Chapter Five

Behind the Closed Doors

The heat was not merciful that Friday noon and inhabitants of Mould-on-the-Wold had retreated into the shade of cool houses, shops and cafes. Only rare cars crawling lazily under the burning sun were a proof that the town was actually inhabited. Therefore nobody noticed a black-haired man emerging from a shadowed lane. Having stepped into a deflated street, Harry Potter smirked to himself.

The lane, where Harry found himself, was one of the special apparition points designed for every town and village where wizards lived hand-in-hand with Muggles. The lane bore strong сharms ensuring that ignorant inhabitants of Mould-on-the-Wold lived in peace and did not see men and women arriving in their quiet downtown from nowhere. Every day magical community of Mould-on-the-Wold struggled to uphold one secret - the very fact of their existence. Harry had to consult a paper map he took with him every now and then, which was actually a sight in a small town not accustomed to visitors.

Harry was walking down an unknown one-lane road, stealing glances at shops and groceries. Rare strangers saw him but in some way they did not actually see him and Harry felt like wearing the Invinsibility Cloak. People were hurrying, talking, gazing. And they don't know that somewhere right here wanders a werewolf. They don't even know that a wizard walks among them. No one took particular interest in Harry Potter.

Harry's mind returned to the case files. On Monday evening at five minutes after ten Ilsa Barnley who was struggling to sleep, opened bedroom door and heard cries of her sons. She grasped the wand from the bedside table and ran down the stairs. Harry tried to imagine what it would be to find the werewolf standing over your children. He shivered. Martin and Henry Barnley. Seven and eight years old. Played in the living room when a 'giant wolf' broke the glass doors and ran into them. Martin tried to hide Henry but the werewolf hit him and attacked the elder brother. Scars all over arms. Broken legs. Henry has a scar on his neck. Sent to St Mungo. Are under care of Healer Patil. When Harry just entered the Auror Office he was appalled by the language they all used. This official style lacked empathy. It still lacks. However with time Harry like everybody else got used to it. Waging wars every day was not for him. I'm not Hermione.

There were no werewolves living nearby according to Hermione's register. All known Mould wizards had witnesses that proved their inability to attack the Barnley boys. Phil and Stewart even checked potential enemies of Mr Barnley but there were none. So 'Who?' and 'Why?' were two questions that were haunting Harry's mind. He could not come from the distance with no other victims at all, Phil. The moon rose at nine thirty two. He attacked at five after ten. He transformed nearby. It was Monday evening and it was a common suburb with families gathered in their living rooms. Everybody vouched for everybody. Actually there were only two lonely people living in the street. Mrs Avery and Mrs Peasegood. The former's husband was in Azkaban and the latter's was one foot in there. But Phil and Stewart interrogated two lonely women and did not find anything suspicious. They were just sitting at home, sir. Harry had never seen a werewolf to be a woman and therefore did not press this line. But the fact remained that his only suspects were two lonely women in their sixties. He might live as a Muggle. Some might still be scary to go in the open.

The street swept to the right and the cramped houses standing almost on the pavement stayed behind and in front of Harry lay a wide road with detached redbrick properties set back from the street by shaded front gardens. Concrete and stone gave place to lawns, shrubs and yews. Judging by the wood peeping in the distance, it was a suburb, peaceful, calm and respectable.

This is where Dumbledore grew up. Harry tried to imagine little Albus playing there but for some reason he could not. In his mind his teacher was always like Harry remembered him. And yet once he played there. Arianna played there too. Harry saw a little girl not aware of the magic she kept within. Harry saw three boys running to her, humiliating her and… Harry stopped. Pain is the price of secrets. And magic was the greatest secret Mould-on-the-Wold kept within its clean, calm and respectable streets.

