'Ello, potterheads! I just pulled this one out of my arse, and it happens to be my first story that I published! It's just a little one-shot, no slashes or anything. It's basically about Moaning Myrtle's observations of Draco in his 6th year. Also, I accept any critisism as long as it will help me. So, be nice, as nice as you can, anyway, and enjoy!
He was a strange boy. He was always running past my bathroom, glancing over his shoulder as if someone was following him. It happened twice a day, about the same time. Seven in the morning, nine in the evening, repeat. It has been going on for a rather long while, most of the year, I believe. I feel my curiosity growing stronger the more I watch him scurry past each day. Seven in the morning, nine in the evening, repeat.
I floated out of my cozy toilet and slinked through the walls, unseen. I could see his shining pale brow, twitching as if someone was bothering him a great deal. Maybe someone was bullying him. Better him than me, anyway.
He has been in my toilet before. He made fun of my voice. I remember trying to kill myself after that, but then I realized: I was already dead.
Silently, he repeatedly walked past the stretch of wall that concealed the Room of Requirement. The room revealed itself quicker than I've seen it open for anyone else. I slid through the wall after the boy, silently gliding through the countless piles of clutter and long forgotten curiosities. Once the boy reached an odd looking cabinet, he immediately began whispering spells and opening and closing the thing, then muttering other strange incantations that I haven't heard before. I decided it was time to reveal myself.
I let out a squeaky giggle.
"What do you want, Myrtle?" the boy said through bared teeth.
"Oh, I only saw you sneaking by, like you were doing something wrong," I put emphasis on the word wrong. "I was only coming to see what you've been up to."
At once, the boy threw a nasty curse at me. I slid back right through the wall just before it would take effect. "I never got to find out what he was up to," I said to no one in particular.
I reentered my lonely toilet, contemplating on what the boy with the pale, shining brow was up to. Seven in the morning, nine in the evening. Repeat.