Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its magnificent characters.
Scorpius Malfoy was nursing a cup of tepid coffee when a bright-eyed ghost sidled up to him.
"So," Moaning Myrtle purred. "You think you could get rid of me by flushing me unaware, did you?"
It was a rhetorical question. Scorpius was careful to arrange his facial expression into one of pensive innocence. When he was at Hogwarts, he took advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons. But too late did he realized that no amount of magical prowess could protect against the mortal peril that was female wrath.
To Scorpius' chagrin, Moaning Myrtle floated into the empty chair before to him and sat down. Her eyes were eerily bright behind her spectacles. (Scorpius envisioned himself as an ant caught by a Muggle child's magnifying glass, helpless to escape the stifling heat).
"So," Moaning Myrtle said softly. "Aren't you going to order me something to drink?"
"Ghosts can't drink," Scorpius said, before he could stop himself.
For a second Moaning Myrtle just stared at Scorpius. Then, slowly, her lips trembled. Her face crumbled inwards. Her shoulders shook with silent but violent sobs. To Scorpius' horror, great translucent tears started rolling down Myrtle's grey cheeks. In a flourish, Myrtle leapt to her feet, knocking the table aside.
"JUST BECAUSE I AM DEAD DOESN'T MEAN I CANT ENJOY A NICE CUP OF TEA! I CAN LOOK AT IT CANT I -"
"Please, Myrtle, you are making a scene - "
"DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!" the ghost bellowed angrily. "SCORPIUS MALFOY! I AM NOT S-SOMETHING T-TO BE TOYED WITH AND D-DISCARDED WHEN YOU ARE B-BORED!"
Scorpius could feel every eye in the shop on them. A couple of witches, who were previously immersed in conversation, were openly goggling at them. The barista was looking at him as if he was something foul stuck to the soles of her shoes.
"Myrtle, sit down," Scorpius hissed. In her rage Myrtle had knocked over the coffee, spilling it all over him. "Look, whatever you want to talk about, we can be civilized and -"
"Oh, so now you want to talk, do you?" Myrtle said tearfully. "Why didn't you want to talk last night, when we were alone? Are you embarrassed of me? Are you? Are you? ARE YOU?" She demanded.
For a mad moment Scorpius wanted to stand up and shout "YES!" Fortunately, his better sense took over just in time and he was able to suppress his murderous impulse long enough to mumble, "No."
"Well, then, order something for me to drink," Moaning Myrtle said sulkily. She sank back into her chair.
Scorpius had to look away. It was a bizarre juxtaposition: although Moaning Myrtle resembled a schoolgirl, her eyes were that of a psychotic serial killer. Reluctantly, Scorpius made his way to the ordering counter.
"One cup of tea, please," Scorpius said darkly.
"What kind of tea, sir?"
"Doesn't matter. She's dead, isn't she? She can't taste the difference." Then, a thoughtful pause. Slowly, Scorpius smiled. "A cup of toilet water will suffice."