"Do you still hate Hornby?"
Myrtle Warren froze. Alice's question shut her up for a long, heavy moment.
Of course she hated Hornby. If that girl hadn't bullied her nonstop, Myrtle never would've hidden in the bathroom—and the basilisk never would've killed her.
But… if she'd just stood up to Hornby back then, wouldn't everything have turned out differently?
Myrtle finally answered, voice small:
"I hate her, yeah. I hate her for bullying me. But the person I hate most is the boy who let the basilisk out and got me killed."
"Who was he? Why was there even a basilisk at Hogwarts?" Alice pressed.
"His name was Tom Riddle. As for the basilisk… I have no idea."
Tom Riddle. Alice nodded.
Wait.
Tom Riddle again!
The same Tom Riddle from Galler Nicholas's manuscript.
Alice already knew—from the manuscript—that this Tom Riddle was the infamous Voldemort. What she didn't know was that Riddle had been a Hogwarts student.
So… Dumbledore and the others had raised Voldemort. No wonder the old man was so careful about education these days.
Did he regret helping create a monster like that?
At least Voldemort was dead…
Alice's face twisted.
She'd just spotted a bunch of red flags—red flags all pointing to one terrifying possibility.
Her dead-serious expression freaked Myrtle out. For a second, the ghost saw shades of the big-shot wizards in Alice.
Myrtle thought it over, then sank back into the toilet bowl alone. Her soft sobs echoed through the bathroom again.
Meanwhile, Alice's brain was in full storm mode.
Most folks these days wouldn't even say Voldemort's name. Alice knew Dumbledore hated that fear, but he never stopped it.
If Voldemort was really dead, why not strip the name of its power?
Was he using people's terror to prop up his "greatest wizard of the century" rep?
Nah—Alice didn't buy that. Dumbledore wasn't that shallow.
Plus, she could feel how much Dumbledore cared about Harry Potter. Way more than the "Boy Who Lived" title should warrant.
Why?
What secret was Harry hiding?
Obviously just the whole "survived the Killing Curse" thing and the "Chosen One" label.
Alice's Muggle-born brain automatically turned people into chess pieces.
She still remembered Dumbledore's brother Aberforth snapping at him: "Whose life are you using as a bargaining chip this time?"
So Alice put herself in Dumbledore's shoes. If Harry was a chess piece…
All the clues suddenly lined up into one awful theory:
Voldemort might still be alive—and Harry probably plays a key role in whatever plan Dumbledore has to take him down.
Galler Nicholas's manuscript had trashed Riddle's ideology, but even he admitted the guy was insanely hard to kill—"maybe the toughest I've ever seen."
That backed up Alice's hunch even more.
Of course, this was all just guesswork. No need to panic. She should trust Dumbledore's wisdom and power…
Yeah, right.
Alice snorted. She wasn't the type to hand her fate to anyone else. Only raw power could handle whatever storm was coming.
So it all circled back to one thing: she needed to get stronger.
Both she and the Soul Shroud were dying for a second soul to absorb.
But a lucky break like Galler Nicholas wasn't happening twice. No way she'd snag another soul that easily.
Huh?
The Soul Shroud tattoo on her wrist buzzed. Alice jumped—then realized Myrtle had slipped back into the water at some point. The ghost's crying was bouncing off the tiles, making Alice's chest ache with secondhand misery.
She stared at the tattoo, confused why it was heating up.
The Soul Shroud got fed up and shifted shape, its tip pointing straight at Myrtle sobbing in the toilet.
Oh.
It was telling her: Myrtle could be the second soul.
Alice shook her head subtly. Myrtle had already suffered enough. She didn't want to erase the ghost's mind and trap her as a mindless wraith.
[You can order me to keep her mind and free will intact.]
The Soul Shroud sent her a message—and explained how.
Alice's eyes lit up. Wait, really?
As the Soul Shroud's master, she could command it to preserve a soul's consciousness inside.
That soul would still be bound—couldn't mention the Soul Shroud, couldn't hurt its master, and had to obey orders unconditionally.
But there were limits.
Mindless souls didn't drain the master's power, so the more the merrier.
Conscious ones, though? They sapped strength. With Alice's current soul level, she could only handle two conscious souls max.
Now she got it.
She looked at Myrtle in the water, thought for a beat, then said firmly:
"Myrtle, I lied to you earlier."
Myrtle's crying hitched. She peered through her thick glasses, confused.
"I was bullied in Slytherin, but I didn't just take it. I fought back—hard—and carved out a space for myself."
Myrtle blinked. Her eyes sparkled. Alice's words proved the lesson she'd died learning was right!
But… Alice had lied.
Myrtle sank back into the water, crying harder than ever. She didn't want to talk about her death—or the truth of how it happened.
Her one moment of opening up, and she got tricked. She hated Alice now.
Alice frowned as the sobs tugged at her heart, stirring guilt and sadness.
Keep this up, and Myrtle's crying could be a secret weapon.
She pictured a battlefield: Myrtle pops out, enemies and allies burst into tears. She shivered. Terrifying.
She barked, "Myrtle, stop crying. I lied, yeah—but I'm giving you a chance."
"I can get you off the Ministry's radar. You'd be a free ghost from now on. But there are three conditions."
"First: this stays between us. You tell no one."
"Second: you can't do anything to hurt me."
"Third: you follow my orders."
All three were things the Soul Shroud could enforce automatically. Alice was just framing it so Myrtle felt like she had a choice.
Myrtle went quiet again, thinking hard.