A Memorable Tale

67 | Solve

When we returned from Christmas break, Ginny, Hermione, Harry and Ron had come to the silent agreement that they would not talk of what they saw at St. Mungo's.

In return, I didn't ask Harry about what he was doing when he was missing at exactly 6:30pm every couple of days. People said that it was for Remedial Potions, but Snape would never let someone take Remedial Potions.

It was probably a Chosen One thing.

I also didn't ask about where they all, save for Hermione, went a couple weeks before Christmas break began.

Seeing as it was all the Weasleys plus Harry, it was probably a Weasley thing.

Besides, I had other things to worry about. Like my roommates.

I had Mandy come running into the dorm dramatically, bearing news that she believed to be very important. But this time, Padma ran in with her, so now it had to be.

"What happened?"

Mandy threw the latest copy of the Daily Prophet on my bed — it was very, very important.

"You've gotta be kidding!" I lifted the paper, staring at the 10 faces that looked right back at me, each wearing their own malicious grin.

Mass Breakout from Azkaban; Ministry Fears Back is "Rallying Point" for Old Death Eaters.

I stared pensively at the paper, my eyes stopping at the photo of Bellatrix Lestrange. She was named as Sirius' cousin in the article, and I could certainly see the family resemblance — long black hair, naturally good-looking (which was unfair), a natural crazed look in her eye.

Convicted of the torture and permanent incapacitation of Frank and Alice Longbottom.

"Neville..."

I discarded the paper on my bed and ran out to find him. Perhaps I didn't read the Prophet, thought it was rubbish. Perhaps his grandmother had unsubscribed to them because she thought that it was rubbish. But he would see it somehow, over the shoulder of his friend or hearing whispers as he passed by.

When I found him, he was sitting on a windowsill in the corridor, hunched over the paper like a man looking at his taxes, his brows drawn together.

"Neville?"

He looked up. "Oh, Y/N." But rather than giving me a grieving, worried look, he gave me a pitying one as he stood. "I'm really sorry."

"What...? Why?"

His brow quirked. "You haven't read the paper?"

"No, I— Well, not all of it. I just saw the front page and... came to find you."

"I was about to find you." I saw the paper in his hand, seeing that he wasn't turned to the front page, but rather the tenth. He handed it to me and my heart dropped to the pit of my stomach so fast I felt the wind of it in my lungs.

Tragic Demise of Ministry of Magic Worker
St. Mungo's Hospital promised a full inquiry last night after Ministry of Magic worker Broderick Bode, 49, was discovered dead in his bed, strangled by a potted 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.

I didn't want to read on, but my gaze dragged down the page, as if the page would suddenly say JUST KIDDING, and say that the true victim was Fudge, and the world could celebrate. It never did that.

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 unable 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 incident."