Weeks after that fateful Saturday, Harry was still bitter about Draco's hostile takeover of the Quidditch team. His friends did their best to cheer him up. They pointed out the size of Hagrid's pumpkins, now swelled to the size of Hagrid himself, and talked with enthusiasm about the live bats that were sure to be fluttering around the Great Hall during the Halloween feast. Perhaps their efforts would have worked, had not Harry been forced to live in close quarters with his most hated rival.
Draco seemed to think that the envy of Harry Potter was something to be valued, and he took every opportunity to rub his victory in Harry's face. He loudly discussed his practices with Crabbe and Goyle every time Harry was within earshot, and more than once Harry walked into the dormitory to see Malfoy seated cross-legged on his bed, polishing the handle of his Nimbus 2001 as if he were posing for Quidditch Quarterly. Harry often considered hexing the broom, but his string of petty pranks on Malfoy always stopped just short of doing any real harm. He contented himself with substituting Draco's broom polish with a sticking concoction developed by Blaise. While it was amusing to watch Draco walk to the hospital wing, his hands stubbornly fixed to his broom, it did nothing to make up for the fact that Harry would have to sit out of playing for the team at least another year.
"It'll be fine," Blaise told Harry as they waited near the entrance of the Great Hall for Millie to arrive, "Flint's bound to see how awful Draco is when they face Gryffindor. I'll bet Slytherin won't win a single match, and it'll probably cost us the House Cup, too. This time next year, Flint will be begging you to join the team. Draco can't buy his way on two years in a row."
Harry wasn't convinced. All Draco needed was the release of the Nimbus 2002, or something like it, and Harry had no doubt that Lucius Malfoy could afford another set of brand new racing brooms. If it meant making his family look good, he was sure there was no low to which Malfoy Sr. would not stoop.
As Harry pondered this depressing thought, Millie finally appeared. She had a sour look on her face to match Harry's own spoiled mood, and Harry could soon see why. The hem of her robes was completely soaked, and as she drew closer, he could hear her socks squelching in her shoes.
"What happened to you?" Harry asked, secretly thankful that the misfortune of someone else could momentarily distract him from his own problems.
"Moaning Myrtle," Millie replied darkly.
"Who?" asked Blaise.
Millie jerked her head toward the doors, signaling for them to proceed to their usual spot at the dining table while she explained, "Moaning Myrtle is the ghost that haunts the girls lavatory on the first floor. I try to avoid it when I can, but I thought it would be safe today. It being Halloween and all, a lot of ghosts are headed to the dungeons for some sort of party."
"So what happened?" Harry asked. He'd never heard of Moaning Myrtle, and was curious about what sort of ghost she was. Their own house ghost, the Bloody Baron, was a quiet, eerie sort of specter that even the Peeves the Poltergiest seemed to fear, and Harry had never dared attempt a chat with him. Based on the epithet given to Myrtle, Harry assumed she had more in common with the Baron than a more cheerful ghost, like the friar of Hufflepuff house.
"She flooded the place," Millie remarked in exasperation. "She's always doing it. Things were fine for a moment, then I suddenly hear her swooping up one of the pipes in another stall, wailing like the world is coming to an end, and suddenly all the faucets are running full blast, and the toilets are spilling over, and I barely made it out with my bum dry."
Blaise gave a mock shudder, "Some haunting. Lucky she didn't appear in your toilet, eh?"
Millie rolled her eyes in response. "Can we talk about something else? Myrtle's temper tantrums aren't something that are particularly pleasant to revisit."
But to Harry and Blaise's twelve-year-old minds, a ghost haunting a loo was the funniest thing they'd heard all term. They kept at it, harassing Millie for descriptions of the ghost and all the gruesome details of how she died.
"I didn't ask," said Millie tersely to this last question.
But Harry and Blaise weren't to be deterred. They thought it was an appropriate topic, given the holiday and the festive atmosphere of the Great Hall, what with Hagrid's overly large pumpkins hollowed out into jack-o-lanterns and the bats flying overhead. They were having too much fun, each taking turns to invent some plausible reason for the young witch to have met her end. Harry joked that any one of their scenarios could be possible, given that only last year a dangerous three-headed dog was permitted to guard the third floor corridor from intruders, and last Halloween a gigantic troll had nearly killed two Gryffindor students. Harry thought it entirely plausible that poor Myrtle met her end in a tragic encounter with one of the beasts that seemed to be forever invading the school. Blaise suggested a beauty charm gone horribly awry, while Millie thought that the ghost was so annoying that they couldn't rule out foul play.
As Harry roared with laughter at Millie's impression of one of Moaning Myrtle's tantrums, he suddenly had the feeling that he was being watched. He cast his eyes up and down the table casually, and found not one, but two spies peering at him. To no ones surprise, it was the usual suspects. On his right, Colin Creevy sat with a small cluster of first-years, gazing at Harry in admiration, and looking very much like he was waiting for an opening to muscle in on their conversation. To the left, Draco Malfoy was staring at their group, probably outraged that Harry could still manage to have fun when he should be pining over the Seeker position. Harry tried to ignore them both, but he knew it was only a matter of time before one of them made their move. The question was, who would be first?
