strew. He frowned at himself, even though he liked what he saw. He was getting taller, was, in fact, nearly as tall as his mum now. 'You could pass for a seventh-year,' she had told him recently, before they'd known they would be spending the year away from Hogwarts, in an entirely different country. 'You've gone and turned into a man,' she'd said, smiling indulgently and a little mistily, 'and I barely noticed it happening. Albus and Lily too, but especially you. You're growing up. You're becoming your own man.'
James sighed, wishing his mother had been right. He didn't feel like his own man, at least not yet. But he was getting there. The past two years had made their mark, as had his recent ordeal with the Gatekeeper, which had, very fortunately, ended with its eternal banishment. James didn't yet feel like a man, but he could sense the essential framework of his manhood taking shape inside him, defining who he was going to be, giving him hope and a fleeting, giddy strength. Maybe Scorpius had been right. Maybe there would be another adventure in the offing this year. If there was, and if James was going to be a part of it, he thought that he might just be ready for it. This time, he wouldn't stumble into it filled with uncertainty and self-doubt. This time, he thought, grinning to himself, he'd face it head on.
'So very like your grandfather,' a voice said quietly, smiling. James startled and whipped around, looking for the source of the voice. A tall figure stood next to him, staring out the crystalline window, its robes so seamlessly black that they cast no reflection on the mirror-like surface.
'Sorry,' James said quickly, his eyes wide. 'I didn't hear you, er… how long have you been there?'
'You are growing bold,' the figure said, and James realized it was a woman. Her voice was pleasant, friendly. 'Bold and confident, James Sirius Potter, nor does this come as a surprise to anyone who might be paying the slightest bit of attention. It is, in fact, exactly as it should be.'
James peered at the woman, trying to see her face under the thick hood that covered her head. 'Thanks, I guess. How do you know me?' he asked.
She noticed his look and laughed lightly. 'I am a fellow traveler, James. Didn't you see me aboard the
James thought for a moment. 'No, actually. Sorry. And I expect I'd have remembered you, to be honest. Were you wearing… er… that?'
'People tend not to notice me, believe it or not,' the woman sighed. 'Unless they want to, or unless I make them. But I apologize. We were talking about you, weren't we?'
'I guess so,' James replied, taking a step back. He felt a little strange standing in the empty corridor with the woman, especially since she seemed to be fully dressed and he was in his bedclothes, his hair teased into corkscrews. He reached up and matted it down as unobtrusively as he could. 'But like I said, how do you know about me? Who are you?'
'Oh, everyone knows you,' the woman said, her voice smiling. 'Everyone in the wizarding world, at least. Son of the great Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, et cetera, et cetera. Why, you've spent so very much time wondering how you should and shouldn't be like your father that you've completely failed to see all the ways—the far more
James glanced from the darkly clothed woman next to him to his own reflection in the crystal glass. Strange as it seemed, the woman was right. It had never occurred to him to wonder about his grandfather on his dad's side, to wonder if he himself bore any of that man's personality traits or physical attributes. Everyone said that Albus was the one who most looked like the young Harry Potter. Maybe James had, therefore, inherited the looks and personality of his long lost grandfather. It wouldn't be all that surprising, really. Truthfully, it was quite a nice thought. He shrugged at his reflected self, musing.
'Did you know my grandfather?' he asked the robed woman. 'James the First?' As soon as he'd asked it, he felt foolish for doing so. The woman couldn't possibly be that old.
'Not as such,' the woman answered, a laugh in her voice. 'I am rather a student of history, that's all. You Potters are quite famous, as I have already mentioned, and your family name has a long and rich ancestry, dating back more than a thousand years. You may be interested to know that your experience with Merlinus Ambrosius is not the first time the Potter name has been historically linked to the great sorcerer. He saved the life of a distant relative of yours, in fact, albeit indirectly.'
'Really?' James asked, glancing back at the woman again. Her face was still hidden, lost in shadow. 'When? How?'
'A story for another time, I think,' the woman demurred. 'For now, I think I will be on my way. I was simply entranced by the view here. A city buried underwater is truly a spectacular sight. You might say that it appeals to me, in a rather deep, elemental way.'
'Yeah,' James said, sighing. 'Me too, I suppose. But I should probably get back to my own room. I couldn't sleep. I was just too excited.'
'Indeed,' the woman nodded, her voice teasing. 'That sort of thing seems to be rather common this night. Your friend is also up and wandering. But of course, you must already know that. You are probably planning to meet her.' She exhaled slowly, wistfully. 'Ah, young love…'
'Who?' James asked, frowning, but of course he knew the answer already. 'Petra?'
'I'm sure I don't know her name,' the woman answered tactfully, but her hooded head turned, gesturing toward the deserted hall behind James. She nodded, as if prodding him in the right direction. James finally had a glimpse of the woman's face. She was pretty, and younger than he had expected. A curl of reddish hair lay on her forehead like a comma.
'Sure,' James nodded. 'I should probably go and… er… check on her. If she's part of my group, like you said.'
The woman nodded again, her red lips smiling knowingly. James' face flushed, partly because what she was implying—that he was sneaking off to meet a girlfriend for some unchaperoned snogging—was so untrue, and partly because he so terribly wished it was.
'Good night, James,' the woman said, turning away. 'Sleep well.'
'Good night, er,' he replied, but he didn't know the woman's name. She swept on, leaving a deep shadow behind her and no reflection on the crystal windows. James frowned at her as she departed. Then, remembering what she had said, he turned and ran along the hall in the other direction.
Closed doors and crystal panels lined the hall for some distance, and then the hall widened, enclosing a large space with a dizzyingly high, dark ceiling. An ornate brass framework of crystal windows embraced one side of the space, forming shining buttresses and terraces, filled with ferns. The floor was checkered marble, each square as large as James' parents' bed. The space appeared to be a sort of common room, full of chairs, sofas, tables, and desks. A massive silver chandelier hung over the room, dominating it, but its hundreds of candles were dark. The only light in the room came from a long low fireplace and a cluster of candles that stood near it on a brass brazier. James began to cross the floor slowly, threading between the low chairs and desks, instinctively feeling that he should be very quiet. Before he was halfway to the fireplace, however, he spied a figure lying serenely on a sort of half sofa. She sat up at his approach, apparently unsurprised, and James saw that it was Izzy.
'Hi James,' she said quietly. 'What're you up to?'
