Harry Potter 04 - Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

indignantly. ‘What d’you do, sneak up here in the evenings to watch the Prefects take baths?’
    ‘Sometimes,’ said Myrtle, rather slyly, ‘but I’ve never come out to speak to anyone before.’
    ‘I’m honoured,’ said Harry darkly. ‘You keep your eyes shut!’
    He made sure Myrtle had her glasses well covered before hoisting himself out of the bath, wrapping the towel firmly around himself and going to get the egg.
    Once he was back in the water, Myrtle peered through her fingers and said, ‘Go on, then … open it under the water!’
    Harry lowered the egg beneath the foamy surface, and opened it … and, this time, it did not wail. A gurgling song was coming out of it, a song whose words he couldn’t distinguish through the water.
    ‘You need to put your head under, too,’ said Myrtle, who seemed to be thoroughly enjoying bossing him around. ‘Go on!’
    Harry took a great breath, and slid under the surface – and now, sitting on the marble bottom of the bubble-filled bath, he heard a chorus of eerie voices singing to him from the open egg in his hands:
     
    ‘Come seek us where our voices sound,
    We cannot sing above the ground,
    And while you’re searching, ponder this:
    We’ve taken what you’ll sorely miss,
    An hour long you’ll have to look,
    And to recover what we took,
    But past an hour – the prospect’s black
    Too late, it’s gone, it won’t come back.’
     
    Harry let himself float back upwards and broke the bubbly surface, shaking his hair out of his eyes.
    ‘Hear it?’ said Myrtle.
    ‘Yeah … “Come seek us where our voices sound …” and if I need persuading … hang on, I need to listen again …’ He sank back beneath the water.
    It took three more underwater renditions of the egg’s song before Harry had it memorised; then he trod water for a while, thinking hard, while Myrtle sat and watched him.
    ‘I’ve got to go and look for people who can’t use their voices above the ground …’ he said slowly. ‘Er … who could that be?’
    ‘Slow, aren’t you?’
    He had never seen Moaning Myrtle so cheerful, apart from the day when Hermione’s dose of Polyjuice Potion had given her the hairy face and tail of a cat.
    Harry stared around the bathroom, thinking … if the voices could only be heard underwater, then it made sense for them to belong to underwater creatures. He ran this theory past Myrtle, who smirked at him.
    ‘Well, that’s what Diggory thought,’ she said. ‘He lay there talking to himself for ages about it. Ages and ages … nearly all the bubbles had gone …’
    ‘Underwater …’ Harry said slowly. ‘Myrtle … what lives in the lake, apart from the giant squid?’
    ‘Oh, all sorts,’ she said. ‘I sometimes go down there … sometimes don’t have any choice, if someone flushes my toilet when I’m not expecting it …’
    Trying not to think about Moaning Myrtle zooming down a pipe to the lake with the contents of a toilet, Harry said, ‘Well, does anything in there have human voices? Hang on –’
    Harry’s eyes had fallen on the picture of the snoozing mermaid on the wall. ‘Myrtle, there aren’t merpeople in there, are there?’
    ‘Oooh, very good,’ she said, her thick glasses twinkling. ‘It took Diggory much longer than that! And that was with her awake, too – Myrtle jerked her head towards the mermaid with an expression of great dislike on her glum face – ‘giggling and showing off and flashing her fins …’
    ‘That’s it, isn’t it?’ said Harry excitedly. ‘The second task’s to go and find the merpeople in the lake and … and …’
    But he suddenly realised what he was saying, and he felt the excitement drain out of him as though someone had just pulled a plug in his stomach. He wasn’t a very good swimmer; he’d never had much practice. Dudley had had lessons in their youth, but Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, no doubt hoping that Harry would drown one day, hadn’t bothered to give him any. A couple of lengths of this bath was all very well, but that lake was very large, and very deep … and merpeople would surely live right at the bottom …
    ‘Myrtle,’ Harry said slowly, ‘how am I supposed to breathe ?’
    At this, Myrtle’s eyes filled with sudden tears again.
    ‘Tactless!’ she muttered, groping in her robes for a handkerchief.
    ‘What’s tactless?’ said Harry, bewildered.
    ‘Talking about breathing in front of me !’ she said shrilly, and her voice echoed loudly around the