Chapter 27: What the Wards Want

The Board's Friday reading was held at nine, as always, and Draconia went to it with her hair pinned flat and a plan.

She had slept two hours.

She had a sore mouth and a bruise on her hip.

She had walked up the hill beside Harry with perfect formality, saying nothing.

It was the most dishonest ten minutes of her life.

The hall was full.

The first year sat in rows, and behind them, on benches that had been brought in overnight, sat a good part of the village.

Georgina had done her work.

At the front, on the dais, were six members of the Board in dark coats, the Warden in the middle.

The clerk sat at the end with a scroll.

At the side, in the third seat, sat a thin man with a smile.

He was the Peverell cousin.

Beside him sat a woman in grey, with the Malfia ring on her hand, who looked at Draconia and looked away.

"Miss Malfia," said the Warden. "Mr Peverell. You will take the wands."

They went up.

They crossed them in the air before the whole hall, and the light came.

It did not come silver.

It lit the east window from within, in one long rolling wave, gold from rim to rim.

It ran down the walls and flooded the floor to the feet of the first row.

The village on the benches gasped.

The clerk read from his scroll, and the Warden folded his hands.

"The Board has noted," he said, "an irregularity in the light on Wednesday night at the second hour."

"A draught," said Draconia.

"Miss Malfia." He regarded her with something very like regret.

"I will put one question, in the hearing of the college, and you will answer it on your oath as the holder of the post."

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