"I have it," Myrtle boasted, swooping through the Gryffindor and stealing the brooch out of her hand, "because Isfret entrusted it to MEEEEEEEEEE."

She did not exclude him from her pity parties, unlike the other ghosts. She HELPED him. She was poppppppulaaaaaaar now, popular with Peeeeeves and Isfret and Isfret and Peeeeeeeves. But now was not the time for that; now was the time to scram.

"Don't touch this brooch again, girly. You'll regret it." The former Ravenclaw wrinkled her nose at them and again dropped it in the circle of ghosts. She then poofed through the ceiling.