Chapter 333: Rumors
During this endlessly gloomy rainy season, something finally happened at Hogwarts that swept away the lingering depression in the hearts of the students.
Moaning Myrtle changed.
Overnight, she seemed to regain the colors she once had in life. Aside from her faintly transparent body, she looked almost no different from a living girl. Her expression was vivid, her movements fluid, and—most shockingly—she could touch real objects.
And she had proven that fact personally.
She broke into the Ravenclaw boys' dormitory.
According to widely circulated accounts, Myrtle could now interact with the physical world just like a living person. Harry Potter, savior of the British wizarding world, became the most "authoritative" supporter of this rumor.
After all, he had publicly declared that Myrtle had touched him.
Hard.
Naturally, no one believed that she had only touched him.
After all, Myrtle had been alone for decades. Was it really possible she would be satisfied with something so… restrained?
As for why Myrtle alone had changed, the prevailing theory was surprisingly unified: she was the youngest of all the castle's ghosts and, back when she was alive, had eaten the most.
Thus, she was the first to regain traces of living characteristics.
Perhaps that was also why she had been able to enter Ravenclaw Tower in the first place.
For several days afterward, Harry was regarded with deep sympathy wherever he went.
Ginny Weasley didn't know how many pillowcases she had soaked with tears.
Meanwhile, many young wizards began to worry about the safety of their own… most precious things.
Yet others, ever imaginative, sensed opportunity in the chaos.
As a result, in the Ravenclaw common room, self-proclaimed charming young wizards frequently approached Helena Ravenclaw—Miss Grey—with enthusiasm bordering on desperation.
This was merely one of the strangest incidents Hogwarts had seen recently.
It was as if the boundary between the living and the dead had grown thin.
Once the matter escalated, Professor McGonagall and the other professors conducted a thorough inspection and reinforcement of all house common rooms.
Their findings were reassuring.
Myrtle's entry into Ravenclaw Tower had been a one-time anomaly.
First, she had temporarily regained characteristics of a living being. Second, when she died, she was still a Ravenclaw student who had not yet graduated.
After touching Harry and fleeing in delight, she was once again barred by the tower's protective magic and returned to her untouchable state.
Once this announcement was made, the atmosphere in Hogwarts noticeably improved.
Quite literally.
Because almost no one had dared to take a bath before.
Some students, however, swore they had seen disappointment on the faces of Slytherin's Crabbe and Goyle—an observation strongly supported by the fact that they had continued showering even when Myrtle's movements were still uncertain.
Time passed, and Halloween approached.
This year also marked the five-hundredth anniversary of Nearly Headless Nick's death.
The Great Hall was decorated as usual: living bats flitted overhead, candles flickered, and Hagrid's enormous pumpkins had been carved into lanterns large enough for three people to sit inside.
Smiles returned to everyone's faces.
"Harry, why haven't we gone to the Great Hall yet?" Ron paced around him restlessly. "I want to see it first. You know we're attending Nick's Deathday Dinner."
"You act like you don't know," Harry replied flatly. "Half the school wants to go."
"They're not honoring Nick—they're trying to get close to a beautiful ghost."
"One or two of them have already tried bothering me."
"Really?" Ron blinked. "Then why is Nick dumping everything on you? He said new living guests can only attend with your permission."
Harry frowned, but the thought of Helena Ravenclaw stirred his mood.
It was because of those idiots that Helena rarely returned to Ravenclaw Tower these days. Still, she would never attend a Deathday Dinner filled entirely with ghosts.
Ironically, the harassment had made the celebration quieter—and in the end, she accepted Nick's invitation.
"Nick says you carry more influence," Ron said helplessly.
"By the way," Ron added, lowering his voice, "do you know why Hermione's been in such a bad mood lately?"
"Is it Luna again?" Ron asked, gossip gleaming in his eyes.
"No," Harry shook his head. "Hermione made a bet with someone. Alexander Smith."
"The wager was whether the Deathday Dinner would be held in the usual unused dungeon classroom—or in the Great Hall."
"And Hermione chose the Great Hall."
Ron whistled. "If I had Alexander's face, I'd be the next Lockhart—before prison."
"But Merlin cursed him," Ron sighed. "People overlook him too easily."
"If that happened to me, I'd lose my mind."
Harry nodded absently. "Hermione would've won."
"But the Myrtle incident made Professor McGonagall veto the plan to use the Great Hall."
"Dumbledore was apparently very disappointed. He's compensating by inviting a skeleton dance troupe instead."
Harry rubbed his face tiredly. "Right now, Hermione probably hates Myrtle more than anyone else."
"Except you," Ron added.
"And Ginny," Harry muttered.
"I heard from Luna that Ginny's been experimenting with a spell from The Quibbler that claims it can kill ghosts."
Ron leaned closer. "But, Harry… were you really just touched?"
"You can tell me. I'm your best friend."
"Shut up, Ron!" Harry snapped. "I was just groped!"
Several Ravenclaw students immediately turned to stare.
Their expressions only deepened their certainty.
Harry understood this too. He stood up stiffly.
They split off toward the Deathday Dinner like a pair of walking corpses.
In his current state, Harry unconsciously repelled anyone who tried to approach. He looked ready to draw his wand and curse the next person who came too close.
Ron followed at a cautious distance, his expression confirming everyone's suspicions without a word.
The Great Hall glittered behind them with warmth and light—but they descended instead toward the dungeon classroom.
Harry didn't feel like sleeping.
Ron didn't dare to.
Draco Malfoy approached, confused. After watching for a while, he finally whispered to Ron, "What's wrong with him?"
"Nothing," Ron forced a smile. "Still Myrtle."
Draco's eyes narrowed. "Harry's too kind. I should write to Mr. Weasley—have the Ministry restrict Myrtle's movement to the third-floor bathroom."
His smile turned sinister.
(End of Chapter 333)
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