I was in the Sun Room when it happened. I cannot get it exactly straight even now. I was by the fireplace, I don’t remember wobbling anything, or hammering on the floorboards especially, but somehow it must have come lose, I must have dislodged it someway or other, no explanation otherwise, because suddenly there it was. Something clanged upon the floor and rolled towards me. Gave me ever such a turn at first. Nearly called out, nearly struck at it. It stopped rolling right in front of me. As if it was aiming for me. As if it wanted me to find it.

A door handle it was, a brass one. A small one, with a rod. I knew that it must be the one they were looking for, that it belonged to someone called Rosamud. I thought she should be very pleased to have it back. But then I thought I might keep it a while, not for long, I’d give it back soon enough, just let me keep it for a few days. It was something to hold onto. It was only a door handle, of course, just a door handle. It was something shiny, it was something to hold, and somehow life feels much better when you have something to hold onto. I’ll give it back soon, I thought, I certainly shall, but not just yet.

I did like it. There was something about it, something personal.

I went on, then, with the door handle, I wrapped it up in my thick hair, twisted my hair around it, then pinned it down, I quite covered it with hair like I had with those other things back in Filching, and put my bonnet over so it couldn’t be seen, not even really if you took my bonnet off. Perhaps my head was a just a little bit bumpier, just a bit. Just for a little while, I told myself, then I’ll give it back. So I went on, doing my labour, feeling better now that I had the door handle.

I was cleaning the fireplace of the schoolmasters’ common room, a very thick place indeed, when I had the sudden feeling that someone was watching me. I turned to the door and there was someone there, someone horrible.

It was a ghost.