If there was one thing that Lydia Meadowes hated most about crime scenes in houses, it was the photographs. The dozens of pictures that would be inevitably scattered throughout the living room, kitchen and bedroom, all displaying heart-warming and touching moments of family life. It was altogether more haunting then frenetic wizarding photographs that never sat still long enough for her to guess the nature of image.

The corpse she was stood over was that of a man, Mr Oliver. His wife was in the hallway and his two children were still in bed upstairs. The man would have had a pleasant face if it wasn't twisted up in horror and fear. He was also a muggleborn judging from his suburban home and the wand in his jean pocket. Before anyone had seen it Lydia had snatched it and hidden it in her handbag along with hers. She could only imagine the fallout if the wand accidentally went off in the evidence lock-up.

"Pathologist can't figure out what killed them," a voice came from behind her. Lydia turned around and smiled as she saw DI George Jones leaning against the doorframe with a cup of coffee. "They haven't got a mark on them."

"I'm sure Dr McGuire will come up with a cause of death," Lydia replied calmly, trying to ignore the knots in her stomach. The Killing Curse always left its victims unblemished. "Has a time of death been estimated?"

"Approximately five this morning they think," George said, running a hand through his blonde hair.

"Why up so early?" Lydia asked, "What did the Olivers do for a living?"

"Mrs Oliver was a chef at a restaurant nearby, Mr Oliver is a different story. In fact there appears to be no record of him after the age of eleven."

Lydia knew it would be considered somewhat macabre, but she was pleased her inference was right. While Mr Oliver was obviously a muggleborn, she suspected that Mrs Oliver was either a muggle or a squib.

"The two children were found dead in bed weren't they?" she pushed further, trying to paint the full picture of the crime scene in her mind.

"Poor things," George murmured, "I hope they didn't realise what was happening."

Lydia momentarily glanced around the living room and her eyes focused on one of the pictures on the coffee table. It showed the family at Disneyland, beaming away and wearing Mickey Mouse hats. What really struck her however was the fact that in the photograph there were three, not two children.

"The Olivers have three children," she whispered to herself, before repeating it louder to George.

George nodded and shouted to one of the Sergeants upstairs to check out the bedrooms. The reply was three children's rooms and Mr and Mrs Olivers' room.

"Where is the kid though?" George said as they moved out into the hallway, "was he kidnapped?"

Lydia stopped in the kitchen and noticed a door off to one side. "George, help me get this door down!" she called out.

"Why's someone locked it," George thought aloud, examining the large padlock on the door. "What's down here?"

"Help me get the door open and we can find out," Lydia said, rolling her eyes in frustration.

George motioned for her to stand back and rammed the door with his shoulder until it gave way.

"Let me go first," Lydia said, peering into the gloom, "follow me."

George tried to protest but she shushed him by raising one finger. She slowly descended the stairs clutching the railing for support. The wooden stairs creaked under her and George's weight, leading her to fear that they might fall through.

When they reached the bottom, Lydia rummaged in her handbag and was half-tempted to pull out her wand and cast Lumos, before remembering that George was a muggle. Instead she pulled out her flashlight and flicked the on switch.

There, in the middle of mountains of shredded blankets and pillows, lay a small naked boy. Bloodied and shivering yet very much alive.

"What's he doing down here?" George asked rhetorically, while the gears in Lydia's mind whirred away, coming up with one word.

Werewolf.