Harry was staring at the houses. It was absolutely impossible to tell exactly which one was magical and which was not. Robards taught Harry that the place could tell the story of its owner. Here everything was absolutely impersonal. Not a grass sticked out from the freshly mowed lawns. They hide their secrets well. But whatever they were, Harry would soon find out. He obtained a permission from McLaggen for searching Muggle houses and if he succeeded today, he would know who was behind the attack by evening. And what if I fail? We cannot search the whole Britain.

Disturbed by his thoughts Harry did not notice how he came to the gate with an attached nameplate. Harry raised his eyes and looked at the redbrick property with a white framed porch. Barnley House. So here it is. It was hard to imagine a werewolf ravaging this perfect suburb, forcing the white wooden door, breaking the wide windows, scarring the floor and biting two innocent boys staying late in the living room. For some reason he immediately remembered Arianna and sighed. It is always hard to imagine… He walked the paved path, climbed the marble stairs and rang the doorbell.

In the morning Harry, who was sitting in his garden over the case files, tried to prepare himself for the meeting with grief-stricken parents. He imagined a short woman with puffy eyes and wild hair. He pictured a somber balding father. But the reality faced him with a tall blonde woman with sharp and yet perfect features. She bore no sign of a tragedy and was wearing a refined blue suit emphasising her narrow waist. Harry was perplexed to find Ilsa Barnley, the woman who attacked the werewolf without any second thoughts, who, according to the talks in St Mungo, cried tirelessly over her scarred boys, standing in front of him and looking like going to the business meeting. Sharp features of the woman softened and Harry saw her puzzlement too.

'Mrs Barnley, I'm - I'm Harry Potter.'

'I know who you are, Mr Potter. But - but what are doing here?'

'Ah,' Harry took it that Mr Barnley had not told her. 'I have an appointment with your husband. I'm - I'm in charge of the investigation.'

Mrs Barnley's eyes stayed at Harry's face for a moment and then she nodded. Her features yet again turned into a scowl but a scowl of a cold beauty.

'Please forgive my manners. Jacob did not tell me.'

She waved for Harry to come in and he found himself in a wide hallway. Colours and furniture were simple, dimmed and almost trying to hide from prying eyes. Minimalistic and 'Muggle-ish' furniture, almost zero decor and lack of magical objects flying, crying and doing any other staff that would definitely show off their belonging to the magical world, drew Harry's attention. He knew mostly two types of wizarding houses. First, like the Burrow, were extravagant and almost breathed with magic. Second, like Malfoy Manor or the Grimmauld, were of lavish magical ancestry. The Barnley House was neither extravagant nor momentous. Light. This is what it is. Harry smiled.

'I must say you have a beautiful home, Mrs Barnley.'

She smiled in return but it was of that smiles that people learn to return in proper moments. That kind of smile was neither for Harry nor for the pleasure his words might have brought to her, but for her image of a polite and well-mannered woman.

They entered the living room and Harry's astonishment again rose dramatically. One wall was basically a large mirror filling the space with light and width. Two others were of deep naval blue and contributed to the depth and serenity Harry immediately felt had he stepped into the place. There were plain sofas, armchairs and the fireplace that almost bewitched Harry by the coziness and warmth. Mrs Barnley noticed Harry's reaction and smiled, this time closer to ingenuity.

'You probably wonder whether this is for real.'

Harry nodded. He settled on a sofa and Mrs Barnley sat opposite him in a high armchair. She clapped in her hands and on a small coffee table appeared a white porcelain teapot with blue lilies, two cups and two glasses of water.

'People always feel welcome here. I applied some spells and the furniture itself bears strong Home Charms… They don't work on me as I live here, but the room still...'

She silenced. She must have remembered the Monday night and anything she wished to tell about the design or Home Charms was put very far for the suffering mind to reach it. She was sitting in her armchair, her face strained, and Harry could swear she was looking through walls, windows, gardens, woods, perhaps, in the hope to find something or someone that did not bring her back to her tragedy. We scroll it again and again until we understand that nothing will change. That this fact will never fade. That the pain will always be there no matter you do.

