These are the corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It's a complex of shifting staircases. Within the vaults, owls fly from here to there. Toads' songs can be heard throughout the corridors. Here and there, house-elves teleport, and clean up the place.

Lately, this school has been up a creek without a paddle. A pair of its muggle-born students have been turning up petrified...along with the caretaker's cat and one of the house ghosts. Someone's behind this. They either are or possess an ancient evil; one potentially as old as Mordred and Morgana le Fey. And it's racist, too. If it had its way, it'd have all of the muggle-borns at the school on a silver platter...studded with emeralds...and serpent motifs. Better thing, though, that it leaves a trail...so that the heroes of this world can put that villain down before he rapes another poor muggle-born. Alas, it might take an army... Then again, it just might take a simple sword...simple yet powerful, in fact...and not to mention goblin-forged...

Down some of the staircases, waterfalls are in-progress. They're not very high; these waterfalls originate from a much-unused ladies' loo on the second floor. On the upside, it's mostly potable water. On the downside, it's just as likely to overflow from the toilets as it is from the sinks. And again, no one ever uses said toilets and sinks; hence, they're that less likely to be dirty. One, though, would expect the schools' house-elves to clean the place less often, if no one ever used it...

Within one of the toilets, a book floats. Or rather, it's a diary. It might not look it, but it's older than WWII. Despite its fashion, many wouldn't rather think that it's a diary to die for. Hence, they probably wouldn't believe that a dark wizard once killed for it...or that a piece of his soul still thrives within its pages.

In the loo's central chamber, a ring of sinks stands. Each sink bears a mirror. The fixture has snake motifs all over it. Much more than water and mirror reflections have ever come from this fixture. The staff of this school will never know...much though many of them would love to. They might not have to wait much longer...

Nearby, an empty cauldron rests. Within it, a ladle does, too. Around it, three glasses do, too. The cauldron's interior stinks of Polyjuice Potion; a shapeshifting potion. A few students have been bad this year... There's also a certain professor, down in the Potions dungeons, who'd love to avenge some of the ingredients that were used to brew it. (Some of them had been looted from his stores.)

Atop one of the walls in here, there's a ledge. Atop it, the ghost of a girl sits and weeps. Her hair is dark, and she wears glasses. Her robes, though black-and-white now, once sported the blue (and bronze trim) of Ravenclaw House.

In life, this girl was named Myrtle Warren. She went to school here during WWII. Sadly, she was teased by many other students; her glasses made her look like a cartoon character. Hence, one day, she was sitting on one of these toilets, locked in a cubicle, and weeping. Someone came up to her door. Thinking they'd done so to tease her again, she opened the door, prepared to reprimand them... Alas, it wasn't one of her classmates at all...and it had a very big pair of yellow eyes. All she had to do was look into them, and she was a goner...literally. She died that day...and now her ghost, a moaning terror, haunts this very loo. Hence, they now call her Moaning Myrtle. She's the reason why no one ever comes in here. And as of the beginning of this school year, she might not be the only reason.

Spontaneously, this loo gets a pair of second-year visitors. Their names are Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. They're in Gryffindor. They've also got a mate...who's currently in the hospital wing coughing up hairballs...courtesy of a Polyjuice Potion trick gone rogue.

Naturally, Harry and Ron are more than wary of the mess that's been made. They think that Myrtle made it. Neither one of them would believe who did...or that that diary compelled them to do it. If they were trying to get rid of the diary, though, they'd have been better off using a basilisk's fang...or the Sword of Gryffindor...or, at the potential peril of many, the Fiendfyre curse.

Harry fishes the diary from the toilet it's in. It's not a hard grab... Either way, Harry uses the levitation spell to retrieve it. For him, this is no problem; he's recently used the levitation spell, last Christmas, while playing a trick on Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, two of Slytherin's worst and dimmest. Plus, this year, his wand is much more qualified to cast spells than Ron's is. And to think that Ron's still destined to get promoted to his third year before this one ends...

Ron interrogates Myrtle about what's happened. She's...not hard to talk to when she's in a stable mood, it seems... But then, there's also an old saying, that misery loves company... Alas, if only the rest of Ravenclaw were there for Myrtle when she needed them... Or hell, Teddy Nott could stand to be here for her more often... If only he'd stop missing his Azkaban-imprisoned father every once in a while...

Ron shrugs. "Why would you care if someone threw a book at you? Wouldn't it just go through you?"

Angrily, Myrtle clenches her fists and elevates herself. "Perhaps," she admits. "Then again, since I'm now a ghost...I could, just as easily, do THIS..."

With that, she flies into Ron. Soon, he's possessed him. With Ron's own fists, she constantly punches Ron, and tries, very passionately, to give him a billion black eyes. He only has two, alas... But she doesn't care. Funny; one would expect a Ravenclaw to have more brain cells...if not more beauty cells... Then again, if Myrtle took off those glasses every once in a while, she could probably turn the alien Abzorbaloff's head, at least...

Nearby, Harry stammers. "Myrtle? I..."

Before him, Myrtle keeps punching Ron, while possessing him. Hermione Granger, no doubt, would love to do to Ron what Myrtle's doing... Alas, if only Draco Malfoy's most sacred wish would come true, and Slytherin's Serpent murdered Hermione and turned her into a ghost the next time the Chamber of Secrets was opened...

