Investigating the Heir (IV)

"Okay," she said. "But where are we going to brew it? We can't exactly do it in our dormitory, can we? Neville would blow himself up. I mean, not blow himself up, but he might accidentally... you know..."

"I know," Harry said. "So we need somewhere we won't be disturbed."

The corners of Hermione's mouth curled upward slightly. It was a mysterious expression, as though she were hiding some secret.

"I know a place," she said. "A place that's absolutely safe, where no one will disturb us."

"Where?" Harry and Ron asked in unison.

"The Second-Floor Girls' Bathroom," Hermione said. "Moaning Myrtle's."

Ron's expression became extraordinarily vivid in an instant—fear, disgust, confusion, disbelief. Every emotion took turns playing across his freckled face before finally settling into an expression that said, "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"The girls'? You... wait... Myrtle?!" His voice broke into several pieces, like a nearly scrapped engine struggling to start. "That... that one who's always crying... the one floating around the bathroom... that..."

"Yes," Hermione said. "Her."

"But that's a girls'... girls'... girls' bathroom!" Ron's face flushed bright red, whether from embarrassment or anger, nobody knew.

"So you don't have to go in," Hermione said. "I'll brew it myself. You just need to create a distraction in Snape's class and help me get the ingredients. I'll handle the brewing."

Ron's mouth opened and closed, then closed and opened again, like a fish thrown onto shore.

He looked at Harry, hoping Harry would say something to stop this insane plan.

But Harry said nothing.

He looked at Hermione, at the familiar, unquenchable fire burning in her eyes, and suddenly all his fear and hesitation seemed less important.

Hermione was right.

They couldn't just sit around and wait.

The bloody words on the wall wouldn't disappear by themselves.