Ilsa coughed, her features yet again became sharp and she looked at Harry.

'I think I need to fetch Jacob. You're surely a busy man, Mr Potter.'

We all cope in our ways. When she left the room, Harry looked around. For seconds he could think only about this room and about the beautiful woman that provided him with the possibility to breath this air that smelled with pine forest after the summer rain. Harry completely forgot about his life with its problems, about Ginny sleeping alone in their bedchamber, about Hermione not wishing to talk to him, about Ron leaving the Aurors for good. He even forgot his fears. Harry's life was overgrown with old and already stinking problems. And the beauty of the Barnley House was the perfume that blocked their way to Harry's nose.

Barnley House proved that the whole world, its problems may be hidden, left behind and forgotten. For how long can we put what we truly are deep beyond the surface? And when the reality makes its entry in the form of a werewolf?

Harry heard the footsteps and got up to meet Jacob Barnley. The master of the house was a short sandy haired man. His features were, like everything else in the Barnley House, minimalistic. If Harry met Mr Barnley on the street he would never remember him. And he chose such a wife. When Ilsa appeared in the living room behind her husband, Harry again was captivated by her cold beauty. Mr Barnley was merging with interior but Mrs Barnley was a moon on this starless sky. She is not so easy to hide.

'Ah, Mr Potter, it's a pleasure,' sang Jacob. He almost jumped at Harry and offered him his hand which Harry shook slightly embarassed. 'Please - please take a seat. Ilsa, dear, I thought you wanted to go to St Mungo?'

It was a dismissal if Harry had ever heard any. He was curious to watch the woman, like Mrs Barnley, being sent away by the man like Mr Barnley. Ilsa must have been curious too as she did not move and only stared at her husband. Harry suppressed a chuckle.

'Actually, I would like Mrs Barnley to be present too as it was her who saw the attack.'

Jacob pursed his lips. For his career Harry witnessed a great number of men wishing their effective wives to be sent away for them to take a stage. Ilsa never said a word and only sat in the armchair silently.

'From my colleagues I already know about the details of the attack. I don't want to put you through this again…'

'Oh, thank you, Mr Potter,' hurried Jacob.

'… but in some aspects it would be necessary, so please accept my apologies for this in advance.'

Ilsa nodded.

'It is my understanding that you were upstairs in your bedroom when it happened.'

Ilsa opened her lips but it was a second of a complete silence before she managed to say anything at all.

'We were preparing for sleep…'

'I was already sleeping,' cut in Jacob. 'I had an early meeting the next day. This new contract with the Harpies…'

Jacob went on with explanation of the contract but Harry had no mood for quidditch kit details. He obviously did not want her here. He had not told her I would come. And absolutely no sign of tragedy. Very strange family.

'… this new kit supply deal is a revolution! We will be the first to promote players. Of course, people come to watch teams but it is always players that determine your preferences, isn't it?' Harry nodded and Jacob took it as a sign to continue. 'That can rocket our sales! Imagine Ginny Potter promoting our kit! Imagine Gwenog herself! All girls playing quidditch would like to buy it. All to look like their heroes.' Ginny certainly enjoyed his reasoning.

'Do you generally go to bed at this time?'

'Well… hm…'

'I do,' said Ilsa while her husband was processing the insult to his feeling of self-importance. 'Usually before ten. But Jake stays up late. He always has some work to finish. And that evening...'

From time to time Ilsa's shining armour cracked and Harry could see a broken woman. She tried to fight it, but this made the desire to comfort her even more tempting. Jacob took Ilsa's hand but she never looked at him. From Harry's eye there was little love between the Barnleys, little emotion. Only reflex to act in a manner which is expected. Marriage can train not worse than a stick.

In the morning Harry decided that that the key to this case lay in the Barnley House. With no other victims and considering the werewolf nature, it was clear as a day that they were targeted. Answers to 'who' and 'why' were in this living room but Harry still did not see them.

