Na-Na: This is somewhat of a crack-fic, considering the fact you just don't see any about these characters that often. As for a disclaimer, I don't own Harry Potter, but J. K. Rowling does. Enjoy the story!

Kindred Ghosts

By Na-Na

It was one of those days, she supposed. Life as a ghost couldn't be more dull. Most days she spent all by her lonesome, unless she was pleasantly or unpleasantly interrupted by the occasional student. Sometimes they were kind when they spoke to her, but for the most part, they were downright rude. Even the kind ones could not stand her presence for very long, fleeing as soon as they were sure she wouldn't drown them on accident during any one of her epic depression moments.

Every time, she would be offended and feel even more miserable initially. But each time, once she was done moaning and griping about it, she'd admit that she really was driving her visitors off. She was whiny, obnoxious, and somewhat clingy to every person who came by. Truthfully, she'd never been this awful before she died. Somehow, acting this way had become an awful habit that she didn't seem to have the will to break.

Sure, she had been rather lonely in life. All of the students of her house had been rather quiet and reserved, and distanced themselves from each other unless there was a rather special book that would be helpful for future tests added to the equation. It had been acceptable, though. As much as she craved for friendship, for human contact, she figured there'd be time later in life. Acing tests were much more important at this time in life.

It was ironic, in a way, when she was robbed of those goals the day she had been killed.

When she had "woken" up as a ghost, she had been very disoriented and had tried to make her way to class, scolding herself for wasting so much valuable class time in the bathroom. It hadn't even occurred to her at the time that she was a ghost. She didn't notice how she hovered or even the fact that she phased right through the doors that were in her path. It had been when a student had screamed when she saw her, that Myrtle knew something was wrong.

The terrified student had passed out a minute after. Her scream had alerted other people. Professors Flitwick and Vaughnan had been the next to come across them. Vaughnan's jaw had dropped while Flitwick seemed to be fighting back an oncoming heart attack. When she asked them what was wrong, neither could answer, each glancing at the other uneasily. Finally, they came to an agreement that Professor Vaughnan would take the student, who she recognized as a third year from her house, to the hospital wing, while Professor Flitwick would escort her to Headmaster Dippet's office.

During the whole trip, Professor Flitwick continuously shot her sad looks, though he did not say anything. She was afraid to ask. There was something wrong going on, and she was somehow stuck in the middle of it. Her fears were shortly confirmed after her talk with Headmaster Dippet. Though, she honestly hadn't expected that the tragedy befalling her would've been her own death. At the time, she'd been so thrown with the news of her own death that she hadn't stopped to wonder why they hadn't enquired the details of what caused it to happen.

For a while, she wandered the halls, trying to speak to other students. There was nothing left for her anymore, education wise. The dead couldn't take OWLs or NEWTs. All of them shied away from her, uncomfortable speaking to someone who had died so recently. Disappointed, Myrtle retreated back to the bathroom, to the stall she had died in, and waited. She didn't know what she was waiting for exactly. Just that she was waiting.

Minutes, hours, years slipped by… and she was no closer to what she was waiting for. Every year the heaviness of her own loneliness continued to grow, her desperation for companionship beginning to become overwhelming.

She imagined that that was the start. The reason she acted the way she did. She had died a sad and lonely girl, crying in a bathroom stall because one person thought her glasses looked ugly. That misery and loneliness had followed her into death as her definitive emotional state. Constantly seeking someone who would spend time with her, and crying whenever she didn't get what she wanted. It was similar with most ghosts. Ghost's personalities years on, like the Bloody Baron and Peeves, were the result of the final emotions they'd felt as they died.

Many times, she'd been approached by other ghosts of Hogwarts. They all tried to include her into their community, inviting her to various death-day parties, but Myrtle could never bring herself to properly mingle with them. There was still a reluctance to accept that she was really stuck this way for eternity. She was the "youngest" ghost in Hogwarts, having only been dead for give or take 50 years now. It was hard keep track.

Free floating about her bathroom, she sighed. While today was shaping up to be boring, she could at least be thankful for the fact it was not worse. Sometimes, when her mood was particularly poor, she'd flood the bathroom, and then that awful man and his cat would come to clean it up. Argus Filch never had kind things to say to her. He was mean and she was sure that no one, excluding his cat, loved him.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard the door shift slightly in the dark. Looking at it, she saw it open a crack and let in a tiny form. She watched the form shuffle about before diving into one of the bathroom stalls. It was to her immense surprise that the stall in question was her own, her place of death. Moving in closer, she inspected the child, what she assumed it to be, who was sitting in the stall.

The first thing her attention was drawn to was the child's bare feet. She pondered curiously why she'd be walking the halls of Hogwarts without her shoes to wear. While she couldn't feel anything, she was sure that at night in the castle, it could get very cold.

