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HRHL# CHAPTER 157
🕑 Added 2025-04-19 16:17:47 +0000 UTCEmerging from the Map Chamber, Harry didn’t immediately seek out Moaning Myrtle, who was likely still sobbing somewhere. Instead, he made his way straight to Dumbledore’s office.
This time, as he approached the gargoyle guarding the entrance, the stone beast abruptly leaped aside.
“Why didn’t you ask for the password this time?” Harry inquired.
“Professor Dumbledore has granted special permission,” the gargoyle replied earnestly. “From now on, when it’s Harry Potter, no password is required.”
Harry reached out, gave its head a pat, and stepped onto the spiraling staircase leading up to the headmaster’s office.
This stone beast… it’s really come a long way.
Harry arrived later than usual today. The portraits lining the walls, the phoenix perched in its corner, and even the Sorting Hat were all sunk in deep slumber.
He walked over to the headmaster’s desk and sat down, pondering how best to alert Professor Dumbledore that he’d arrived.
By the time he snapped out of his thoughts, Dumbledore was already seated across from him.
“It’s hard to imagine that a young wizard like you doesn’t count sleep as his greatest hobby,” Dumbledore said with a yawn, still clad in his robe adorned with stars and moons.
“I’d love to sleep, but there are more pressing matters,” Harry replied, folding his hands on the desk. “You must know about Professor Lockhart hosting the Duelling Club in the Great Hall tonight, right?”
“I’m aware of that,” Dumbledore nodded. “You’re here about Miss Parkinson, I presume? Severus has already spoken to me about it.”
“He’s already told you?” Harry asked, caught off guard.
“Yes,” Dumbledore confirmed with another nod. “This morning, Severus conducted a thorough sweep for Dark Magic artifacts in Slytherin House. He paid particular attention to a few students close to Mr. Malfoy—pure-bloods with strong ties to him.”
“So… Pansy Parkinson is one of the suspects?” Harry pressed.
“Indeed,” Dumbledore said casually, gesturing for someone to bring Harry a cup of tea. “But Severus only suspects her. He hasn’t confirmed who’s actually carrying Dark Magic items. Even with Miss Parkinson, it’s just a suspicion—nothing definitive.”
“The professors in the Map Chamber think Voldemort might be overplaying his hand,” Harry began, relaying their analysis to Dumbledore. “They suspect he’s letting Pansy reveal a fraction of her strength on purpose. Then, in front of everyone, she’d be defeated by Hermione, creating a false impression.”
“That’s quite possible,” Dumbledore agreed, nodding thoughtfully. “It’s a plausible theory, but we can’t invade Miss Parkinson’s privacy based solely on a hunch.”
Harry nodded in agreement. After all, Hogwarts was a school, not some gangster hideout.
“So I discussed the Chamber with the professors again,” Harry said after a moment’s pause. “They unanimously believe that the spot where Myrtle died might be the entrance to the Chamber.”
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical.
“If that’s the case, why hasn’t it been discovered after all these years?” he asked with a small smile. “You see, the place where Myrtle died is the girls’ bathroom on the second floor. That lavatory sees constant traffic—students coming and going all the time. How could no one have stumbled upon such an entrance?”
“Professor Rookwood speculated,” Harry replied, “that perhaps Tom Riddle moved Myrtle’s body to throw everyone off. That’s why he suggested I ask Myrtle herself—see if she remembers where she actually died.”
“I think it’s worth a try,” Dumbledore said noncommittally. “You might uncover something useful.”
“If we do find the Chamber—and the Basilisk,” Dumbledore added, “I’d urge you to come back immediately. Don’t put yourself in danger. Let the professors handle it.”
“No need to make a fuss, Professor,” Harry said. “After talking it over with the professors in the Map Chamber, we’ve come to a decision…”
“What decision?” Dumbledore asked, his curiosity piqued.
“Well,” Harry said, organizing his thoughts, “after we kill the Basilisk, we won’t let the news slip out—at least not to Voldemort’s soul. Once we’ve locked down the information, we can stage something. For instance, you—Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts—might have to leave the school for some reason, lifting the lockdown. That could lure Voldemort’s soul to the Chamber.”
“And I’d ambush him with the professors at the entrance,” Harry concluded, tapping the desk with conviction. “That’ll be the end of him.”
“A solid plan,” Dumbledore said, smiling approvingly. “So, what excuse do you think we should use to make it seem like I have to leave?”
“Firing the headmaster?” Harry suggested tentatively.