Who goes to bed so early? Harry himself had recently discovered the pleasure of a silent morning. He even set up the everyday routine he was rather fond of. Waking up at five, taking the shower, sipping the coffee in the garden. Thinking. He was thinking a lot. Ginny. McLaggen. Perhaps Ilsa had her thinking too.

'And that evening boys stayed up late?'

Ilsa sighed. But before she could say anything Jacob cut in.

'Yes. Usually when I work from home and with their games… Martin especially… Well you can imagine two boys...'

Harry remembered Sev with his Mountain Giant Hunt and suppressed a smile. Five years ago, when Angelina was pregnant with Fred, George decided to make the childhood of his future baby more funny. Muggles are much further than us in entertainment, Harry. All we need is to introduce some magic into it. George looked into Muggle 'board games' and added some tricks. Therefore what once was calm (Don't know how they make fun playing this, Harry!) became a rather live and, Harry would say, wild entertainment.

'...and that evening I let them play... When I entered our bedroom, I saw Ilsa sleeping and... You know, she is a light sleeper...'

Enormous courage which, Harry saw, Jacob needed to continue this self-accusing tale failed him and he stopped. Jacob lowered his gaze.

'But - but, if I had not...' the faint voice of Jacob fought his way to be heard. 'If I had not put the charm on the door, we would have heard!'

He dropped his head in his hands. Harry was waiting for the sobs but there were none. For some reason Jacob Barnley did not appear as a man of deep feelings and yet here he was, blended under the weight of guilt. Based on previous words and actions of Jacob, Harry was expecting self-defense. I did not know this would happen. I'm not responsible. To Harry's eye there was only one Barnley who could take the blame and all responsibility on herself even if it was unwanted. And this Barnley was Ilsa. So Harry was looking at Jacob with puzzlement.

Frankly speaking everything in this case puzzled him. After Ilsa cast Relashio, he could attack her. But he ran away. Why? He could attack the Blunts who were in their garden. Or that Muggles. But he ran. The Blunts, the Barnleys' neighbours, testified that they smelled some barbecue from the next garden. Harry sweared to himself. Barbecue at half past ten. The most queer case. And no trail at all.

'Mr Barnley, do you have enemies?'

Jacob raised his head and looked at Harry with genuine puzzlement.

'Why are you asking?'

Harry sighed.

'Some of your neighbours were in their gardens at that moment. But the werewolf, who could smell people in the open air, preferred to break in then to get an easy prey. That is uncommon,' Harry swallowed. 'I'm afraid, the attacker specifically targeted your house.'

Ilsa grasped the implication immediately.

'So you suppose that was deliberate? That they wanted to attack - attack my sons?'

'Not necessary your sons. Perhaps, you or your husband. If the attack was planned, then they must have known that Mr Barnley stays up late. Perhaps, they wanted to meet him that night.'

Jacob strangled a laugh.

'But Mr Potter, you cannot be serious. How could they plan an attack? One of your Aurors - it was Mr Barter, I believe - said that werewolves are uncontrollable beasts.'

Once Jacob said it, Harry noticed that hands of Ilsa, which were previously lying on the armrests, grasped the fabric and almost whitened.

'Generally, Phil is right. But I know that many years ago Greyback deliberately singled out one little boy as vengeance to his father.'

'Greyback is in Azkaban.'

'Yes, but the logic can be true.'

'You speak of Mr Lupin?' asked Ilsa suddenly. Harry was surprised that she knew about Remus. Ilsa Barnley did not appear to be a woman interested in the Order of the Phoenix.

'Yes. You knew him?'

Ilsa smiled.

'I met him once. I was six or seven. I was in my mother's shop when he and his friend - I suppose it was Mr Black - they came for the present for their friends' wedding.'

Harry lowered his gaze. Although Harry almost made his peace with this everlasting hole in his life where should have been his parents and their family friends, but the pain never left.

