Disclaimer: I obviously don't own Harry Potter or anything associated with it (besides the plot of this story...). This disclaimer will carry through all of the chapters of this story, however many there end up being.
Apparent Resurrection
Fifty-five years. She had now been dead fifty-five years. And yet, Myrtle marvelled that the greatest changes in her after-life had occurred in the last five.
Originally she hadn't moved on because of revenge, but eventually that had been denied her. After that she would have liked to have seen her parents, but they wouldn't have understood, and she was pretty sure being out in the Muggle world as a ghost wouldn't have been allowed either. So she had returned to Hogwarts. She had no interest in being friendly but couldn't torment the students either. Partly because she remembered vividly what being tormented was like, and partly because she was certain she wouldn't be granted the same leniency that Peeves had been granted. So the years had passed in boredom and self-pity...Myrtle could've changed her attitude, but why should she? She was dead...there was nothing she could do about anything.
Then, about five years ago, Harry Potter had come into her life. Myrtle had been impressed that Harry had been the only one clever enough to connect her untimely demise to the Chamber of Secrets, something she herself hadn't done. She still remembered when she had first discovered that it had been the handsome upperclassman, Tom Riddle, who had been responsible.
Myrtle floated in the U-bend, daydreaming about Harry Potter. The appearance of voices didn't even phase her; for once she didn't feel the need to listen in…until she heard Harry's name. Cautiously she floated upwards and focused on the rest of the conversation.
"I heard it was You-Know-Who."
"He faced You-Know-Who AGAIN!?!"
"Wouldn't this be the third time?"
"Yeah. I swear that boy must have more lives than a cat to survive HIM so many times…"
"Yeah…"
You know who? Who was- Oh! You-Know-Who. Voldemort. But how was he connected with the Chamber of Secrets; it had been before his time. Unless...
Myrtle jetted out of the toilet, ignoring the startled shrieks from the occupants of the bathroom and zoomed towards Professor Dumbledore's office. People said he knew everything. Well, here was his chance to prove it. She had a right to know.
"Professor Dumbledore?!" she called, zooming back and forth in front of the gargoyle that led to the Headmaster's office.
The stairway opened, and Dumbledore popped his head out in surprise. "Myrtle? To what do I owe this honor?"
Myrtle scowled. She knew Dumbledore had never liked her even when she was alive, but he didn't need to be so condescending in his supposed kindness. But she held her tongue until she had fully entered his office. "I just heard that Harry Potter faced Voldemort in the Chamber of Secrets," she said, coming straight to the point. She didn't need to say You-Know-Who; he was a fear born after her time.
Dumbledore's eyebrows raised politely. "And if he had, why would that interest you enough to drag you from your commode?"
Myrtle stared at him in fury. "Don't act like I'm stupid. You know I died when the Chamber of Secrets was open the first time. If Voldemort opened it now, did he open it then?"
"Yes."
Myrtle began zooming back and forth again, even faster than before, thinking furiously aloud, "But that name wasn't in existence then, so who was he, Professor Dumbledore? Hagrid was the one accused of it, but he has no connection to Voldemort."
As Dumbledore opened his mouth, she snapped at him, "And don't try to act like you don't know. As the only man Voldemort supposedly fears, you must know a great deal about him."
Dumbledore was silent for awhile before saying, "The person known as Lord Voldemort attended Hogwarts in his youth under the name…Tom Riddle."
Myrtle gasped. "Tom?" Her mind reeled, and if she'd still been subject to bodily weaknesses she probably would have fainted. "Why didn't you tell me before?" she demanded in a tight voice. "If you knew it wasn't Hagrid who set the creature out on accident, why didn't you tell me!?!?"
Dumbledore raised his eyebrows again. "My dear, your behavior led me to believe that it didn't matter to you."
Myrtle hissed at him. "Of course it mattered. For all your intelligence, I can see why you never married." And then she zoomed off back to her toilet to cry as always…but this time was different than before. She never forgave Dumbledore.
She never would have imagined…but then neither had so many others. Only Dumbledore had figured it out. She knew she would probably still be harboring resentment of her former Transfiguration teacher if it hadn't been for his unfortunate demise. She was a little upset with him for dying when Harry needed him, but at least according to rumours Draco hadn't been the one to do it.
Myrtle had attempted to help Harry during the Triwizard Tournament, but as time passed and he never repaid her with a visit, Myrtle finally recognized that she wanted to change her repugnant behavior because she didn't want to spend the rest of her after-life moping. So although her attitude had begun to change with her interest in Harry, it certainly hadn't changed overnight. The first person to really give her a chance to show she had changed had come from a most unexpected quarter: Draco Malfoy.
It was her resentment of Dumbledore that had allowed her to be a good listening ear for Draco. Even though she hadn't wanted the old professor to die, she HAD wanted revenge on Tom, and this was the only way she might be able to make a difference. She had heard whispers that Draco was fighting on Harry's side now and that soon they would face Voldemort once and for all. She felt twinges of worry and hoped that they would be okay. She didn't know how long after it would take before anyone bothered to tell her...
Suddenly Myrtle felt painfully crunched in a tight space. But since that was a distinctly physical sensation, that should NOT have been happening to her!
