The Wards Don't Lie, and Neither Do We novel · Chapter 1 of 32
Chapter 1: The Light Chose Her
At matriculation the college wards choose Draconia Malfia and Harry Peverell for the nightly watch, she accepts against her father's letter, and her wand lights gold in front of the whole hall.
The ward-light left the lantern over the dais and went straight to Draconia Malfia's wrist.
She did not look down at it.
Every first year in the hall turned to look at her.
They sat in rows under the vaulted roof, all of them eighteen or just past it.
She kept her eyes on the head of the college.
"Draconia Malfia," he read, from the name the thread had written in the air. "The wards have chosen you for the watch."
A murmur ran down the rows and did not stop.
No Malfia had stood the watch since the Accord was signed.
Every autumn her family paid the college a fine to keep it that way.
A chosen student could refuse once, and Draconia had the refusal ready in her pocket.
It was folded in her father's handwriting.
If the wards name you, refuse. Do not let them read you.
A refusal cost the house its seat on the college board.
The Malfia held one of nine seats, and it was the last place the name still counted for anything.
Her father would rather lose the seat than see her bound to anyone.
Draconia would rather stand a watch than watch the seat go.
"I accept," she said.
Her voice came out flat and clear, which was what she had practised.
Across the hall, a second thread of light left the lantern and went to a boy's wrist.
"Harry Peverell," the head of the college read, and the murmur became noise.
Draconia knew why.
Every first year had walked past the east window that morning.
It was a tall pane of coloured glass showing a Peverell with both hands raised, holding up the sky over the college.
He had a long fringe falling across his glasses.
The real one was standing up in row nine with a long fringe falling across his glasses.
He did not look pleased about the window either.
"Both of you to the dais," said the head of the college. "Wands out. You will cross them."
Draconia walked down the aisle with her chin level.
Vivienne Crabbe was in the fourth row with her mouth open.
Georgina Goyle had a hand on Vivienne's sleeve to keep her seated.
Draconia reached the dais at the same moment he did.
She looked him up and down, slowly, because the hall was watching and it was better to be the one doing it.
"They made you shorter than the window," she said.
Harry Peverell looked at her over the top of his glasses.
"They made you louder than your file," he said. "It said you were shy."
Somebody in the hall laughed and stopped.
Draconia felt her face stay exactly where she had put it.
"Wands," the head of the college said again.
Her wand was ash, pale and straight.
His was dark and a little bent, and when he held it out the tips met in the air between them.
Silver light ran along both wands and up into the roof.
It was the colour the wards burned when two people held steady, and she had expected it.
She was calm.
She had been calm for three weeks, and she had meant to stay calm for four years.
Then the silver warmed.
It went the colour of candle flame and kept going until her whole wand was gold.
The gold climbed the walls, and every window in the hall lit up with it.
Nobody spoke.
"The wards show what you feel," the head of the college said, to the hall and not to her. "They always have. They show it to everyone standing in the room."
Draconia's wand arm stayed perfectly still.
She made sure of that, and the gold did not care.
"Draconia," Vivienne whispered from the fourth row, loud enough to carry to the back wall. "It's gold."
Draconia looked at the gold, and then, because she could not stop herself, at the other wand.
His light was low and uneven.
It flickered white at the tip and dropped back, flickered again, and held on.
Harry Peverell was not looking at the hall.
He was looking at her light.
"It's cold in here," Draconia said, loud enough for the first rows. "The lanterns are failing."
He moved his eyes from the wand to her face and kept them there.
"Cold's blue," he said, low, for her alone.
Then he lowered his wand, and the gold went on burning in every window.
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