It was a thrilling journey.
That evening, Remus and I are reading in the common room. Even James is quiet, absorbed in a copy of Quintessential Quidditch. I don’t tell him I have a free subscription from dad’s work. I don’t find quidditch very interesting.
Sirius is sitting with us, doing nothing.
Professor McGonagall comes to collect Remus which Sirius gets mad about then leaves us to our reading. Remus is back half an hour later, and tells me he’s going to bed early. I’m close to finishing the book and wave at him.
Sirius comes down a few minutes later looking cross. If I weren’t so absorbed in my book, I’d wonder if they had another fight. Sirius sits down on the couch again and starts whinging. I ignore him. James finally puts his magazine down and gives Sirius what he wants. I finish my book, then go upstairs. It takes me no time to notice a few of my stashed chocolate frogs are missing from my sock drawer.
I suspect Sirius took them but I want to know for sure. I take a chocolate frog and place it on each of the other boy’s nightstands. Then I get ready for bed.
I’m always the last one up in the morning. When I pull back my curtains, I see three empty beds and two of the gifted chocolate frogs are missing. Sirius’ frog is still on his nightstand. I have my answer.
At breakfast, which I barely make, Remus tells us his mum is sick and this afternoon he’s going home to visit her. I feel terrible for him. He has a photo of him and his mum on his nightstand. Knowing muggles get sick way more than wizards makes me think maybe we are less alike than I thought. James and Sirius are sympathetic too. Remus says there is nothing we can do, but when we leave the great hall to start exploring the castle I quietly pass Remus a chocolate frog.
He smiles a sad smile at me and eats the frog. I swear it perks him up a bit, which is lucky because we end up in a girls toilet on the second floor where a truly morose teenage ghost regales us with tales of her exploits down to the lake with the contents of a toilet.
“I was thinking about death,” she says dreamily, “when the toilet was flushed and I found myself swirling round and round, then everything went dark as I was whisked away. It was a thrilling journey. I ended up in the lake.”
“Ghosts aren’t solid,” I say.
“So, it doesn’t mean I can’t feel things,” Myrtle moans.
I look at the other boys to see if any of them have spotted the problem with Myrtle’s tale, but none of them seem to have noticed. I decide not to press the topic in an attempt to seem friendly, but really, Myrtle is disgusting.
James seems particularly susceptible to her weird charm. “That sounds awful, Myrtle. But we’ve really got to be going.”
“Oh, will you come visit me again?” she asks with watery eyes. “It isn’t often I get so many visitors, and cute boys at that.” Myrtle flutters her eyelashes at him.
“Of course we’ll come back, Myrtle,” Sirius says. “Just as soon as we get the image of you swirling around with the contents of a toilet out of our heads. Let’s go, lads.”
As we leave Myrtle calls, “I’ll never forget you!” She’s sobbing before the door fully closes.
Now we know why Alice told us all to avoid these toilets. James seems to think nothing of it.
“Blimey, bit depressing,” he says.
“Bit disgusting, you mean,” Sirius replies.
“Hey, would it kill you to be nice for five seconds?”
“To an overly emotional teenage ghost, yes.”
“You never know,” James says. “It’s always better to make allies than enemies.”
“I prefer friends who have the know-how to avoid mixing with bodily excrement myself,” I say.
All three boys turn to gape at me.
“What?” Sirius says.
“She intentionally swims with poop, it’s gross,” I say with a sigh.
For some reason, this prompts James and Sirius to delve into an intense discussion about the gross factor of poop on a scale of one to ten. The effects of the chocolate frog seem to have waned, for Remus looks like he’s about to pass out. I sneakily hand him another one, which he eats. I’m going to write mum and ask her to send me as many chocolate frogs as she can. It feels good to share.
Remus leaves to travel home via the floo after dinner. Sirius gets weird about this, even though it was expected. I’m running low on chocolate frogs. While James comforts Sirius in his bed, I close my curtains and write to my mum.
Mum,
School is brilliant. I made friends right away with my dormmates. You were right, Gryffindors are the best. Please send me more chocolate frogs as I’m sharing them with my new mates. Tell dad hi from me.
Peter
I lie in bed and listen to James and Sirius whisper. I can’t make out exactly what they are talking about, but if today was anything to go by, it isn’t a conversation I want to be involved in. It’s only because Remus isn’t here that I feel a bit lonely.
I can’t fall asleep with their talking, which continues late into the night. Instead, I turn on my little lantern with a tap from my wand and pull out some parchment and a quill. I use one of my textbooks as a desk while I draw a picture of Myrtle decorated with poop. Then I draw another one of her looking up from the basin of a toilet. Maybe I should gift them to her. Then I remember she can’t hold anything. I think Sirius learned a sticking charm. He could stick them up in her toilet to add some decoration. If it was Remus, I’d ask him to do it.
Remus misses breakfast. I nearly do as well.
“Why don’t you get an alarm clock?” Sirius says.
I just look at him while cutting up my sausages.
Remus turns up in charms looking like he didn’t sleep at all.
We are doing Wingardium Leviosa again. Sirius’ feather is swapped for a wood spoon partway through the lesson because the feather is too easy for him. No matter how hard I try to get it to levitate, my feather stays put on my desk. At least my feather doesn’t go up in flames like Remus’ does.
Greycen and Franny end up trying to sneakily blow their feathers up into the air. I try this method. My feather flies off my desk and floats to the floor. By the end of the lesson half the Gryffindors still haven’t done the spell successfully, me among them.
Franny starts talking about it being her wand’s fault. She has her late grandmother’s wand. She originally talked about it like it was a treasured family heirloom and an honor to use. But now I’m getting the impression they couldn’t afford a new one. I put my hand into the pocket of my robes and feel my alder and phoenix feather wand. Even though it isn’t performing magic like I wish it would, I don’t think it’s the wand’s fault. I think it’s me. I’d be more upset if I was the only one struggling.