Chapter 217
Albert didn't know how much time he would need to spend in the bathroom with the egg before uncovering its secret, so he decided to go at night when no one would disturb him. Though the inconvenience annoyed him, he headed toward the prefects' bathroom where he wouldn't be bothered.
Using a Disillusionment Charm was absolutely essential. On Thursday night, Albert slipped out of his bed and headed downstairs. He had arranged with Ron to open the portrait hole for him from the outside.
When Ron walked past him, he whispered, "Good luck."
Albert tiptoed quietly, careful not to make a single sound, the golden egg held firmly in his hands.
The hallways were empty and quiet. When he reached the statue of Boris the Bewildered, he located the door on the right. He stepped closer and whispered the password Ludo Bagman had given him: "Pine Fresh."
The door opened with an unpleasant groan. Albert entered, closed it behind him, and began removing his clothes.
He slid off his shirt slowly, revealing a perfectly toned athletic body—broad, well-defined chest muscles that flowed down into tight, sculpted abs.
His skin glistened under the moonlight streaming through the windows, giving him a naturally striking aura.
The moment he stepped inside, he felt it—being a prefect was definitely worth it if it meant having access to a bathroom like this.
Though he knew students younger than sixth-years weren't normally allowed inside.
The lighting was soft, and everything—from the floor to the walls—was carved from white marble. At the center lay a massive bathtub that resembled a swimming pool, surrounded by nearly a hundred golden taps, each with a differently colored handle. White curtains draped over the windows, and heaps of fresh white towels were stacked in a corner. On the wall hung a golden-framed painting of a sleeping mermaid, her hair flowing over her face as she rested atop a rock.
Albert walked across the room, the echoes of his footsteps bouncing off the marble.
Finally, he stepped into the enormous tub. The water was deep—deep enough to reach his neck. But he didn't flinch. He lifted the egg, opened it—
A piercing scream filled the bathroom, bouncing wildly against the marble walls.
But the sound was distorted, incomprehensible—nothing like before.
The echo only made it more confusing. Startled, Albert shut the egg again.
Just before he fully submerged himself to listen to the egg properly, a voice spoke:
"If I were you, I'd try putting it in the water!"
Albert whipped his head toward the voice. Sitting near one of the taps was the ghost of a girl—Moaning Myrtle, who was often heard sobbing in the first-floor girls' bathroom.
Albert shouted, "That's exactly what I was going to do—if you hadn't interrupted!! And second—I'm in the water with nothing on!!"
Myrtle replied, "I closed my eyes when you came in! The steam hides everything anyway! I only wanted to tell you to put the egg in the water. That's what Viktor Krum did. But since you said you already knew—sorry!"
The mention of Viktor Krum startled Albert.
So Viktor had already been here—and had already solved the egg's secret.
"Were you spying on him too?" Albert demanded.
"Not exactly…" she muttered. "I didn't talk to him, though."
"How delightful," Albert muttered sarcastically. "Close your eyes."
He waited until he was sure she had covered them. Then he climbed out of the tub, wrapped a towel tightly around himself, grabbed the egg, and stepped back to the edge of the pool. He set the egg down on the steaming surface, then submerged it beneath the water before opening it.
This time, it didn't scream.
Instead, a soft, eerie melody rippled through the water, causing large bubbles to rise toward the surface, making the words unclear. Albert took a deep breath, dunked his head under the water, and listened.
• Come seek us where our voices sound, •
• We cannot sing above the ground, •
• And while you're searching ponder this: •
• We've taken something 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. •
Albert resurfaced, shaking water from his hair. Myrtle immediately asked, "Did you hear it?"
"Yes, I heard it. And I'm honestly disappointed," Albert replied.
Myrtle blinked in confusion. "What do you mean?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he thought to himself:
I came here hoping the egg would tell me something different from what Harry heard in the original story… but it was exactly the same. Word for word.
Albert already knew the solution:
We cannot sing above the ground meant the song could only be heard underwater—like in the lake.
As for the rest, the message was clear: they would take something precious from him. Something he would miss dearly. And based on what he remembered from his previous life, it meant one of his friends—Harry, Ron, or Hermione—would be taken for the second task, and he would have to rescue them to complete it.
A few minutes later, Albert headed back toward Gryffindor Tower, the puzzle finally solved. The second task was approaching quickly.
But a strange feeling gnawed at him—a sense that something wrong was happening behind his back.
He ignored it and climbed into bed once he reached the dormitory.
---
Inside Professor Moody's Office
In a dim, mysterious atmosphere, "Professor Moody" used Apparition to travel to the graveyard bearing the name Tom Riddle.
He wore his usual attire—long coat, heavy boots—as though ready for battle. In his right hand, he held a small glass vial containing several drops of blood, glistening darkly under the moonlight as though holding a dangerous secret.
Upon arriving at the graveyard, he paused, surveying the area. Darkness swallowed the surroundings, except for the faint glow of moonlight brushing the gravestones.
Moments later, a figure emerged from the shadows—a short, pudgy man with rodent-like features that made him instantly suspicious. Peter Pettigrew.
But "Moody" showed no fear at all.
Peter raised his wand cautiously, but Moody was perfectly calm.
Without hesitation, the professor retrieved another vial from his pocket and drank it.
Within seconds, his face began to change—shifting, melting—until his real features emerged.
Peter's eyes widened in shock.
Standing before him was Barty Crouch Jr., Voldemort's fanatically loyal servant.
Peter froze. "I-It's really you, Junior?"
Barty grinned wickedly. "Yes. It's me."
Then, voice eager and trembling with excitement, he asked, "Is the Dark Lord well?"
Peter nodded nervously. "Y-Yes. He is."
Barty's grin widened with manic delight.
"I brought something that will make the Dark Lord very, very pleased."
He lifted the small vial containing the precious drops of blood—holding it as if it were treasure.
His eyes shone with feverish devotion.
This vial… was the key to restoring Voldemort's power.
To be continued…