When things came to a close, Hermione was still nervous after all. Just in case, she remembered Jon's instructions. If that person only gave a signal, she would just take action without worrying about anything else.

But attacking an old lady still made her feel a little dangerous - of course, she knew, because Jon said that Bathilda had been dead for some time.

"Looking at her size, if that doesn't work, I think we can subdue her."

Harry said: "By the way, I should tell you, I know she is not normal, Muriel said she is always 'confused'."

"come over!"

In Harry's ears, Bathilda shouted from next door.

Hermione jumped because what she heard was not a human voice, but she didn't say anything and just grabbed Harry's arm.

If that doesn't work, just apparate.

"It's okay."

Harry comforted and walked into the living room.

Bathilda staggered about and lit candles, but the room was still dark, not to mention dirty.

Thick dust crunched beneath their feet, and Harry's nose smelled something even more disgusting under the musty smell, like rotten flesh.

He wondered when the last time anyone had entered Bathilda's house to see if she was still alive.

She seemed to have forgotten that she knew magic and was clumsily lighting candles with her hands. The lace on her sleeves was in danger of catching fire at any time.

"Let me do it."

said Harry, taking the match from her hand.

She stood watching as he finished lighting candles all over the room, which stood on saucers, leaning dangerously on stacks of books or on small tables filled with moldy, broken cups.

The last place Harry saw a candle was a bow-shaped chest of drawers with many pictures on it.

After the flames jumped, the reflection flickered in the gray glass and silver frame.

He saw something moving faintly in the photo.

As Bathilda fumbled with the wood for the fire, he whispered, "The whirlwind sweeps it away."

The dust disappeared from the pictures, and he saw at once that six or seven pictures were missing. They were in the tallest and most splendid frames, and he did not know whether Bathilda or someone else had taken them away.

At this time, a photo at the back caught his eye and he picked it up.

It was the energetic blond thief in the dream, the boy perched on Grigovitch's window sill, smiling lazily at Harry in the silver frame.

Harry immediately remembered where he had seen this young man: in The Life and Lies of Dumbledore, arm in arm with young Dumbledore.

The other missing photos must be there too: in Rita's book.

"Mrs. Bagshot—ma'am?"

He asked, his voice trembling slightly: "Who is this?"

Bathilda stood in the middle of the room, watching Hermione help her light the fire.

"Ms. Bagshot?"

Harry called out again and walked over holding the picture frame, flames rising in the fireplace.

Bathilda raised her head when she heard his voice, and the Horcrux beat faster in his chest.

"Who is this guy?"

Harry asked her, handing the photo over.

She looked seriously for a moment, then looked up at Harry.

"Do you know who this is?"

He asked again, his voice slower and louder than usual: "This man? Do you know him? What is his name?"

Bathilda looked blank.

Harry was very frustrated. How did Rita Skeeter open Bathilda's memory?

"Who is this guy?"

"Harry, what are you doing?"

"This picture, Hermione, is of that thief, the Grigovitch thief! Please tell us!"

He said to Bathilda: "Who is this?"

She just stared at him blankly.

"Why did you call us here, Mrs. Bagshot—ma'am?"

Hermione blinked and raised her voice: "Is there something you want to tell us?"

Bathilda didn't seem to hear Hermione's words. She staggered a few steps toward Harry, tilted her head slightly, and looked out at the corridor.

"You want us out?"

She repeated the gesture, pointing at him, then at herself, then at the ceiling.

"Oh, okay...Hermione, I think she wants me to follow her upstairs."
Chapter completed!