Word count: 1,027

Written for:

QLFC - Myrtle Warren (ghost)

Four Loved and Lost

If there was ever a perfect boy, Tom Riddle had to be the one. Myrtle dreamed of him day and night, picturing his flawless face meeting her own, hearing the way his voice went low when he was tired. He was best in everything, of course, better than Myrtle Warren. And, in service of his school, he won many awards, all earning majestic trophies in shimmering gold. Here was a boy to kidnap and introduce to the family.

Myrtle giggled, wrapping the sheets tighter around herself for warmth. If Tom was there, she wouldn't have to be warm - he'd keep her warm. She laughed again in delight, covering her mouth with a palm so her neighbors wouldn't hear and object.

"Shut up, Myrtle!" one snapped. Myrtle instantly silenced herself, standing up to yank the hangings closer together. Some people were just rude.

Tom Riddle wasn't rude. He was a perfect gentleman. There was the time that a crony of his had tripped Myrtle in the corridor, but she chalked the memory up to an accident. Of course Tom wouldn't have snickered at her behind her back after he helped her up. Of course he wasn't involved in the day when everyone charmed her belongings into fruit bats.

He was a perfect angel, and she had to have him.

.oOo.

She couldn't help but stare at the boy with disheveled hair and hoarse breathing. He'd sprinted into her bathroom without a second thought, locking the door with a flick of his wand and sliding to the floor.

"Who are you?" she simpered. Maybe she'd have some company at last.

"I- I-" he stammered, his eyes wide. "I'm Remus Lupin, Gryffindor, and I really have to get out of here but my friends, well, they can't be allowed to see me. It's urgent."

"Why, do you have a potion brewing in the dungeons?" she joked, enjoying her power. She was safe and secure, while he sat there in utter panic.

"Imgonntrnsfrm," he mumbled.

"What was that?"

He sighed. "I'm going to transform. Tonight. And they want to drag me out, but I can't, and-"

Remus stopped mid-sentence in terror.

She widened her clear eyes, swooping to the ground from above the toilet stalls where she'd been perched. "You're a werewolf, aren't you." It wasn't a question.

"Oh god," Remus mumbled, probably regretting his admission. But she knew it now, and there was no way Myrtle Warren was letting this piece of gossip get out. "You'll tell everyone. I'm an idiot-"

She cut him off, swooping through his body and up in the air again. A few dives and tricks later, she was no longer amused with the situation - he wasn't responding. Myrtle supposed he wanted her to reassure him.

"I won't tell," she said cheerfully. "You're a nice boy. Shy. No one comes around here anymore; they haven't for years."

Remus was slumped on the floor still. "How do I know you won't tell the next nice boy that comes around?"

"I won't!" cried Myrtle, indignant. She paused. "Unless he's nicer and cuter than you."

"Oh, that's a relief," he said with a snort.

But he stood up, tentatively opened the bathroom door, and slipped out without a sound - not even wishing Myrtle goodbye. She never saw him again.

.oOo.

Harry and his little friends were busy - oh so busy - working on that potion of theirs. Myrtle knew they thought they were being sneaky, hiding in the bathroom, but they made the loudest racket she'd heard in awhile - including the time Olive Hornby passed out on the tile floor.

She also knew that they weren't just there to visit her. In fact, she had the slightest feeling that she was disliked.

Yet she couldn't force herself to be awful to them. She delivered the usual show of swooping and giggling and admiring the children, but the fact was, Harry was a nice-looking boy, even at the young age of twelve.

And each year that he visited, she grew handsomer. Myrtle grew almost coy in his presence in her efforts to win him over.

"Hello, Harry," she said, batting her eyelashes at him as she appeared beside the pool.

"Myrtle!" he replied, surprised. Her ghostly heart twinged - it nearly skipped a beat.

"Did you miss me? You never come to visit anymore…"

But he was already moving on, ignoring her words and fumbling with the golden egg. He opened it above the foam of the prefect's bath, immediately slamming it shut when hellish screeches came from within.

"I know what you should do," she whispered, hoping to attract his attention.

Harry turned and stared expectantly.

Myrtle savored the moment.

.oOo.

Draco Malfoy was the last. Myrtle had never seen the boy before, but his pale, pale skin and disheveled blond hair caught her attention. She sensed that this boy would take some working on - she couldn't leap out at him, or he'd run.

So she watched him, weekly, as he stood by the bathroom window, clutching his sleeve and staring blankly at the wall. Sometimes he cried.

It was the day that Draco finally showed his bare arm that Myrtle revealed herself. She hadn't meant to. She'd planned from the start to observe from afar, going rather against her typical strategy with boys, but this one was different.

He was so different that a horrific tattoo was stuck to his skin. It was evil. It moved.

"Ahhh!" she'd screamed, clapping a hand over her mouth.

"Who are you?" he'd answered, whirling around to see nothing. Myrtle remained in the shadows. She slowly swooped into the open, twirling to show him her regrettably ghostly body.

"Myrtle Warren," she said. "I know you. You come here all the time."

"Yeah, yeah I do." He was shaking. "I'm Draco Malfoy… And don't tell anyone what I've got, hear me? No one! Or I'll have you thrown out; I don't care if you're a Hogwarts ghost; you're out, hear me?"

"Draco, I wouldn't dream of it," she said simply, gliding along the floor to one of the stalls and letting him be. Myrtle was surprised at herself, but she kept moving.

Maybe this boy wouldn't leave her.