The next thing she noticed was the peculiar necklace the girl wore. Its chain was a simple silver one, and at the end, three butterbeer caps were strung decoratively on it.

Finally, with even closer inspection, Myrtle realized the girl was crying. This fact was most peculiar, because the girl didn't look particularly depressed. She sat upon the tiled floor, cross-legged, a silly smile on her face. Myrtle was further shocked when the girl spoke, never once opening her eyes.

"Hello. Nice night, isn't it?"

"Um…" Myrtle was unsure of what to say, "I guess."

"What is your name?"

"Myrtle," the ghost responded. Most times, she introduced herself as Moaning Myrtle. For once though, she didn't feel the need to, "Why are you here? Why are you crying?"

"Oh, well, I'd been investigating the cupboards in the common room for a nargle I thought I spotted. My housemates were not happy when I uncovered its nest where all my missing belongings had been stashed. So they…told me to leave. I didn't want to upset anyone so I just left. That's why I am here. Hopefully, the nargle will not relocate now that I have found his nest."

Myrtle eyed the girl, confused as to what she meant. Nargles? What were they? Was this girl just making things up? It was certainly strange. Even stranger was her housemates' reactions. Her eyes narrowed as the realization began to dawn on her. Either the strange creature the girl was telling her about existed, or the real culprit behind her missing belongings was none other than her housemates.

"Why are you crying, then?"

"I'm crying?" The girl asked, her eyes slowly opening, startling silver orbs staring back at her.

"Yes. Why?"

"I don't know…" the girl said, somewhat confused. She reached up and touched her cheek.

"Are you hurt?"

"I am uninjured."

"Are you sad?"

For a moment, the girl contemplated her question. Myrtle hovered a little closer.

"I'm not sure. My mother says we must always try to smile in the face of things that make us feel bad. I was smiling, right?"

"Yes."

"So why would I cry?"

"Everyone cries," Myrtle said, with a huff, "Smiling isn't always enough."

"I haven't cried in a long time."

"Maybe you're sad that you're alone. That your housemates made you leave." Myrtle did not want to make any hasty assumptions, but she could already guess this girl's problem.

"I think you might be right. But mother told me I should be strong, and believe in myself, so I'll always be happy. Does me being sad mean I don't believe enough?"

"Of course not," Myrtle said, trying to comfort the child who seemed to be growing upset, "It's natural to feel sad when something bad happens to you. It's natural to cry when it feels like too much. Just because you feel that way does not mean you do not believe in yourself. You are only human, you're allowed to feel things other that simply happiness. You prove you are strong when can dry your tears and return to life with a smile and act as if it doesn't bother you at all."

Her own words felt hollow. There was no taking her own advice.

"So it's okay to feel sad? It's okay to cry?"

"Yes."

"Why are you here Myrtle?" Wide, teary eyes gazed up at her, unblinkingly.

"I died here," came Myrtle's flat response.

"How?"

"One day, like you, I came into this stall crying. A girl in my class made fun of my glasses and I was so upset. I let her hurt me and I ended up dead for it."

"Was it a heliopath?"

"A what?"

"Was it a heliopath that killed you?"

"I…don't thing so. I think it was a Basilisk. At least…that is what Harry told me anyway."

"That's good. I was afraid that there could be a rogue heliopath loose here in Hogwarts."

"Umm…" deciding to veer away from the discussion of a thing (creature?) she had no knowledge of, she changed the subject, "Are you alright now?"

"Yes. I feel better. Thank you for taking to me."

"I should thank you. No one ever visits me. It was nice having someone to talk to…for a while."

"I could stay longer," the child offered.

"No, you should go back to your house. Hopefully, your housemates will be asleep and will not give you any trouble."

"I guess that would be best," she said with a sigh, standing as she said so. Myrtle couldn't help but feel the returning sense of loneliness spike at the thought of this child leaving. Instead of only that, she felt concern for her, worry for what would happen when the child returned to her house.

"Be careful."

"I will." The little blond exited the stall, "Myrtle?" She heard the voice call, timidly.

"Yes?"

"May I come back?"

"If you want. I would like that."

"Goodbye Myrtle."

And with that she was gone. With a jolt, Myrtle realized she had never asked the girl her name. A bout of pessimism worked its way through her mind telling her she'd never learn it. Still, she hoped. She hoped the little child meant it when she said she would come back. She'd see her again, and learn the name of the one who saved her from another day of loneliness.

End

Na-Na: If you haven't guessed who the student was, shame on you. She's like my favorite character in Harry Potter. Anyways, hope you liked this. I always wanted to explore Myrtle's character, as well as Luna's early years in Hogwarts. Pretty much, I'm glad I wrote it.