'Yes, Greyback attacked Remus on purpose. This must be your case too.'

'But I don't even remember that I've ever crossed anyone. Yes, we rival for new contracts but that is general cause of events. Nothing worth a werewolf attack.'

'Have you fired anybody recently?'

Jacob smiled.

'No. We are a small family company. Only fifteen employees. And most of them step in their fathers' shoes. Just like me. We have known each other since childhood.'

Harry's mind shifted to the Auror Headquarters where everybody must have been preparing for Ron's farewell party. We have known each other since childhood. Bitter feeling immediately rose in his throat.

'Do you know your neighbours well?'

Jacob stared for a moment. Ilsa raised her eyes at Harry.

'Why are you asking?'

'I don't presume anything. But we need to check,' the last thing Harry wanted is to draw attention, and Jacob Barnley was a man who would certainly ruin all the secrecy that was essential for the investigation. Ilsa went down the stairs shortly after ten. The moon rose at nine thirty two. Generally the werewolf needs from five to ten minutes for transformation. So he had about thirty minutes to get here. Jacob found his tongue at last.

'Blunts are bearable. Derek is a good fellow. A bit greedy but nothing unexpected considering their debts,' Jacob smirked very unpleasantly. 'Mrs Avery… you know, her husband was a Death Eater?' Of course I know. 'She is very secretive. Never saw her leaving the house. Well, let me remember… Prescotts! Them I don't know. I heard that her - I mean Helga, Mrs Prescott - her grandfather was once the Chief Warlock but now I don't know what they do. Their daughter is a Head Girl at Hogwarts now… Ah, yes, Mr and Mrs Fudge,' Jacob looked at Harry as though he knew that this name would draw some reaction from his guest. Harry's arm twitched nervously but his face did not show a sign. 'Ex-Minister for Magic? You must have known him.'

Harry nodded. He was not interested in Cornelius Fudge now.

'What about Mrs Peasegood?'

Harry noticed that Jacob paled a little but the smile never left his face.

'And what about her?'

'What is she like?'

'They divorced many years ago. What is she like, heh? Like all those ageing alone. Mumbling, grumbling and crumbling,' Jacob laughed at his choice of words. Harry reminded himself that Jacob Barnley would never become his friend. According to his explanation they live among one of the most unpleasant people in the country.

And here Harry finally noticed something common for all inhabitants of the Union street. They all were someone once. And now they're just living out their last days. Well, all except Barnleys. Barnleys did stand out from the crowd. They prosper while others fade.

'You don't think that it was her?' Ilsa suddenly inquired. 'This poor woman!'

'Ilsa here has a special relationship with her,' laughed Jacob.

'Really?' Harry grew interested.

Ilsa blushed and threw a frown at her husband.

'I just think that it is unjust when the life of a family is destroyed by dirty secrets of a husband. Don't you agree, Jacob?'

Now it was Jacob who blushed. Harry was all ears. What secrets does perfectly dull Mr Barnley hide here? Neither Jacob nor Ilsa elaborated and Harry made a mental note to check the life of Mr Barnley when he would be done here.

'Yes, I agree, but it is unbelievable that she hadn't known about poor Arnold's doing. And by the way she cannot be the werewolf. She is the woman!'

'I have to disagree, Mr Barnley,' Harry was trying to sound casual. 'If we have never heard of it, it does not mean this is impossible.' Women can be as tough as men. Even if they are light sleepers. Not every man will find courage to face a werewolf. You surely would have run in panic.

'And what about your Muggle neighbours?'

Jacob scratched his head thoughtfully.

'We are not very close. Chaudviens are nice, they at least say 'hello'. They came here seven years ago from France... or Belgium... I don't know. Mr Rice I don't like. Very haughty. They bought the house here... how long ago it was? Well, five years at least. He paid a visit to every neighbour then. I had to say that I'm working in 'sports supply industry' and he was apparently disappointed. Boasted that his firm charges 'the highest hour rates in the county'. Very - very unpleasant. His wife on the contrary is very kind. Others I don't know.'

