𝐀𝐈𝐌 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐘┊ᴴᵃʳʳʸ ᴾᵒᵗᵗᵉʳ

25 ✦ 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑉𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑆𝑢𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝐷𝑖𝑎𝑟𝑦

Crystal rolled her eyes. They stood still, their heads inclined toward Filch's voice, which sounded quite hysterical.

"--- even more work for me! Mopping all night, like I haven't got enough to do! No, this is the final straw, I'm going to Dumbledore --- "

His footsteps receded along the out-of-sight corridor and they heard a distant door slam.

They poked their heads around the corner. Filch had clearly been manning his usual lookout post: They were once again on the spot where Mrs. Norris had been attacked.

They saw at a glance what Filch had been shouting about. A great flood of water stretched over half the corridor, and it looked as though it was still seeping from under the door of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

Now that Filch had stopped shouting, they could hear Myrtle's wails echoing off the bathroom walls.

"Now what's up with her?" said Ron.

"Can you stop doing that to me everytime you want me to shut up?" Crystal hissed as soon as Harry let go of her.

"So what should I do to shut you?" Harry scoffed, "Yes, you talk less but at the wrong time,"

"I don't,"

"Fine! Let's go and see," said Harry, Crystal rolled her eyes and holding their robes over their ankles they stepped through the great wash of water to the door bearing its OUT OF ORDER sign, ignored it as always, and entered.

Moaning Myrtle was crying, if possible, louder and harder than ever before. She seemed to be hiding down her usual toilet.

It was dark in the bathroom because the candles had been extinguished in the great rush of water that had left both walls and floor soaking wet.

"What's up, Myrtle?" said Harry.

"Who's that?" glugged Myrtle miserably. "Come to throw something else at me?"

Harry waded across to her stall and said, "Why would I throw something at you?"

"Don't ask me," Myrtle shouted, emerging with a wave of yet more water, which splashed onto the already sopping floor. "Here I am, minding my own business, and someone thinks it's funny to throw a book at me . . ."

"But it can't hurt you if someone throws something at you," said Harry, reasonably. "I mean, it'd just go right through you, wouldn't it?"

It was one of those moments when Crystal mentally facepalmed. She tapped Harry's arm signalling him to stop from speaking further.

Myrtle puffed herself up and shrieked, "Let's all throw books at Myrtle, because she can't feel it! Ten points if you can get it through her stomach! Fifty points if it goes through her head! Well, ha, ha, ha! What a lovely game, I don't think!"

"Did you see who threw it, Myrtle?" Crystal asked.

"I don't know . . . I was just sitting in the U-bend, thinking about death, and it fell right through the top of my head," said Myrtle, glaring at them. "It's over there, it got washed out . . ."

Harry, Crystal and Ron looked under the sink where Myrtle was pointing. A small, thin book lay there. It had a shabby black cover and was as wet as everything else in the bathroom.

Crystal stepped forward slipping her hands in a pair of thin disposable gloves to pick it up, but Ron suddenly flung out an arm to hold her back.

"What?" said Crystal baffled.

"Are you crazy?" said Ron. "It could be dangerous."

"Dangerous?" said Crystal, raising an brow. "How?"