Harry didn't want to give Malfoy the satisfaction of known that Harry noticed him, so he cast his eyes to the right. Unfortunately, this was the opening Colin had been waiting for. After Harry had the misfortune of meeting his persistent gaze, he shamelessly bounded out of his stead and made his way toward their group.
"Incoming," Harry muttered to his friends in warning just before Colin slid into an open spot right next to him.
"Happy Halloween, Harry!" Colin said, grinning from ear to ear.
"Hey, Colin," Harry said in his flattest tone. He tried to make it obvious that he didn't want to talk, but Colin wasn't picking up on this hints, as usual.
"Isn't this amazing?" Colin continued with his usual enthusiasm, "I heard they booked a dancing skeleton show! I wonder if I'll recognize any of their songs?"
"I think that's just a rumor, Colin," said Harry, "They don't really have any dancing skeletons, you know."
He'd hopped to find a fault in Colin's unwavering cheerfulness, but Colin would not be brought down so easily. He merely shrugged his shoulders and commented on the spectacular effect of the black bats flitting among the floating candles, and wondered how many students could fit inside one of the enormous jack-o-lanterns. Harry answered as briefly as he could to Colin's constant questions, all the while shooting glances at Blaise and Millie, hoping one of them would come to his rescue. But either they thought Harry's predicament was funny, or even they found it difficult to get a word in when Colin was at full tilt.
"Anyway, the first Quidditch match is coming up isn't it?" Colin asked, finally touching on the topic most likely to cause Harry pain, and to attract the full attention of Draco Malfoy. "I still think it's a shame I won't be seeing you fly. But it will be thrilling! My first Quidditch match... Where do you think you'll be sitting?"
"I haven't the slightest interest in the match," Harry said loudly, certain that Draco was hanging on to his every word.
He added, "Goodnight, Colin," with a tone of finality that even the first-year would be forced to acknowledge. He then motioned to Blaise and Millie, signaling that he was done with the feast and that they should follow him before Colin could renew his efforts to draw him back into conversation.
Blaise and Millie rose instantly, and the three of them left the feast early, the first of the students to abandon the festivities. Harry was worried that Colin's persistence would induce him to follow in their wake, but he was relieved to see him rejoin his friend Pandey at the other end of the table.
Feeling easy now that they weren't being stalked, the three friends strolled easily down the hall, swapping pieces of candy that they'd hidden in the pockets of their robes and making plans to continue their Halloween celebration in the common room. Harry and Blaise suggested a sleepover in Millie's room to swap scary stories, since neither of them felt like dealing with Malfoy again tonight. But Millie informed them with a smug smile that boys weren't allowed in the girl's dormitories.
Blaise began railing loudly against this injustice, shouting that Millie had easily entered their room just the other day, when Harry's attention was once again arrested by a strange whisper. He halted, listening intently, trying to figure out from where the noise was coming.
Have to hunt… Have to kill…
There was no doubt in Harry's mind that it was the same voice he'd heard before. He felt himself go cold all over with fear, but he was determined now to find the source of this phantom voice.
"Wait!" Harry called to his friends, who hadn't realized Harry had fallen behind, "Come back! It's the voice again!"
Blaise and Millie turned, the expressions changing as they saw the look of fear on Harry's face.
"Cut it out, Harry," said Blaise, "You're just trying to scare us."
"I'm not," Harry argued, now walking slowly back down the hall, following the sound of the voice that he could still hear in faint, sporadic bursts. "It's moving, I think. Moving right down this hall…"
Blaise and Millie looked nervously left and right, but there was no sign of anyone in the hall other than themselves.
"There's no one here," Millie said, stating the obvious, but Harry shushed her.
"I can hear it! It sounds close but… it's muffled…"
Have to kill… I smell... Blood… I SMELL BLOOD!
The horrifying whisper rose with elation, and Harry sensed rather than heard the source fading away.
"It's going to kill someone!" Harry shouted. He didn't wait for a response. He sprinted in the direction he felt the voice had gone. He was terrified of the ghostly whisper, but the thought that it might even now be heading straight for a student filled him with greater dread. He thought of Moaning Myrtle, the ghost of a student who met her end in this very school, and felt sorry for making fun of her only moments ago.
His friends did not fail him. They were soon at his heels, following the voice that they could not hear, trusting that Harry wasn't playing a prank on them. Harry suddenly found his feet splashing through water, and heard Millie exclaim that they were near the girls' lavatory. Myrtle's flood had spilled into the hall.
Harry rounded the corner and came to a dead halt. At the end of the hall, there was something written in large letters on the wall. Harry saw the dark red writing, and realized with a sinking feeling that he'd found the source of the blood that the voice had detected. There didn't seem to be anyone in the hall, so Harry crept closer, reading the words large enough to be seen even at a distance.
The Chamber of Secrets Has Been Opened
Enemies of the Heir Beware
Harry puzzled over the cryptic message, all the while getting closer to see what dark shape was hanging from a torch on the wall. It was stiff and unmoving. Harry crept closer still, and could make out something small, black, and furry.
He realized what it was just as Millie let out a bloodcurdling scream. It was her cat.