Myrtle flushed out to the Black Lake where she could have more space. She felt like she couldn't breathe...which should have also been impossible. What need do ghosts have for air? She sank like a rock in the water, but ghosts aren't solid. She struggled out of the lake and dragged herself onto the shore. Why did she feel so heavy, so substantial? Myrtle looked at her hands. They were very pale but appeared to be corporeal. She tentatively touched her face. She had to be dreaming or imagining things.
"Hey!" Myrtle started and looked down the shore to see Minerva McGonagall running towards her as fast as she could at that age. It had been difficult for Myrtle to watch Minerva grow old. She still remembered Minerva from their days at Hogwarts together, and she had a hard time thinking of her as a Professor and an even more difficult time thinking of her as Headmistress.
"What are you doing?!" Minerva demanded angrily as she came to a halt in front of Myrtle.
"I would love to answer that question for you, Minerva, but I really don't know the answer to that myself."
Minerva suddenly found it difficult to breathe as she recognized the person in front of her, even though she didn't look exactly the same as she had fifty-five years ago – thinner, paler, but still… "Impossible," Minerva whispered as she brought her hands up to cover her mouth in shock. Then she put her hands back down and said in a tone that was pure unbelievingly question, "Myrtle?"
"Yes, it's me, but something has happened to me-"
"I should say so! You look...alive!"
"That's the thing...I feel alive, but I shouldn't. I've never heard any of the other ghosts mention anything like this before."
"I've never heard of anything like this before happening either."
They were both silent for a few moments. "Well," said Minerva slowly, "I suppose the best place to start would be to verify that you truly are alive again. Come, I'll help you up to the Hospital Wing."
The old helping the young to walk formed a most incongruous image, but Myrtle really did need help. Her movements were very stiff, probably because (though who could say for sure?) she had, after all, been dead for fifty-five years. It's reasonable to expect one might be a little stiff regaining their body after that amount of time.
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"Well, according to these results, you qualify as a living person," Madam Pomfrey said, shaking her head in disbelief as she began putting away her instruments. To Myrtle, she wasn't Poppy, she was Madam Pomfrey. Madam Pomfrey hadn't been at Hogwarts at the same time as Myrtle, and she had become Hogwarts' Healer after Myrtle had definitely had no need for anything under that job's responsibilities.
"What could have possibly caused this to happen?" Myrtle asked as she began to change into some fresh clothes.
"I've been thinking," Minerva said thoughtfully. "Shortly before I discovered you, I had received word that Harry had defeated You-Know-Who. That was why I was behaving the way I did when I found you; I was afraid you were an angry supporter of You-Know-Who coming for vengeance before the last vestiges of his power fade. Hogwarts has always stood against him, after all. Knowing who You-Know-Who once was…"
"Voldemort's dead?" Myrtle said in an odd tone of voice. So. Harry had finally done it.
Madam Pomfrey gave Minerva a puzzled glance before cautiously admitting, "Well, I'm not really sure I see a connection-"
"There is one," Myrtle said shortly. Madam Pomfrey glanced at Minerva who confirmed with a nod.
Madam Pomfrey nodded slowly, assuming Minerva would give her more information later. "Well, I'll look into it then. However, in the meantime… I can't say how long this might last, Myrtle."
Myrtle nodded sadly before resolving to herself that even though it might not last very long, she was going to make the most of it while she could.
"Now that you are here, Myrtle, I don't really know what to do with you. I need to go see Harry, but you have only recently come back from the brink of death...or farther than that...quite literally," Minerva said.
Myrtle felt a light bulb going on in her mind. "Could- Could I go with you?" she asked hesitantly, the gears turning.
Minerva hesitated, and Myrtle quickly added, "I know Harry from the Chamber of Secrets incident."
Minerva looked a little surprised before nodding. "Come along then," she said as she turned to leave.
"Minerva, wait!" Myrtle said in a bit of panic. Minerva turned back around to look at Myrtle with a curious expression on her face. Myrtle suddenly felt very nervous, "Do you think...before we go...could I perhaps...get ready?"
Minerva looked sincerely befuddled, but before she had a chance to say so, Myrtle continued in a rush, "I haven't seen Harry in ages, and this is the first time he'll see me now that I'm alive, and… most girls wear make-up now, and..."
As Minerva's expression continued to become more and more astonished, Myrtle blushed and babbled, "I mean, look at how far both magical and Muggle techniques have come in the last five decades! Hermione Granger was able to shrink her teeth and tame her hair; glasses aren't considered as bad anymore because Harry Potter himself wears them, but besides that there are also things called contacts. Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes came out with a ten second pimple vanisher! And..."
Myrtle trailed off when she realized Minerva was softly laughing at her, a twinkle of excitement and knowing in her eye. "Well, I don't know much about...becoming pretty...but we'll see what we can do. We've both been here long enough to know the current fashions. Poppy, could you see if you can find something a little nicer for Myrtle to wear? And I'll go see what makeup and hair products I can scrounge up..."
Myrtle felt a glimmer of hope as she turned to eye herself critically in the mirror while the two women bustled around.
A/N: If you think you recognize this storyline, you may have read it when it was posted under the title A Ghostly Love. Of course, now I am reposting it as I work on making it less...well...fluffy.