Chapter 299

The girls’ bathroom on the second floor.

It was a dark, gloomy place.

Beneath a large, stained, cracked mirror stood a row of stone basins with peeling surfaces. The floor was damp, and a few stubs of candles burned low in their brackets, casting dim light that made the floor seem sinister.

The wooden doors of the stalls had chipped paint and deep scratches; one door hung crookedly, its hinge detached.

Curfew had passed; no one was here.

Only two strange sounds echoed.

“Someone’s here, oh dear, you’ll be caught. When they find you, they’ll surely talk about you.”

Wizard Sean knew it was Peeves’s voice, and soon he saw a ghost cautiously peek out.

It was a short, plump girl. Her face, half-hidden by straight, long hair and thick, pearly glasses, was melancholy and grim.

After peering out, she shrank back like a startled ostrich.

Wizard Sean heard Peeves whispering slyly:

“He saw you, oh dear, I bet he’s talking about you! Remember what they all said?”

“Are you talking about me?”

Moaning Myrtle burst out, sniffling.

“No….”

Wizard Sean’s words were quickly cut off.

“Don’t lie to me.”

Moaning Myrtle gasped, tears streaming endlessly down her cheeks, while Peeves chuckled merrily behind her,

“You think I don’t know what they call me behind my back? Fat Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle! Poor, weepy, miserable Myrtle!”

“You left out ‘pimply-faced.’”

Peeves whispered in her ear.

Moaning Myrtle suddenly burst into heartbroken sobs.

Peeves pelted her with small stones, shouting:

“Pimply-faced! Pimply-faced!”

Things changed quickly; as Wizard Sean watched Peeves in silence, the annoying ghost’s face froze.

“Oh my goodness— it’s you—”

Peeves vanished like smoke, shouting as he fled:

“My lord, I didn’t see anything!”

The bathroom fell silent.

Only Moaning Myrtle floated above the toilet tank.

Wizard Sean said nothing, waiting quietly.

Moaning Myrtle was the first student Tom killed at Hogwarts.

She suffered many injustices in life, and after death, she found no peace.

“Peeves won’t come back.”

When Myrtle had calmed her crying, Wizard Sean said.

“Maybe. Best not. But this is the girls’ bathroom—you’re not a girl.”

Myrtle eyed Wizard Sean skeptically, sniffling.

“I’m here to ask you something—how did you die?”

Wizard Sean said, knowing this question would please her.

Myrtle’s entire demeanor changed at once.

It seemed no one had ever asked her a question that made her feel honored.

“Oh my, it was dreadful,”

she said with relish,

“It happened right here. I died in this stall—I remember it clearly. Olive Hornby mocked me for wearing glasses like a four-eyed dog, so I came here.

I locked the door and cried inside, when suddenly I heard someone enter. They spoke in a strange tongue—I thought it must be another language. But what annoyed me most was hearing a boy’s voice, so I opened the door and scolded him to leave and go to his own boys’ toilet—and then—”

Myrtle puffed out her chest with self-importance, her face glowing,

“I died.”

The bathroom fell into a long silence.

A light drizzle fell from the gloomy late-September sky—not enough to bang against the windows, but enough to soak the entire slumbering castle.

“Who was the killer?”

Wizard Sean asked.

“I don’t know,”

Myrtle whispered mysteriously,

“I only remember seeing a pair of enormous, terrifying yellow eyes. My whole body felt seized, and then I floated away…”

She gazed at Wizard Sean with a distant expression.

“Then I came back—you know, I was determined to get revenge on Olive Hornby. Oh, she always mocked me for my glasses.”

“Did she get scared?”

Wizard Sean asked.

“Of course! Of course! You wouldn’t believe the look on her face when she saw me—she regretted it terribly… So then, so then, I forgave her.”

Myrtle grew even cheerier,

“I know you came here for a reason—no one wants to listen to a weepy, miserable ghost. But your words made me happy. Go on, ask your questions—I’ll answer them.”

Wizard Sean fell silent again.

The Centaur teacher was right: the innocent always suffer first—this has been true for thousands of years.

“If the killer is found and punished, would you be happier?”

Wizard Sean asked.

“Why ask me that—ah, ah—I only cry. My life here holds no joy, only sorrow. Even now that I’m dead, they still won’t leave me alone.

I only wish they wouldn’t talk about me behind my back. I have feelings, you know—even though I’m dead.”

Myrtle said sadly.

“I’ll help.”

Wizard Sean said.

“Oh my, oh my, I’ve rarely met someone like you. But you can’t help—I’ll tell you a secret—people’s mouths can’t be shut!”

Myrtle said proudly,

“Oh, by the way, what’s your name?”

she asked.

“Wizard Sean Green.”

Wizard Sean said softly.

“Ah—you’re that Wizard Sean Green! Oh my goodness!”

Myrtle clapped her hands over her mouth.

“What?”

Wizard Sean didn’t understand.

“You’re famous throughout the castle: the house-elves call you Sir Knight; the portraits praise you endlessly; I also know many witches are talking about you—those… good kinds of talks…”

Myrtle spoke rapidly, blushing slightly,

“I’m happy to tell you—if you’re looking for those eyes, they’re probably right there.”

Myrtle said, vaguely gesturing toward the sink in front of her.

Wizard Sean walked over to inspect it; the sink looked ordinary, but when he bent down slightly, he saw:

On the side of a brass faucet, a small snake was carved.

Wizard Sean knew he had found the entrance.

Next, he only needed to find Harry—but unfortunately, Harry had not yet realized he was a Parselmouth.

And only after Harry discovered he was a Parselmouth would Headmaster Dumbledore first suspect Harry was a Horcrux.