“You might as well do the

“You might as well do the extra practice sessions in Hogsmeade and see where they get you,” said Harry reasonably. “It'll be more interesting than trying to get into

a stupid hoop anyway. Then, if you're still not—you know—as good as you'd like to be, you can postpone the test, do it with me over the summer—Myrtle, this is the

boys’ bathroom!”

The ghost of a girl had risen out of the toilet in a cubicle behind them and was now floating in midair, staring at them through thick, white, round glasses.

“Oh,” she said glumly. “It's you two.”

“Who were you expecting?” said Ron, looking at her in the mirror.

“Nobody,” said Myrtle, picking moodily at a spot on her chin. “He said he'd come back and see me, but then you said you'd pop in and visit me too...” she gave Harry

a reproachful look “... and I haven't seen you for months and months. I've learned not to expect too much from boys.”

“I thought you lived in that girls’ bathroom?” said Harry, who had been careful to give the place a wide berth for some years now.

“I do,” she said, with a sulky little shrug, “but that doesn't mean I can't visit other places. I came and saw you in your bath once, remember?”

“Vividly,” said Harry.

“But I thought he liked me,” she said plaintively. “Maybe if you two left, he'd come back again. We had lots in common. I'm sure he felt it.”

And she looked hopefully toward the door.

“When you say you had lots in common,” said Ron, sounding rather amused now, “d'you mean he lives in an S-bend too?”

“No,” said Myrtle defiantly, her voice echoing loudly around the old tiled bathroom. “I mean he's sensitive, people bully him too, and he feels lonely and hasn't got

anybody to talk to, and he's not afraid to show his feelings and cry!”

“There's been a boy in here crying?” said Harry curiously. “A young boy?”

“Never you mind!” said Myrtle, her small, leaky eyes fixed on Ron, who was now definitely grinning. “I promised I wouldn't tell anyone, and I'll take his secret to

the —”

“— not the grave, surely?” said Ron with a snort. “The sewers, maybe.”

Myrtle gave a howl of rage and dived back into the toilet, causing water to slop over the sides and onto the floor. Goading Myrtle seemed to have put fresh heart into

Ron.

“You're right,” he said, swinging his schoolbag back over his shoulder, “I'll do the practice sessions in Hogsmeade before I decide about taking the test.”

And so the following weekend, Ron joined Hermione and the rest of the sixth years who would turn seventeen in time to take the test in a fortnight. Harry felt rather

jealous watching them all get ready to go into the village; he missed making trips there, and it was a particularly fine spring day, one of the first clear skies they

had seen in a long time. However, he had decided to use the time to attempt another assault on the Room of Requirement.

“You'd do better,” said Hermione, when he confided this plan to Ron and her in the entrance hall, “to go straight to Slughorn's office and try and get that memory

from him.”

“I've been trying!” said Harry crossly, which was perfectly true. He had lagged behind after every Potions lesson that week in an attempt to corner Slughorn, but the

Potions master always left the dungeon so fast that Harry had not been able to catch him. Twice, Harry had gone to his office and knocked, but received no reply, though

on the second occasion he was sure he had heard the quickly stifled sounds of an old gramophone.

“He doesn't want to talk to me, Hermione! He can tell I've been trying to get him on his own again, and he's not going to let it happen!”