Chapter 14: Spare Scarf

The scarf was waiting on his side of the table on Monday night, folded square, with a card tucked into the fold.

It was dark green wool, thick enough to stand up by itself.

The card said, in her small upright hand, For the watch.

Harry turned it over, and there was nothing on the back.

Draconia came in at ten exactly, took her place at the cradle, and did not look at it.

"You'll want to put that on," she said, "before the draught from the window finds your throat."

"It's green," said Harry.

"It is the only scarf I own that is long enough to go twice round a person of your height."

"It's the Malfia green," he said.

"It is a scarf, Peverell. Nobody has ever been killed by a colour."

He put it on.

It smelled of cedar and a little of smoke, and it was warmer than anything he owned.

He was wrapped in it up to the chin before he realised what it looked like from the other side of the cradle.

A Peverell in the Malfia green.

Draconia was watching him with her chin propped on one hand.

Her face was entirely composed.

"There," she said. "I'll tell you why I gave it to you, so you don't flatter yourself."

"Please," said Harry.

"You will be tiresome if you're ill. You'll sniff at the Friday reading and I shall have to pretend I can't hear it."

Keep reading free with an account. Start The Wards Don't Lie, and Neither Do We from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.