Moaning Myrtle and the Yellow Eyes (2)

She stopped, her body shaking violently like a leaf struggling in a storm. Every tap in the washroom began to tremble, giving off a low hum.

Water seeped out of the taps drop by drop, as though echoing her fear.

"Moaning Myrtle," Ron said softly, "what did you see?"

"Eyes." Moaning Myrtle's voice seemed to rise from somewhere deep, deep underground. "A pair of enormous... yellow eyes."

Her body suddenly drifted back a foot, as if those eyes were right in front of her at that very moment.

"Right on my glasses lenses... through the blurry water stains... those eyes were staring at me from inside that stall! Through the crack in the door! They were so bright... so terrifying... like two burning suns..."

Her voice abruptly rose, turning into a near-screaming wail. "And then... then I died! I died!"

She burst into loud sobs, her body passing through the wall and back again, through the ceiling and dropping down again like a marble being bounced about. Every tap in the washroom turned on, water splashing everywhere as the puddles on the floor grew deeper and deeper, flooding over Ron's shoes.

Ron stood frozen in place as a chill shot from the soles of his feet straight to the top of his head.

Enormous yellow eyes? Right inside one of the washroom stalls?

He instinctively looked toward the stall door Moaning Myrtle had pointed at. It was tightly shut, its rusted handle glinting dark red beneath the torchlight. Beneath the door was a gap about two fingers wide, enough for something—or some eyes—to look out from inside.

The strange voice Harry had heard in Lockhart's office, coming from within the walls—that hissing, snake-like sound—matched Moaning Myrtle's description of the "Parseltongue boy."

This was no ordinary accident.

Moaning Myrtle's death and