‘It's ... horrible,’ said Hermione

‘It's ... horrible,’ said Hermione, looking shaken. She folded back page ten of the newspaper and handed it to Harry and Ron.

TRAGIC DEMISE OF MINISTRY OF MAGIC WORKER
St. Mungo's Hospital promised a full inquiry last night after Ministry of Magic worker Broderich Bode, 49, was discovered dead in his bed, strangled by a pot plant. Healers called to the scene were unable to revive Mr. Bode,

who had been injured in a workplace accident some weeks prior to his death.

Healer Miriam Strout, who was in charge of Mr. Bode's ward at the time of the incident, has been suspended on full pay and was unavailable for comment yesterday, but a spokeswizard for the hospital said in a statement:

‘St. Mungo's deeply regrets the death of Mr. Bode, whose health was improving steadily prior to this tragic accident.

‘We have strict guidelines on the decorations permitted on our wards but it appears that Healer Strout, busy over the Christmas period, overlooked the dangers of the plant on Mr. Bode's bedside table. As his speech and

mobility improved, Healer Strout encouraged Mr. Bode to look after the plant himself, unaware that it was not an innocent Flitterbloom, but a cutting of Devil's Snare which, when touched by the convalescent Mr. Bode,

throttled him instantly.

‘St. Mungo's is as yet unable to account for the presence of the plant on the ward and asks any witch or wizard with information to come forward.’

‘Bode ...’ said Ron. ‘Bode.It rings a bell ...’

‘We saw him,’ Hermione whispered. ‘In St. Mungo's, remember? He was in the bed opposite Lockhart's, just lying there, staring at the ceiling. And we saw the Devil's Snare arrive. She—the Healer—said it was a Christmas

present.’

Harry looked back at the story. A feeling of horror was rising like bile in his throat.

‘How come we didn't recognise Devil's Snare? We've seen it before ... we could've stopped this from happening.’

‘Who expects Devil's Snare to turn up in a hospital disguised as a pot plant?’ said Ron sharply. ‘It's not our fault, whoever sent it to the bloke is to blame! They must be a real prat, why didn't they check what they were buying?

’

‘Oh, come on, Ron!’ said Hermione shakily. ‘I don't think anyone could put Devil's Snare in a pot and not realise it tries to kill whoever touches it? This—this was murder ... a clever murder, as well ... if the plant was sent

anonymously, how's anyone ever going to find out who did it?’

Harry was not thinking about Devil's Snare. He was remembering taking the lift down to the ninth level of the Ministry on the day of his hearing and the sallow-faced man who had got in on the Atrium level.

‘I met Bode,’ he said slowly. ‘I saw him at the Ministry with your dad.’

Ron's mouth fell open.

‘I've heard Dad talk about him at home! He was an Unspeakable—he worked in the Department of Mysteries!’

They looked at each other for a moment, then Hermione pulled the newspaper back towards her, closed it, glared for a moment at the pictures of the ten escaped Death Eaters on the front, then leapt to her feet.

‘Where are you going?’ said Ron, startled.

‘To send a letter,’ said Hermione, swinging her bag on to her shoulder. ‘It ... well, I don't know whether ... but it's worth trying ... and I'm the only one who can.’

‘I hate it when she does that,’ grumbled Ron, as he and Harry got up from the table and made their own, slower way out of the Great Hall. ‘Would it kill her to tell us what she's up to for once? It'd take her about ten more

seconds—hey, Hagrid!’

Hagrid was standing beside the doors into the Entrance Hall, waiting for a crowd of Ravenclaws to pass. He was still as heavily bruised as he had been on the day he had come back from his mission to the giants and there

was a new cut right across the bridge of his nose.

‘All righ', you two?’ he said, trying to muster a smile but managing only a kind of pained grimace.

‘Are you OK, Hagrid?’ asked Harry, following him as he lumbered after the Ravenclaws.

‘Fine, fine,’ said Hagrid with a feeble assumption of airiness; he waved a hand and narrowly missed concussing a frightened-looking Professor Vector, who was passing. ‘Jus’ busy, yeh know, usual stuff—lessons ter prepare—

couple o’ salamanders got scale rot—an’ I'm on probation,’ he mumbled.

‘You're on probation?’ said Ron very loudly, so that many of the passing students looked around curiously. ‘Sorry—I mean—you're on probation?’ he whispered.

‘Yeah,’ said Hagrid. ’ ‘S'no more'n I expected, ter tell yer the truth. Yeh migh’ not've picked up on it, bu’ that inspection didn’ go too well, yeh know ... anyway,’ he sighed deeply. ‘Bes’ go an’ rub a bit more chilli powder on them

salamanders or their tails'll be hangin’ off ‘em next. See yeh, Harry ... Ron ...’

He trudged away, out of the front doors and down the stone steps into the damp grounds. Harry watched him go, wondering how much more bad news he could stand.

The fact that Hagrid was now on probation became common knowledge within the school over the next few days, but to Harry's indignation, hardly anybody appeared to be upset about it; indeed, some people, Draco Malfoy

prominent among them, seemed positively gleeful. As for the freakish death of an obscure Department of Mysteries employee in St. Mungo's, Harry, Ron and Hermione seemed to be the only people who knew or cared. There

was only one topic of conversation in the corridors now: the ten escaped Death Eaters, whose story had finally filtered through the school from those few people who read the newspapers. Rumours were flying that some of

the convicts had been spotted in Hogsmeade, that they were supposed to be hiding out in the Shrieking Shack and that they were going to break into Hogwarts, just as Sirius Black had once done.

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