CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“ Don’ t ask me,” Myrtle shouted, emerging with a wave of yet more water, which splashed onto the already sopping floor.“ Here I am, minding my own business, and someone thinks it’ s funny to throw a book at me....”
“ But it can’ t hurt you if someone throws something at you,” said Harry, reasonably.“ I mean, it’ d just go right through you, wouldn’ t it?”
He had said the wrong thing. Myrtle puffed herself up and shrieked,“ Let’ s all throw books at Myrtle, because she can’ t feel it! Ten points if you can get it through her stomach! Fifty points if it goes through her head! Well, ha, ha, ha! What a lovely game, I don’ t think!”“ Who threw it at you, anyway?” asked Harry.“ I don’ t know.... I was just sitting in the U-bend, thinking about death, and it fell right through the top of my head,” said Myrtle, glaring at them.“ It’ s over there, it got washed out....”
Harry and Ron looked under the sink where Myrtle was pointing. A small, thin book lay there. It had a shabby black cover and was as wet as everything else in the bathroom. Harry stepped forward to pick it up, but Ron suddenly flung out an arm to hold him back.“ What?” said Harry.“ Are you crazy?” said Ron.“ It could be dangerous.”“ Dangerous?” said Harry, laughing.“ Come off it, how could it be dangerous?”
“ You’ d be surprised,” said Ron, who was looking apprehensively at the book.“ Some of the books the Ministry’ s confiscated— Dad’ s told me— there was one that burned your eyes out. And
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