But the moment Hermione moved, Bathilda unexpectedly shook her head hard, then pointed at Harry, and then at herself.
"She wants me to go with her alone."
"Why?"
Hermione asked, her voice sharp and clear as it echoed through the candlelit room. She had already begun to feel uneasy. That suspicion seemed to have become reality—without Jon by their side, things had become dangerous.
"Maybe Dumbledore told her to give the sword to me, and only me?"
"Do you really think she knows who you are?"
"Yes," Harry said, lowering his head to stare into those cloudy eyes fixed on him. "I think she does."
"All right, but be quick, Harry."
"Lead the way."
The old lady seemed to understand. She shuffled around him and headed for the door.
Harry turned and gave Hermione a reassuring smile, though he did not know whether she saw it. She stood in the grimy, candlelit room with her arms folded, looking at the bookshelves.
Neither Hermione nor Bathilda noticed that, as Harry left the room, he slipped the unknown thief's silver picture frame inside his coat.
The stairs were steep and narrow. Harry almost wanted to brace Bathilda's bloated back with his hands in case she fell backward and crushed him; it looked far too likely.
Panting slightly, she slowly climbed to the top of the stairs, immediately turned right, and led him into a low-ceilinged bedroom.
It was pitch black inside, and the smell was dreadful. Harry had only just made out a chamber pot protruding from beneath the bed when Bathilda shut the door, and even that sliver of sight was swallowed by darkness.
"Lumos."
Harry said. His wand lit up, and he jumped: in those few seconds of darkness, Bathilda had already moved right beside him, and he had not