Harry nodded. I will start with the Rices. It was them having a barbecue.

'And what about you, Mrs Barnley? Do you know your neighbours well?'

Ilsa looked at Harry.

'Well, I have only 'special relationship', as Jake put it, with Camilla. She is good. Others I know not better than Jake.'

Harry nodded. She is strong. Perhaps capable of formidable magic. But why the werewolf did not attack her? Why running? This detail did not leave Harry in peace. That morning he tried to remember all the details when he faced the werewolf himself. And Harry was haunted what would have happened that night had there been no Sirius to help them. Phil also found this particular fact very strange. He even implied that Ilsa herself could have invited the werewolf to kill her husband. Fact number one. Children are always fast asleep at the moment. Fact number two. Her husband always works till night. But Harry dismissed this idea. What a mother would invite a werewolf into the house?

'Would you mind to show me your garden?'

Jacob jumped up.

'Surely, Mr Potter, but perhaps you would like to see the house first?'

Harry pursed his lips.

'Unfortunately, my calendar is a bit full and my colleagues have already written down everything I need to know.'

Personally, Harry was very interested in the tour around the house but he had only two hours to return to the Ministry for the Ron's farewell party. And four houses to search. Jacob evidently took the pride of his home as barely recognizeable disappointment appeared on his unnoticeable features.

'Perhaps, it would persuade you, Mr Potter, but my family bought this house from Kendra Dumbledore almost a century ago.'

That picked Harry's interest. He looked around and again tried to imagine his teacher running all over the place and yet again he failed. Instead he saw pictures of a ruined little girl, closed within her mind. Within her pain. Her father with eyes full of fire, Harry rarely saw in the eyes of his teacher. Dumbledores' fire. Harry was tempted to see the place and Jacob was evidently the person who knew everything of his family's past.Especially of something so notable as the connection to Dumbledores.

'And you must know, Mr Potter, that this house was designed by Percival himself. After they married with Kendra they chose Mould to live and he designed the whole street. At least our end here. The gossip says he wanted all wizards here to live like Muggles. Very... I would say... peculiar considering how he ended.'

There was a smirk in his little eyes. Harry gazed at him for a second and his interest dropped immediately. He shook his head.

Jacob saw the defeat, sighed and rose to show Harry the garden. Ilsa rose too.

'After this you return to London, Mr Potter?'

'Er - yeah.'

'I hope you don't mind my company.'

Harry smiled.

'Oh, not at all, Mrs Barnley... Not at all.'

'But - but, dear, you can apparate from the garden,' Jacob was at a loss.

Ilsa smiled at her husband but there was no warmth in it.

'Surely, Mr Potter and I, we have much to talk about. I want to know about the life of Mr Lupin.'

She glanced at Harry pleadingly and Harry was more than happy to play along.

'Oh, it would be a pleasure, Mrs Barnley.'

Ilsa beamed and went upstairs to change. Jacob stared at her back until he became aware that Harry is watching him. He nervously smiled and without any explanation he went to the terrace. Very strange family, indeed.

The terrace was separated from the living room by glass doors. In front of them lay a French garden peaceful and ignorant like everything else in the house.

'So the werewolf ran through your garden, broke the glass doors,' Harry pointed backwards. 'And attacked your sons.' Jacob nodded.

Harry stepped on the gravel path and crunching with every step walked past flowerbeds, little fountain, hedges, high roses aiming at the sun, young pines, benches and finally faced the whitened fence. Harry looked around and saw no sign of penetration. He turned around and Jacob grasped his unspoken question.

'Mr Barter said that we could fix everything.'

Harry grimaced. Of course Phil considered himself an expert in werewolves and thought that nobody would outdo his observance and knowledge and let the Barnleys fix everything. And now I won't find anything here. Jacob's eyes never left Harry's face while Harry was silently cursing his Auror.

