CHAPTER FIFTEEN
everywhere. Riddle had caught the wrong person, the Heir of
Slytherin had got off, and no one could tell whether it was the same
person, or a different one, who had opened the Chamber this time.
There was nobody else to ask. Harry lay down, still thinking about
what Aragog had said.
He was becoming drowsy when what seemed like their very last
hope occurred to him, and he suddenly sat bolt upright.
“Ron,” he hissed through the dark, “Ron —”
Ron woke with a yelp like Fang’s, stared wildly around, and saw
Harry.
“Ron — that girl who died. Aragog said she was found in a
bathroom,” said Harry, ignoring Neville’s snuffling snores from the
corner. “What if she never left the bathroom? What if she’s still
there?”
Ron rubbed his eyes, frowning through the moonlight. And
then he understood, too.
“You don’t think — not Moaning Myrtle?”
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