Effervescence | h.p.

ii | xvi. the little book

Harry and Lyra had arrived back at Hogwarts and had met up with Ron and Hermione in the hospital wing, discussing what Draco had revealed to the boys before break but keeping what he said about Lyra out of it.

"So the Chamber was opened before?" Hermione clarified as she sat in the bed. Her eyes were returning to their brown color and the hair had been removed from her transformation.

"Yes," said Ron.

"And," Lyra started, "it was fifty years ago?"

"Before Lucius was here," Harry confirmed with a nod.

"And a -- a Muggle-born died?" Hermione asked quietly.

There was a sharp inhale before Ron said, "Well, that's what he said, anyway. No telling if it's true. There's never been any word about it."

Madam Pomfrey ushered Harry, Lyra, and Ron from the wing, as it had nearly been curfew for them. They walked toward Gryffindor Tower when they had heard Filch mumbling about how he'd have to clean.

"You don't think someone else's been attacked?" said Ron.

They were once again in the corridor of Mrs. Norris' attack site, where another great flood of water stretching over half the corridor. It was still seeping out of Myrtle's bathroom as they approached and heard her wails bouncing off the walls.

"Now what's up with her?" said Ron.

"No telling," said Harry. "Let's go and see."

They entered and Myrtle wailed louder and harder than ever before, it seemed.

"Myrtle, what's going on?" Lyra asked soothingly.

"Who's that?" glugged Myrtle miserably. "Is that Lyra? Come to throw something else at me?"

"Why would I want to throw something at you, Myrtle?" Lyra said.

"Don't ask me," Myrtle shouted, emerging from her stall with a wave of more water. "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 Ron. "I mean, it'd just go right through you, wouldn't it?"

Lyra nudged him very hard in the side, giving him a stupid look.

Myrtle puffed up and shrieked, "Sure! 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?" 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. . . . "

Walking to the sink Myrtle pointed at, Lyra saw a small, thin book. It had a shabby black cover and was as wet as everything else in the bathroom. She nearly picked it up when Ron shot his arm out in front of her.

"What?" she asked him.

"Are you crazy?" said Ron. "It could be dangerous."

"Dangerous?" Lyra asked laughing. "Come off it, what harm could it do to me?"

"Well, it could be bad, L," said Harry warily.

"You'd be surprised," said Ron, looking apprehensive. "Some of the books the Ministry's confiscated -- Dad's told me -- there was one that burned your eyes out. And everyone who read Sonnets of a Sorcerer spoke in limericks for the rest of their lives. And some old witch in Bath had a book that you could never stop reading! You just had to wander around with your nose in it, trying to do everything one-handed. And -- "