ALOHOMORA | CEDRIC DIGGORY

61〝sixty-one〞

DUMBLEDORE IN THE LEAD, THEY hurried towards Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Professor Snape was whispering urgently to him.

"—already searched it, Headmaster," Ellis heard him say. "It was the first place we checked."

"I understand, Severus," said Dumbledore patiently, "and I trust that it's been properly done. Just indulge an old man, won't you?"

Snape did not argue, though looked like he craved nothing more than to do so. As they approached, Ellis realized she hadn't truly let his earlier words sink in until she witnessed with her own eyes what was newly daubed between two gothic mullion windows. On the wall, in red that seemed to match the blotches on Ginny's robes, wrote:

Her skeleton will lie in the chamber forever.

Ellis reckoned she was starting to comprehend Dumbledore's query when her train of thought crashed into oblivion.

"This is a girls' bathroom!" screeched Myrtle, so furious that her eyes glared protuberantly at Dumbledore and Snape through her large, round spectacles. "But does anyone at this school respect that? Nooo, they just come and go as they please, using the place to concoct potions and getting themselves tails—"

Whoever had gotten themselves tails seemed to cheer Myrtle up a great deal, for she was suddenly doubled up, guffawing to her heart's content. Her cackles resonated loudly around the hollow toilet, rousing an ache in Ellis's head, which pounded still worse when Professor Snape's voice was added to the mix.

"Who's been concocting potions?" he demanded over the echoes, a venomous look in his eyes.

Myrtle ceased laughing at once, glowering contemptuously at Snape.

"Hmph!" she said, crossing her arms and pointing her nose to the ceiling.

"We are very sorry to intrude, Myrtle," said Dumbledore gently ("Yeah, right," muttered Myrtle, sniffing), "but would you be so kind as to tell us who did this?"

Ellis's jaw dropped. In all the ruckus she had failed to notice a man-sized hole in the wall, at which Dumbledore's lanky finger was currently indicating, and where there ought to be a sink—she would know; she had tried its faulty tap just that morning. Curious, she craned her neck but never got to see what was inside: Snape had tugged her back and cast himself between them. Before her was nothing but the back of his black robes as he shielded her protectively and ordered that she stayed behind him.

She peered upwards: beyond the back of Snape's head was Myrtle's face. It was the sourest of sour expressions. Her eyes were narrowed at Dumbledore, considering him. Finally, she began to speak.

"Well," she said coldly, and allowed for a long, theatrical pause, "that boy with the glasses opened it."

"What happened, then?" prompted Dumbledore.

"They went down."

"And who's 'they,' Myrtle?" asked Dumbledore serenely.

She took her time once more to answer.

"The boy with glasses, obviously, his redheaded friend, and"—pause—"a teacher."

"A teacher?" repeated Snape.

"Oh, yes," said Myrtle, her eyes and voice full of gloat and glee, "he looked terrified—his shiny teeth were all chattering. The one with red hair had to push him in."

Snape snorted. "Lockhart."

Ellis felt grateful for being hidden; picturing the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor with chattering teeth transpired to be highly amusing, and she was having a hard time preventing herself from giggling.