Inside the girls' bathroom, Myrtle Warren's sharp, piercing voice echoed continuously, sounding angrier—perhaps sadder—by the second. The dirty water overflowing from the stall spread further and further across the floor.
Myrtle really didn't like Eda—putting it mildly. Saying she hated her wouldn't be an exaggeration.
Aside from the fact that Eda had once tried to take over her bathroom, there was another reason for Myrtle's resentment: both girls came from the Muggle world, yet their lives at Hogwarts couldn't have been more different.
After entering Hogwarts, Myrtle had been sorted into Ravenclaw. But there, she hadn't made a single friend—not even someone she could talk to. Instead, she was often mocked and bullied because of her short, gaunt face, and skinny-fat figure, her unattractive glasses, and the pimples on her face. Perhaps she was even ostracized and tormented.
On the last day of her life, Myrtle had been ridiculed by Olive Hornby, who thought Myrtle looked ridiculous with her glasses. It was that mockery that drove Myrtle to hide alone in the bathroom—where her life came to an early end.
For fifty years, Myrtle's ghost had lingered in that bathroom. Even as a ghost, she hadn't escaped her fate of being bullied. Peeves often tormented her, and the students still disliked her.
It was as if nothing had changed—except that she no longer had the right to live.
In contrast, Eda was smart and beautiful. When she first arrived at school, she quickly befriended the Weasley twins and a few other close friends. At Hogwarts, she was the one who did the teasing—no one dared to bully her.
This year, Eda had started wearing glasses too, yet no one laughed at or insulted her for it. On the contrary, the glasses softened the sharpness in her eyes, making her even more well-liked by her classmates.
The ordinary and unremarkable Myrtle Warren was confronted with someone completely unlike herself—Esmeralda Twist. The contrast between them was stark and undeniable.
Jealousy — Myrtle was jealous of everything Eda had, everything she herself had never possessed.
Resentment — Myrtle resented her own weakness and helplessness, resented that she had always been someone others could easily hurt.
"Myrtle, I just came to ask you something. I'm not here to fight over the ownership of the bathroom," Eda said as she knocked on the stall door again. Then she added, "Once I'm done asking, I'll leave."
Hearing that Eda wasn't there to claim her territory, Myrtle calmed down a little. She didn't keep shouting for Eda to get out, but she also didn't answer—her silence itself was a form of rejection.
"I just want to know… what happened to you before you died," Eda said, trying to make her tone sound softer and less harsh. "It's really important to me."
But Eda's gentle plea didn't earn her a reply. After all, being asked about one's death was hardly a pleasant thing.
Myrtle's voice came out sharp and bitter: "You just want to know how I died, don't you?"
"Uh… yes," Eda admitted, "I want to know why you died, and also… why you chose to stay here." She hadn't expected Myrtle to be so blunt—she'd already prepared herself to coax and persuade her slowly.
"Everyone wants to know how Moaning Myrtle died," Myrtle said acidly. "Because there's nothing else worth saying about her short, pathetic life! Once they know how she died, they can laugh at her and insult her all they want! She's just a four-eyed dog who hides in the bathroom and cries all day!"
After all, when you've gone through a terrible illness, you don't want to relive the pain of it—how could anyone expect a ghost to calmly recount the story of her own death?
It was by no means a pleasant experience—for either a ghost or the listener. It was equally painful for both. But for Myrtle, it was even worse, because this was the most significant—and the only truly interesting—thing that had ever happened in her short life.
"I'm really sorry for bringing up something so painful," Eda said softly. "But it's very important. I'm investigating something related to the Chamber of Secrets, and the cause of your death is the key to it all."
The milky-white, half-transparent Myrtle floated slowly upward, drifting aimlessly around the bathroom. "I don't know anything about a Chamber," she said faintly, "and I don't understand what you're talking about. Myrtle is just Myrtle—the silly, laughable Myrtle."
