Hello there. You probably know me as Moaning Myrtle, Ghost of the Girl's Lavatory. No one knows that I have feelings too, and I hope to express them in the best manner I can. Of course, no one really thinks that I have a regular voice, as you are hearing now. My wails usually leave my voice so high-pitched. Why am I pouring this all out to you? I can trust you, that's why. You're a living person, and a kind one at that. Trust me.
I was really upset when Harry came out of the Chamber alive, being carried by that bird. The girl Ginny, as I remember, threw that book at my head. I can't feel it, but hey, people saying that to me makes me wish that I was alive. Erm, actually, it's kinda fun being dead. You don't age. I was about.... Eleven when I died. I was in my first year, and it's been all of Potter's seven years, so I'm sixty-eight or what. I forgot how to add much.
My heart probably had no intention of making me like Harry, but it poured out and look at me! I'm transparent and black and white, and NO ONE CARES BUT YOU! Do you really care? Yes? Good. I want to tell you all about my life. Well, what I can remember.
I was born into Ariana and Tarquin Truthet's arms. They loved me, but Tarquin, my father, insisted on calling me Myrtle after my deceased aunt. So Ariana, my mother, agreed. I would moan and moan and moan on and on about my name, and the nickname was born. 'Moaning Myrtle.'
My parents were so proud when I got my letter. They reacted like Lily Potter's parents did. They jumped around for joy and yelled, 'We have a witch in the family, isn't it wonderful!' Someone came to pick me up, and off we went to buy my stuff. My wand waaas.... Oak, Unicorn Hair, Twelve inches.
I was great at charms. If I could pick up a wand, I mean now, I could do Wingardium Leviosa to a toilet and it would be levitating in a millisecond! I was in Ravenclaw, and my heart was set on being a charms teacher. Then. In my very first year, the Chamber was opened.
I didn't care if I died, because Olive Hornby tortured me about my glasses. I betcha Harry isn't picked on about his scar! Back to the subject. So on one particuarly miserable day, I was hiding in a stall, crying, when I heard a voice. It sounded male, but was speaking another language. Then I went out to give him a tounge lashing about using his own lavatory and then... *gulp* I died.
So thats the whole pathetic, miserable story. Not too interesting, if I do say so meself. Wait, why are you writing this down? Oh great. You're working for Rita whatshername. Phoo. Tell her no Quick-Quotes. Now get outta my bathroom! Beat it! Shoo!
I was really upset when Harry came out of the Chamber alive, being carried by that bird. The girl Ginny, as I remember, threw that book at my head. I can't feel it, but hey, people saying that to me makes me wish that I was alive. Erm, actually, it's kinda fun being dead. You don't age. I was about.... Eleven when I died. I was in my first year, and it's been all of Potter's seven years, so I'm sixty-eight or what. I forgot how to add much.
My heart probably had no intention of making me like Harry, but it poured out and look at me! I'm transparent and black and white, and NO ONE CARES BUT YOU! Do you really care? Yes? Good. I want to tell you all about my life. Well, what I can remember.
I was born into Ariana and Tarquin Truthet's arms. They loved me, but Tarquin, my father, insisted on calling me Myrtle after my deceased aunt. So Ariana, my mother, agreed. I would moan and moan and moan on and on about my name, and the nickname was born. 'Moaning Myrtle.'
My parents were so proud when I got my letter. They reacted like Lily Potter's parents did. They jumped around for joy and yelled, 'We have a witch in the family, isn't it wonderful!' Someone came to pick me up, and off we went to buy my stuff. My wand waaas.... Oak, Unicorn Hair, Twelve inches.
I was great at charms. If I could pick up a wand, I mean now, I could do Wingardium Leviosa to a toilet and it would be levitating in a millisecond! I was in Ravenclaw, and my heart was set on being a charms teacher. Then. In my very first year, the Chamber was opened.
I didn't care if I died, because Olive Hornby tortured me about my glasses. I betcha Harry isn't picked on about his scar! Back to the subject. So on one particuarly miserable day, I was hiding in a stall, crying, when I heard a voice. It sounded male, but was speaking another language. Then I went out to give him a tounge lashing about using his own lavatory and then... *gulp* I died.
So thats the whole pathetic, miserable story. Not too interesting, if I do say so meself. Wait, why are you writing this down? Oh great. You're working for Rita whatshername. Phoo. Tell her no Quick-Quotes. Now get outta my bathroom! Beat it! Shoo!