Chapter 22: The Misreading

The Warden sent for them at nine, which was a mercy, because it meant breakfast was spared.

It was not a mercy for long.

The study smelled of ink and old fires.

The Warden sat behind his desk with a cup of tea going cold at his elbow.

The clerk stood at his shoulder with a ledger, writing nothing.

"The wards went out last night for four seconds," said the Warden.

"A draught, sir," said Draconia.

"Do you say so."

"There are a great many draughts in the Gallery."

"There are," said the Warden. "None has ever put out seven stones."

He folded his hands.

"You will understand that the Board cannot overlook an interruption of the watch."

"Miss Malfia, I shall put it to you plainly. Was the post left?" he asked.

"Briefly."

"By whom?"

"By me," said Draconia.

"No," said Harry. "By both of us."

The Warden looked at him over his spectacles for a long moment.

"I see," he said. "That will be all. You may go. The Board will meet on Thursday."

They went out into the corridor.

Draconia walked ahead of him very fast and very straight, and he let her.

At the turn of the stair she stopped and put her hand flat on the wall.

He came up behind her and did not touch her.

"Thursday," she said.

"Yes," said Harry.

"It will be my father. He'll have heard by Thursday. He has always heard."

"I'll go to the meeting," said Harry.

"You will do no such thing. It is a Malfia matter."

"It's a watch matter," he said.

"Harry." She turned.

She had said it without noticing, in front of the whole stair, and he saw her notice and decide not to take it back.

"You don't have to stand up for me. I know what you are."

"You are a Peverell, and you are a courteous boy," she said.

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