Chapter 4: The Walk Back

By the end of the first week, the college had a new name for Harry, and he had not chosen it.

It started at breakfast, when a second year with a toast rack looked at him across the hall and said, "Morning, Window."

Two more people laughed, and by dinner it was everywhere.

Harry took it as he took most things, with a nod and a slice of bread.

He had spent his whole life as the boy the glass had been made for.

His great-aunt had told him the story over and over, all through the years he lived in her cottage: a Peverell had held up the sky.

The Peverells had been owed for it ever since.

He had never seen any of what they were owed.

On Thursday night the watch ended at two, as it always did, and the wards stood bright and steady over the hill.

They took their hands from the wands together.

Draconia was already on her feet, with her scarf over one arm and her chin lifted.

"Goodnight, Peverell."

"I'll walk you to the tower."

She stopped.

"There is no need. It's the other side of the same courtyard."

"It's dark," said Harry.

"I have a wand."

"It's in the cradle," said Harry, and she looked down at her empty hand.

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