He sighed and sat down on the sofa facing the coals of the fire.
It was too warm for the flames to need stoking. They were only there for effect, offering mere ruddy light and little heat.
A blonde woman was seated on the chair nearby, her eyes glinting in the light of the coals.
“Petra would be very proud of you,” she said.
James nodded, knowing it was true. “She would think the post was beneath me, probably. She would say I should be Minister of Magic, not headmaster.”
“I don’t think so,” the blonde woman said, smiling sadly.
“Political posts are for crusaders or puppets. Headmasters are the ones who really change the future. They provide the subtle pebbles of destiny that shift the rivers of the future. She would be glad you were here. She would applaud you.”
James glanced aside, and smiled ruefully. “How are you, Izzy?”
Izzy shrugged. She was older than a young woman now. In her prime, if such a person could be said to have a prime. James secretly suspected that she might never grow a year older as long as she lived.
Not unless she desired it, and allowed it. “I’m well. I can’t not be. I expect you know that.”
“Wellbeing is more than safety and happiness,” James said with a sigh, turning back to the fire.
“I know,” Izzy answered, a smile in her voice.
They sat in comfortable silence for a minute. Izzy was a like a sister to James, although a sister that he had never fought with, or tattled on, or been embarrassed by in front of his friends. She was all the warmth and knowing of a beloved sibling, with none of the jealousy or spite.
Of course, she was also completely unlike any other human being. She was, as Merlin had long ago said, a Guardian. It was less a description, James had come to discover, than an ancient title. Such beings had apparently lived long, long ago. Some legends said that they still did, although now in secret, forever hidden, watching and guiding from the backstage of reality. James wondered sometimes if that was where Izzy went when she withdrew from her childhood home with the Potters, when she seemed to step right out of the world of regular people, both magical or Muggle.
He suspected he would never know the truth about that. Izzy had never explained, and he had never had the audacity to ask.
“I saw Deirdre Finnegan the other day,” she finally said, speaking as if to the dying embers. “She said to tell you hello.”
James shook his head ruefully. “Don’t start.”
“She’s very beautiful,” Izzy shrugged. “Much more fetching now than she was even back when you two were in school. She intends to apply for the Transfiguration position. She’s very good. I think she would make a wonderful addition.”
“I know what you’re getting at,” James said, his smile softening only a little. “It’s not any additions to Hogwarts staff that you’re dreaming up. It’s very sweet. But stop.”
“Tabitha Corsica is between husbands at the moment,” Izzy commented with a sly smile. “What with her working for the Department of Ambassadorial Relations, she’d be traveling so much that you’d rarely see each other anyway.”
James rolled his eyes. “You’re very amusing.”
Izzy’s smile softened. “And then there’s always Lucy. She’s never really gotten over you, no matter what she says.”
“Enough,” James sighed. “Lucy and I… look, it’s complicated.
And not just because we’re technically family. I love her, of course. And we did see each other for awhile.”
“On several occasions, I recall.”
James glanced aside at her. “Our story isn’t over yet, I suppose.
But for now, it’s at a bit of a stalemate. She’s busy studying for her doctorate in advanced technomancy at Alma Aleron. I’m here, getting ready to start a new career…”
Izzy met his eyes knowingly. “A bachelor headmaster isn’t a requirement, you know.”
“I know,” James answered with a sigh. “It’s not that. Really. I just…” He shook his head faintly. “It’s not that I’m not looking. Or that I’m disinterested. I go out sometimes. And who knows: maybe someday someone will come along. Maybe Lucy. Maybe even Deirdre.
Definitely not Tabitha Corsica. But, for now… I’m happy. My life is… uncomplicated. I’m content.”
Izzy nodded, seemed to consider this thoughtfully for a minute.
Then she looked at him and said, “If anyone else said that, I think they’d be lying, both to me and themselves. But in your case, James… I believe you.”
James smiled at her, happy to be known.
They chatted a little longer. Izzy asked about Albus and Lily, Mum and Dad. And then, as the clock struck midnight, she stood up.
James stood as well. He walked her to the portrait hole, and she gave him a hug. It was affectionate, lingering, and over too soon. And yet, as always, James felt comforted by the nonverbal promise of many more hugs to come, in a future that was, if unpredictable, at least steady.
Izzy would see to that.
She left via the portrait hole. James knew that once the painting swung shut, Izzy would likely vanish from the school altogether. She didn’t have to use doors. But leaving via them, at least in other people’s presence, was a kindness and a courtesy.
He considered going upstairs to the boys’ dormitory and finding an old student bed to sleep in. It was a ridiculous thought, of course. It made him smile. His trunk was already stowed in the formal guest quarters adjacent to the headmaster’s suite, just waiting for him to move across the hall tomorrow and start his new life.
He would not look back. Not when there was so very much to look forward to.
Thus, he decided to go to the guest quarters after all. He was confident that he would sleep exceptionally well, and awaken ready for whatever new adventures awaited him, this time from the other side of that ancient, foreboding headmaster’s desk, with the Sorting Hat snoozing on its shelf behind him.
Perhaps he would even get a phoenix.
On that note, he climbed through the portrait hole, leaving the portrait of the Fat Lady, snoring daintily in her frame, to swing gently shut behind him.
In the empty darkness of the Gryffindor common room, a shadow moved. It had been there the whole time, only perfectly still, knowing that stillness made it invisible. That was simply one of the rules. The shadow had watched Izzy and James speak, listened to them with affection, and a little amusement, and a touch of old, deep sadness.
The shadow was the shape of a young woman. She had long dark hair, somewhat windswept, but rakishly so. She wore a pale blue hooded jumper over a calico dress and work boots. She had deep eyes the peculiar blue of moonlight on a frozen pond.