"This should be the place!" After unpacking his luggage, Jerry went to the weathered gate of his neighbor's house. The sight made him frown. The garden had almost disappeared beneath the wreckage, vines grew every which way, and the Screaming Fruit had all withered from neglect.
He took a deep breath, pushed open the gate, and carefully followed a weed-choked path to the front door.
Jerry knocked lightly and called out, clear and polite, "Is anyone home? I'm here to see Mrs. Bagshot."
Bathilda Bagshot was a renowned historian of magic and the author of History of Magic, a textbook used at Hogwarts. She was also Grindelwald's great-aunt.
Is the old lady out? Jerry had knocked several times without an answer. He was about to give up and turn back when the door, shut tight until then, slowly swung open without warning.
Jerry stepped inside hesitantly and entered the empty hall. He scanned the dim room but saw no one. A musty smell hit him, making him wrinkle his nose.
"Who are you looking for?" A hoarse, elderly voice sounded behind Jerry. He spun around in fright and saw a white-haired old woman, hunched over and lying quietly in a rocking chair nearby.
"Are you Mrs. Bagshot? I'm Jerry Green. Mr. Grindelwald sent me!"
"Jerry?" Bathilda Bagshot's voice trembled at the name. Bracing herself with her thin, withered arms, she struggled upright in the rocking chair. "Come closer, child. Let me look at you!"
Only when Jerry approached and crouched before her did he get a good look at Bathilda Bagshot. Time had left its marks on her. Age and a stooped back made her look unusually small. Cataracts clouded her eyes, which sat deep in wrinkled skin. Veins showed beneath that skin, and yellow-brown age spots covered her cheeks.