"Did you hear that? Myrtle has started crying again," Teresa Buttermilk said to the others in the Potions Club.
Pomona poked her head out from behind the flowerbeds.
Even among those who loved spreading news, Buttermilk was the undisputed "queen," and now she had another identity as well.
She had been the first to learn how to brew Butterbeer. Quite a few students wanted to drink it at school, but the Three Broomsticks did not offer owl delivery or takeaway service. Though Buttermilk's Butterbeer differed slightly from the kind sold at the Three Broomsticks, she still had plenty of customers.
Later, her business began to expand. The finished potions made by the Potions Club also became tradable, and other students could buy them from her with other goods.
"This isn't news," Zacharias said, scoffing at Buttermilk's fuss.
"I mean, she isn't in the second-floor bathroom. She floated somewhere else," Buttermilk said, looking at Zacharias.
"Wasn't she imprisoned there?" Ernie Macmillan said as he stirred his cauldron. "Because she caused a scene at a classmate's wedding."
"It was her classmate's brother's wedding, so a complaint was filed against her, and then she was restricted to Hogwarts," Buttermilk said. "But that restriction was changed. Myrtle can travel through the pipes to anywhere she wants."
"And keep crying somewhere else," Zacharias said disdainfully.
"No, she isn't just crying. It sounds like she's talking to someone too," Buttermilk said. "Do you think she's gone mad?"
"How can a ghost go mad?" Justin asked.
"She talks to herself," Buttermilk said.
"Maybe she really is talking to someone," Wayne Hopkins said.
"Who would talk to Myrtle?" Buttermilk asked.
Pomona thought that was a little too harsh.
Myrtle merely liked "warm bodies." She had been quite happy in the Prefects' Bathroom during the Triwizard Tournament. Who said