THE VERY SECRET DIARY
“You don’t think someone else’s been attacked?” said Ron
tensely.
They stood still, their heads inclined toward Filch’s voice, which
sounded quite hysterical.
“— even more work for me! Mopping all night, like I haven’t got
enough to do! No, this is the final straw, I’m going to Dumbledore —”
His footsteps receded along the out-of-sight corridor and they
heard a distant door slam.
They poked their heads around the corner. Filch had clearly
been manning his usual lookout post: They were once again on the
spot where Mrs. Norris had been attacked. They saw at a glance
what Filch had been shouting about. A great flood of water
stretched over half the corridor, and it looked as though it was still
seeping from under the door of Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. Now
that Filch had stopped shouting, they could hear Myrtle’s wails
echoing off the bathroom walls.
“Now what’s up with her?” said Ron.
“Let’s go and see,” said Harry, and holding their robes over their
ankles they stepped through the great wash of water to the door
bearing its out of order sign, ignored it as always, and entered.
Moaning Myrtle was crying, if possible, louder and harder than
ever before. She seemed to be hiding down her usual toilet. It was
dark in the bathroom because the candles had been extinguished in
the great rush of water that had left both walls and floor soaking wet.
“What’s up, Myrtle?” said Harry.
“Who’s that?” glugged Myrtle miserably. “Come to throw some-
thing else at me?”
Harry waded across to her stall and said, “Why would I throw
something at you?”
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