'Could you show me where the fence was broken?' inquired Harry.

Jacob nodded and pointed at the left corner. Harry went there and from that point glanced at the house. Young pines and the fence protected the attacker from the neighbours' eyes. Perfect point. Nobody would see if you enter here. He had either known where to enter or it was a coincidence. But to Harry's eye there were too many coincidences for one case.

'Mr Barnley, have you had any guests or visitors recently?'

'Only Astoria, my assistant. She brought some papers from my office the previous Friday.'

'Astoria? Astoria Malfoy?'

'Yes. She has been working for me for years. Perfect assistant.'

This case becomes more and more interesting.

'And did she visit your garden?'

'Yes, a couple of times. We sat here,' and Jacob pointed at the bench near the hedge. 'You know, I prefer working on fresh air.'

Harry nodded. So she knew the garden. Need to pay a visit to the Manor. Harry had not seen Draco for years and on the one hand he was curious about the life of his school nemesis, but, on the other, Harry wanted nothing more than to leave the past in the past.

'Any other visitors? Family members?'

Jacob changed in his face.

'No, I'm the last Barnley.'

Evidently there was sorrow in his eyes but what he was sad about Harry did not know. He has already written off poor boys. Harry tried to understand the man in front of him, but the more he tried, the more he felt that something was eluding him. Uncontrollable beasts. His own sons. And yet he obviously loves Ilsa. And yet again he hides something.

'And your wife?'

'Hm... She is the last of her line.'

Harry sighed. Too many dead ends.

'And her mother she previously mentioned?'

Jacob swallowed as though what he wanted to say next was the most grievous thing.

'Passed away. Five years ago.'

Really grievous. Perhaps they are not prospering after all. But their property says otherwise. Harry again looked around the garden. Peaceful and beautiful. This garden with its fountains, exquisite flowerbeds, trees and their bent branches was bright and full of life. It is out of place. He remembered the icy lady of the cold but still beautiful house. This garden is full of warmth. Aurors were not trained to feel the beauty, and therefore nobody would believe Harry if he said that there is something missing because there were young pines and an unstoppable fountain.

'Mr Barnley, have you placed any barriers here?'

'Yes. Prescotts cannot hear us and Muggles who live to the left,' Jacob waved his hand in direction of their ignorant neighbours. 'Chaudviens - they cannot see us.' Again very convenient.

'How long ago did you put these charms?'

Jacob tried to remember.

'I think they've been here since my childhood.'

Harry sighed. A common practice in mixed communities.

'That is unfortunate,' Harry stole the last glance at the garden. When they went in the living room there was no sign of Ilsa and Jacob offered to go upstairs to check on her. Harry lowered to the sofa he sat earlier and could hear 'Ilsa! Ilsa!' from Jacob when he was climbing the stairs. Odd family. Odd neighbourhood. Odd case. Harry was trying to connect the dots but without any success.

If Mr Barnley was the target, who knew about his timetable and their garden? Astoria? Prescotts? They have no family and friends to visit them. Who could plan all of this? Mrs Avery? Mrs Peasegood? Lack of answers troubled Harry. This case, this house, this family was a mystery to him. Like everything else where Dumbledores had their hand in.

'Oh, I'm sorry, Mr Potter, but Ilsa says she will go later.'

Harry turned around, his eyebrow raised. Jacob was going down the stairs with his face shining. She wanted to tell me something. That seemed odd to Harry but he was short in time so he did not argue. He nodded and went to the door.

'If you notice or remember anything, Mr Barnley, please do not hesitate to contact me. Anything at all. Sometimes even the smallest details can be the key to the case.'

Jacob smiled.

'Of course, Mr Potter. Please let us know if you get the bastard.'

When the door closed behind him, Harry had a terrible feeling that Mr Barnley did not want the 'bastard' to be caught at all.