"Myrtle?" Harry speaks again. "We really need to..."

She keeps forcing Ron to punch himself...

Finally, Harry arms himself, and points his wand at Ron. "Myrtle?! I really don't want to have to do this!"

At long last, she abandons Ron. She hovers nearby, scoffs, crosses her arms, and shakes her head.

Ron, meanwhile, runs up to one of the mirrors within that big fixture. He's been violated, of course. His face is very bloody...

Harry comes up to him. As Ron faces him, Harry uses his wand to mend Ron's face. Soon, Ron looks better...if not perfect. Harry recommends that he see Madame Pomfrey in the hospital wing. Ron's desperate not to be there; Hermione already is, after all.

Harry shows Ron the diary. Ron looks it over...and sees a name on the front cover, embroidered in pseudo-gold: TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE.

Ron raises a finger. "I know that name! Where do I know that name?!" He hesitates, while thinking... Alas, he scoffs. "Sorry; my mind is out-of-sorts..." He looks up into the vaults and gives Myrtle a look. "No thanks to you-know-who!"

Myrtle responds by wailing, flying in a loop, and diving into a toilet, vanishing. The toilet does several Old Faithfuls, as this happens...flooded though the loo already is.

Harry sighs and shakes his head. "One day, I'm going to get you an appointment with Professor Henry Higgins!"

Ron gives Harry a strange look "Who?!"

Harry hesitates. "Never mind. Since Hermione is under-the-weather, I think we'd best take this book to the library, and have Madame Pince look at it."

Ron gives him a flabbergasted look. "Pince?! Are you mad! She'll never tell us anything we need to know!"

Harry shrugs. "Can you think of anyone better? Snape? Filch? Binns? Lockhart? That freak that teaches Divination?"

"Wait!" Ron takes the book back, and surveys the cover one last time. He blinks his eyes several times... "Filch! I knew I'd seen that name before! Remember when we got detention, at the start of the year, for that stunt we pulled with Dad's car? I had detention with Filch, and he made me clean a trophy a few times. It had this very name on it!"

Harry arches his brows. "You remember?!"

He scoffs. "I kept vomiting slugs all over its surface. Filch made me re-polish it each time. Trust me; if you had to polish a trophy with a name on it as often as I did, you would, very well, remember the name on the trophy!"

Harry nods. "Very well; you've convinced me. Anyway, scratch our plans to see Madame Pince. I'm now more convinced that seeing Madame Hooch would be of more service to our query."

Ron seems confused. "Our old flying instructor? But..."

Harry shrugs. "She might know more about trophies, and who's won them, than anyone here."

Ron scoffs. "Well, in that case, we might as well just ask Fred and George about it."

Harry dries off the diary, best he can, and slides it into his bag. "Come on. Let's go see Madame Hooch."

Down the flooded corridors, Harry and Ron make way. Aloft, the Fat Friar passes them overhead. The Friar is the ghost of Hufflepuff House.

Harry and Ron round a bend. As they do, they're met nose-to-nose by two of their peers in Hufflepuff: Ernie Macmillan and Hannah Abbott. A tense moment follows. Either way, neither party moves a muscle...at first.

Ernie scoffs. "What's the matter, Harry? Was Justin not big or fleshy enough for you? Come back down here to petrify another muggle-born?"

Harry heaves a sigh. "Nearly Headless Nick is my house ghost. Why would I petrify him?" He blinks. "What, are you so pompous you couldn't even take five minutes to wonder about that part of the Curious Case of Finch-Fletchley?!"

Hannah seems concerned. "Ernie? Let's go. Justin's fine; Madame Pomfrey said so. He just needs some mandrake potion."

Ernie finally smiles and scoffs. "I used to have so much faith in you, Harry. I almost don't believe that Dumbledore's raising you to become You-Know-Who's first left-tenant!"

Hannah grabs Ernie by the arm and drags him off. Harry and Ron only shake their heads and continue their path to the Quidditch pitch.

"I can see," Ron speaks, "that tomorrow's Head Boy still hates you for the Justin thing."

Harry shrugs. "He's just worried about the welfare of the school; that's all." He looks behind him, with a more sinister gaze. "Frankly, though, I think he could use an ego reduction. Before we know it, he and Percy just might start taking baths in the Prefects' Bath together... And, perhaps, they'd do a little more than that...atrociously so, I'm afraid..."

Ron scoffs. "I'd hate to spoil your hate-party...but Percy's straight."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Remember when we were pretending to be Crabbe and Goyle, and we tried to ask that girl in the corridors for directions to the Slytherin common room? Well, you won't believe this...but she and Percy are snogging!"

Harry studies Ron.

"Mum and Dad don't know yet," Ron admits. He shrugs. "But then, there's really no need to tell them. She's hardly affecting Percy's grades."

Harry scoffs. "If your older brother is anything like Hermione, nothing can affect his grades."

Ron scoffs. "Not unless Fudge named him his successor."

Harry studies him. "Who?"

Ron blinks. "I'll tell you later."

The two of them continue their quest to the Quidditch pitch. Soon, the mystery of the diary will be unraveled...although that might not happen where Harry and Ron hope it will... Or even how it will, for that matter...

High from a wall in the corridors, an animated portrait hangs. It's of Jonah Hex, a gunfighter from the American Old West. Half of his face is disfigured.