When she was alive, no one cared about her, no one paid attention to her. All she ever received were mockery and insults. And after she died, people finally started to care about her—but only about the way she'd died. What a sad and pitiful life.
The door of the girls' bathroom opened again, and Dumbledore walked in. He looked at the ghost drifting above the floor, and behind his half-moon glasses, his blue eyes shimmered with quiet sorrow.
"Myrtle," Dumbledore said gently, "please, help us in any way you can. Let's join hands and bring an end to all this fear together."
At the sight of Dumbledore, Myrtle stopped floating. Tilting her head slightly, she looked at the headmaster, as if lost in thought.
After a long pause, she finally began to speak. "It was so terrible," she murmured. "It all happened right here. I… I died in this very bathroom."
Fifty years ago, the then-headmaster, Armando Dippet, had sent Olive Hornby to look for the missing Myrtle. In the end, it was Hornby who discovered Myrtle's lifeless body—right here, in this very place.
The expression on the translucent Myrtle's face twisted with pain as she continued, "That day, Olive Hornby laughed at me—she said I looked like a four-eyed dog with my glasses on. So I ran here and hid. I locked the door and cried inside. Then I suddenly heard someone come in. What they were saying sounded strange… funny, even. I thought it must be some other language. But what really made me angry was that I heard a boy's voice. So I opened the door and shouted at him to go away—to go to his own boys' toilet!"
Dumbledore and Eda exchanged a glance; both of them already knew the truth—the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was hidden right here, inside this girls' bathroom.
"And then…" Myrtle said, her voice trembling, "then I just… died."
"What did you see?" Eda pressed, her tone urgent—she needed more details now.
Myrtle lowered her voice. The memory of her death filled her with fear even now. "I couldn't see clearly," she whispered. "I just remember seeing a pair of huge, terrifying yellow eyes. My whole body felt like it was being lifted off the ground… and then I was floating… and I became what I am now."
The basilisk's eyes were yellow. It was obvious now—Myrtle's death had been caused by the basilisk.
She had looked directly into its enormous, glowing eyes, and unlike Colin Creevey or Justin Finch-Fletchley, she hadn't just been petrified—she had died instantly.
What remained unclear, however, was whether Myrtle's death had been an accident—if she had merely stumbled upon the Heir of Slytherin and the basilisk—or if the Heir had deliberately targeted her and orchestrated her murder.
The truth was so close Eda could almost touch it. Her voice trembled slightly as she asked, "Where ..exactly did you see ..those eyes?"
Myrtle thought for a moment, then pointed toward one of the sinks. "About there," she said.
Dumbledore and Eda walked over to the sink. It looked completely ordinary—nothing about it suggested any connection to the Chamber of Secrets.
Dumbledore examined the sink carefully, checking it from top to bottom, inside and out. Finally, his gaze rested on one of the faucets.
On the side of the bronze tap was an engraving of a tiny, lifelike snake.
The serpent—the emblem of Slytherin!
But no matter what Dumbledore tried, neither the tap nor the little snake reacted at all. He even cut his own palm and smeared his blood over the faucet, yet nothing in the bathroom changed.
The Chamber of Secrets was clearly hidden beneath this very sink, yet the small faucet barred their way.
"Maybe it's because we're not the Heir of Slytherin," Eda said, absently touching her earlobe. "Even if we've found the entrance, we probably can't open it ourselves. Maybe… we need a Parselmouth."
Dumbledore nodded, agreeing with her reasoning. "Yes," he said, "I think we may need Harry's help. He's the only Parselmouth I can think of."
Since they couldn't enter the Chamber for now, Dumbledore decided they should plan their next step carefully. He and Eda left the girls' bathroom together.
As soon as they stepped outside, Myrtle floated after them, wailing, "Professor, will you come back? Can I still stay here?"
"Don't we see each other often already?" Dumbledore said kindly, "Hogwarts will always be a home for its students, and you will always be one of mine. But I do suggest you come out and take a walk sometimes, rather than staying here and dwelling on the past."
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