Chapter 55

After returning to the dormitory, Harry found Neville hadn’t come back yet, and he began discussing the matter with Ron. When Ron heard it might be Voldemort’s doing, his expression turned grim as he pondered deeply.

“Actually, Harry,” Ron said, “I feel we can’t sit back and wait—we need to take action.”

What action? Harry’s first thought was to sabotage Voldemort’s plot, so Dumbledore wouldn’t worry about Hogwarts and could leave campus quickly to stop Voldemort’s activities.

But he quickly realized he couldn’t control Dumbledore’s thoughts or actions, and he couldn’t tell whether this was a trap aimed at Dumbledore. Though Voldemort perhaps hated him most, it was surely Dumbledore he wanted to eliminate most.

“We need to find the killer,” Harry said. “Stop the next attack.”

Ron nodded. “That’s what I thought too. What did you notice at the scene?”

“The Chamber is clearly a major clue,” Harry said. “But there are other oddities: why was there water on the floor? Why hang the cat on the torch holder? Why petrify it?”

“Actually, if the cat hadn’t been petrified, it’d be hard to hang it up there,” Ron followed Harry’s line of thought. “So the petrification was probably to make hanging it possible. But why hang it at all? To keep it from touching the water? Then where did the water come from?”

“Petrification, hanging the cat, water,” Harry analyzed calmly. “One of these three must be unavoidable—otherwise the killer had no reason to do the other two. He could’ve just stunned or killed the cat and left it on the ground.”

“True,” Ron said. “If I were the killer, I’d just write the blood message and dump the dead cat on the floor. No need for all this.”

“What if the killer had to hang the cat, and happened to notice the puddle on the floor, and out of kindness hung it up to keep it dry? Could that be possible?”

“Even Merlin wouldn’t pull that off,” Ron laughed. “Obviously impossible.”

“Then either the killer deliberately created the puddle after petrifying the cat to hang it up—or was the water already there?”

“Ignoring the water for now, I’ve got an idea,” Ron said. “Filch always wants to hang students who misbehave. If this is a prank targeting Filch, it makes sense to hang the cat. But if so, the prime suspects—George and Fred—have been eating in the Great Hall all along.”

“Right,” Harry said. “That might be exactly what the killer wants us to focus on. But think: today is Halloween. There’s a feast in the Great Hall, and a memorial for Nearly Headless Nick downstairs. The castle should’ve been spotless. That puddle is suspicious.”

“So the killer had to create the puddle,” Ron summarized. “Petrification was to hang the cat. Hanging the cat was to mislead us into thinking it was a prank against Filch.”

“That’s the most likely scenario,” Harry mused. “Then why did the killer have to create the puddle?”

“Could it be,” Harry said, pulling the Invisibility Cloak from under his bed, “that the water dripped from the killer’s clothes? I want to go back to the scene.”

Ron and Harry sneaked back to the scene. They noticed it had been cleaned—almost no trace remained. He found some scorched marks on the floor, but in a castle lit by torches, that meant nothing. Harry strained to recall the puddle’s location and found a bathroom.

“A girls’ bathroom?” Harry whispered. “Can we go in?”

Gently, under the Invisibility Cloak, he turned the handle. Harry faintly heard sobbing. The two slipped inside, cloaked, to find a large sink and several stalls.

“Someone’s here,” came a mournful female voice. Then Harry felt a bucket of water douse him from above. Though the Cloak kept his clothes dry, the sensation was unpleasant.

“You crept in to mock me!” the voice shrieked. “Spying on Moaning Myrtle’s misery, waaah! I hate you!”

Harry then noticed a ghost peering out from one stall. He didn’t dare remove the Cloak.

Another bucket of water splashed down. Myrtle wept, “Thief, liar, get out! Let Moaning Myrtle cry herself to death here, waaah…”

“Grandma always said men must never do two things: waste food or make girls cry,” Neville’s voice suddenly echoed from somewhere. “Harry, I know you’re there.”

“Fine, but don’t let her douse me,” Harry lifted one side of the Cloak, revealing his and Ron’s faces. They saw Neville, his robe hem damp, standing at the bathroom door.

“Did you figure out this bathroom too?” Neville asked.

“Yes,” Harry said. “We deduced the killer arrived soaked, judging from the puddle.”

“Then I might have a clue,” Neville said. “During the memorial, Peeves tormented Myrtle, and she flew off crying—probably came back here. Myrtle, can you tell us what happened?”

“I didn’t notice,” she poked half her head out, sobbing. “Those nobles broke my heart. I came back to kill myself, then remembered—I’m already dead! Waaah…”

She rolled over and plunged headfirst into the toilet, splashing more water.

“Perhaps,” Harry mused, “the killer hid in this bathroom, and just before acting, Myrtle returned and splashed him with water. Then, wearing soaked clothes, he attacked Mrs. Norris—leaving that puddle.”

Ron glanced around the floor. “With Myrtle’s power, I’d say that puddle’s small.”

Another bucket of water hit them. “You’re mocking me! You’re mocking me! Waaah…”

They silently stepped outside. Neville cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself, while Harry and Ron kept the Invisibility Cloak. Harry envied Neville mastering such a difficult spell—he knew it must’ve taken hundreds of hours of practice.

“Why would the killer hide in this bathroom?” Neville asked. “It’s as if he was lying in wait for Mrs. Norris.”

“She?” Harry paused. “Oh right—the bathroom’s magically protected. Boys can’t enter girls’ bathrooms.”

“Unless a boy deliberately bypassed it,” Ron said. “Your Invisibility Cloak can bypass that restriction.”

“My Cloak isn’t common,” Harry said. “But if you say so—he could use Polyjuice Potion, or sneak behind a girl…”

“Even if he sneaked in, the magic would trap him when he tried to leave,” Neville said. “And Polyjuice Potion isn’t common either.”

“Think again,” Neville said. “We assumed the killer was soaked because of the puddle, and that Myrtle’s return made us think he hid here. But ideally, Myrtle would’ve stayed at the memorial until the feast ended. The killer could’ve hidden here for hours.”

“I get it,” Harry agreed. “The puddle and wet clothes were coincidental. The killer couldn’t have planned to exploit them to cover his tracks.”

“Makes sense. After this, we’ll investigate the girls closely,” Ron said, sounding distracted.

They returned to the dormitory under the Cloak. The lights were off, the room dark. Ron kept hold of Harry’s hand, refusing to let him remove the Cloak. He checked the bed—Neville was asleep—then pulled Harry into the common room.

“Harry,” he whispered, “could the killer be a boy who saw Myrtle crying back here, then thought to splash water on the floor to mislead us into the wrong direction—and clear himself?”

Harry froze. “Vince also got an invitation from the Ravenclaw ghost. Maybe the people at the memorial…”

“No,” Ron’s voice dropped lower, nearly brushing Harry’s ear. “I mean Neville.”

“Impossible!” Harry gasped. “How could you suspect—”

“Is that really Neville?” Ron countered. “I’ve been with him nearly every day. I felt something off about him just now. And when he mentioned Polyjuice Potion, his tone was unnatural.”

“But we came back together…” Harry whispered too. He clearly remembered Neville saying he was exhausted and wanted to sleep immediately. When they returned, Neville was already in bed—and throughout, he never lifted his Disillusionment Charm. Besides—could a second-year student really master the Disillusionment Charm through practice alone?

A chill ran through Harry. It felt as if the impostor Neville was listening to them right beside him.

Both he and Ron gripped their wands tightly under the Cloak, watching the room. Nothing happened. Eventually, they decided the killer had left—and climbed into bed, trembling with fear.