Dumbledore shook his head with a chuckle. “Only the Board of Governors has the authority to sack a headmaster.”
“The Board of Governors?” Harry froze.
“Exactly, the Board,” Dumbledore said with a helpless shrug. “I’m not particularly close to any of them. I can’t force them to do something they don’t want.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Harry said, slamming his fist into his palm. “If you’re really on board with this, Professor, I’ll figure it out.”
“Oh?” Dumbledore leaned forward, intrigued. “What’s your idea?”
“I’ll handle it,” Harry said evasively, unwilling to elaborate.
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow but nodded in acceptance. “Very well. If you can pull it off, I’ll happily accept my dismissal.”
“Then wait for my good news, Professor,” Harry said. “Your ‘dismissal’ will be our signal… Oh, one more thing—something important.”
“What’s that?” Dumbledore asked.
“Well…” Harry scratched his head. “Do you know where Moaning Myrtle is? The ghost, I mean. I need to ask her about the Chamber.”
“Oh, she’s in the girls’ bathroom on the second floor,” Dumbledore replied without hesitation. “If you go now, you might catch her.”
“Got it, Professor,” Harry said with a nod.
After leaving the headmaster’s office, Harry headed straight for the second-floor girls’ bathroom.
But as he reached the entrance, he hesitated.
Was it really okay to just waltz into the girls’ loo like this?
What if someone was inside?
“Revelio!”
The spherical detection spell fanned out, confirming no one was present.
Cautiously, he slipped inside, raising his wand and casting a soft illumination charm.
“Myrtle?” he called tentatively. “Are you here?”
No response.
He searched every corner of the bathroom but found no trace of Moaning Myrtle.
Where could she have gone?
Muttering to himself, he lingered outside the bathroom for a while, but she still didn’t appear.
With no other choice, he returned to his dormitory, resolving to try again tomorrow.
On the way back, Harry felt a twinge of frustration.
Honestly, what kind of ghost doesn’t stick around her own bathroom? Why was she wandering off for no reason?
The next day, Harry checked the bathroom in the morning, afternoon, and evening—still no sign of Myrtle.
By Monday, Hermione noticed his distracted air and sat beside him. “Harry, what’s wrong? You seem out of it.”
“Just thinking,” Harry said, glancing around to ensure Seamus and Ron weren’t nearby. He lowered his voice and spoke quickly. “I’ve been trying to find Moaning Myrtle. I’ve staked out her usual spot for ages, but she’s nowhere to be found. Do you know where she might be?”
Hermione gave him a complicated look, making his scalp prickle.
Oh no. He’d been so focused on Myrtle that he forgot she haunted the second-floor girls’ bathroom.
“Harry, I hope you haven’t been going into the girls’ bathroom,” Hermione said, her expression a mix of concern and exasperation. “But Myrtle… she’s always popping up unexpectedly. She’s not necessarily stuck to the second floor.”
“Myrtle?”
Cedric Diggory, passing by, caught Hermione’s words.
“Are you talking about Moaning Myrtle?” he asked with a shy smile. “I saw her last night. She was in the prefects’ bathroom, peeking at me while I bathed… Merlin, what kind of ghost does that?”
Harry: …
He hadn’t expected a female ghost to spy on a boy bathing.
“Do you know where she is now?” Harry asked eagerly.
“Yesterday, she must’ve ticked off some Ravenclaw girls,” Cedric said with a shrug. “They flushed her down a toilet—probably sent her to the Black Lake. You’re only in second year, so it’s not surprising you wouldn’t know. Still, I think they went too far. There was no need to treat Myrtle like that.”
“Right, it’s just peeking at you bathing,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes.
“So, why are you looking for her?” Cedric asked, ignoring Hermione’s jab.
“No big reason,” Harry said half-truthfully. “Just wanted to chat about ghost stuff. Don’t forget tonight, though.”
He winked at Cedric.
“Got it. Same time as usual,” Cedric replied with a nod. “Oh, if I see Myrtle, I’ll tell her to wait for you on the second floor these next couple of days…”
He leaned in closer, whispering to Harry, “I’d keep this from the Weasley twins if I were you. They’d never let you live it down if they knew you were sneaking into the girls’ bathroom.”
“Couldn’t agree more!” Harry nodded emphatically.
“I’ll go check for you now,” Hermione said, starting to head off, but Cedric stopped her.
“No point, Hermione,” he said. “I told you, she’s been flushed into the Black Lake.”
“Ghosts can be flushed down toilets?” Hermione asked, incredulous.
