The room was in complete shambles. Hermione doubted that anyone would have noticed a bombarda if it didn’t make a bang going off. The huge stone bricks of the walls were crumbling in on themselves, debris dripping down onto the parapet floor. Tapestries hung in ribbons, and the few paintings were pockmarked with holes and empty of occupants. A huge golden cauldron sat on one side of a table, cracked in two, the smaller half having rolled away from the main section, which still stood on its chunky legs, leaking a chartreuse potion onto the flagstones. And on the table was a body covered in a heavy black velvet cloth.