“Of course,” Cedric said with a shrug. “Ghosts are weird like that.”
Finally, evening rolled around. At dinner, Hermione checked the second-floor bathroom again—no Myrtle.
Since they couldn’t find her for now, Harry decided to put the matter on hold. He did, however, swear Cedric to secrecy.
If word got back to Voldemort that he was looking for Myrtle, little Tom would probably turtle up and hide.
“Tonight, the Forbidden Forest?” Ron said, buzzing with excitement. “Blimey, I’ve never been there at night! This time, I can brag to Fred and George—‘Look, I went to the Forest during lockdown. Can you say the same?’”
“We totally can, little Ronnikins,” the twins’ voices chimed in from behind. “What kind of misunderstanding do you have about your big brothers?”
Ron turned, flustered, to see Fred and George watching him with smug amusement.
“But Ronnikins is a big-shot wizard now, taking down fourth-years,” they teased in unison. “What secret spells has he been learning? Did Gryffindor’s Lion King pass down some duelling tricks?”
“Want to learn them too?” Harry said, appearing behind them.
“Obviously!” the twins replied in sync.
“Then we’ll decide whether to let you join after the Duelling Hut vote,” Harry said, clapping them on the shoulders. “We’ll sort you out tonight.”
“Yes!” The twins high-fived, then stuffed a piece of candy into Harry’s hand.
“Fudgefly Toffee,” Fred announced.
“Makes your tongue swell up like the name suggests,” George added.
“Noted. Thanks,” Harry said, pocketing it. “Solid invention. You two should lean into this stuff more. Zonko’s hasn’t updated their stock in years. Muggle-raised kids might find it novel, but wizard-born ones are bored of the same old tricks.”
“Good point,” the twins said, eyes gleaming. “We’ll take your advice, Lion King Harry.”
Harry flashed an OK sign.
“Then here’s to your success,” he said. “Tonight, the Duelling Hut votes on bringing you in. Wait for my update.”
“Cheers, Your Majesty!” the twins said with exaggerated bows.
Around seven, a handful of Gryffindors slipped out of the common room under an Invisibility Cloak.
Cedric and his group waited on the second floor. Once the Gryffindors arrived, they merged into one party and slipped through the unguarded gates.
At the edge of the Forbidden Forest, they shed the cloak.
“Merlin’s beard, I thought we were done for!” Hermione said, still shaken. “If we’d been caught, it’d be bad…”
“Not your first rule-breaking rodeo, Hermione,” Ron teased.
She shot him a glare but said nothing.
The forest was eerily quiet, a crescent moon hanging in the sky. A cold breeze rustled the trees, punctuated by the occasional howl—wolf or werewolf, it was hard to tell—adding a layer of dread to the night.
“Werewolves?” Seamus shivered. “I’ve heard there are werewolves in here…”
“Probably not,” Neville said, inching closer to the group. “Werewolves at this hour? I’d bet wild wolves. Relax—we’ve got numbers. Why fear wolves?”
“True, we’re wizards!” Megan said, trembling—whether from cold or fear, no one could tell.
“But…” Cedric frowned, “Harry wouldn’t have us fight wolves in practice, would he?”
“Would he, Harry?” Ron turned.
“Huh?” He realized Harry wasn’t with them. “Where’s Harry?”
“He was just here…” Neville shivered. “I swear he was with us when we left. How’s he gone now?”
“Maybe something held him up,” Hermione suggested. “He’s been obsessed with finding Myrtle.”
“Myrtle?” Ron frowned. “What’s he want with her?”
“Wait!” Cedric cut in sharply. “Something’s off! I just saw a figure over there!”
At his words, a chill ran through the group.
Oh no. Dark wizards?
“Spiders, maybe?” Ron asked, voice quaking. He’d always dreaded giant spiders.
He’d heard from the twins about the arachnids in the Forest. If it was spiders…
“No idea,” Cedric said, tension creeping into his tone. He turned to the younger students. “Wands out, yeah?”
“Got it.”
Relieved Cedric had taken the lead, they drew their wands, scanning the shadows.
“I feel like we’re being watched,” Hermione whispered. “Harry’s not here. Should we head back before something happens?”
“Sounds good to me…” Neville said quickly.
But just as they prepared to retreat, a hooded figure emerged from the trees.
Under the moonlight, the face was obscured by the hood, but the intent felt unmistakably hostile.
T/N: If you find any typos or incorrect names, please leave a comment. Thanks, and enjoy reading!
