AN/ Poor little Myrtle. I've always had the question: where were you sorted? We'll find this question and more answered here.

DISCLAIMER: NO!

"Moaning Myrtle they call me; moaning indeed!"

The young girl ghost who favored the U-bends of toilets and haunting bathrooms was in a most moaning mood. You can't blame the poor girl though, as her only company was the occasional visit of three Gryffindors with the need to brew unlawful potions and open secrets chambers.

"Gryffindors! Ha. To think that the only mortals I meets aren't even in my own house." She released a high moan and swooped around her haunting place trying and failing to destroy something. After hours of this Myrtle was growing restless again. Normally when this happened she would explore the U-bends or visit another restroom or, if she was feeling particularly on edge, she might even venture into the depths of the lake.

Today however, Myrtle didn't feel inclined to do any of those things. Why? – because she had just realized a most troublesome thing. The ghost of the girl's bathroom could quite simply not recall which house she had belonged to. This was most certainly not good as no ghost wanted to loose any memory of their short time alive and Myrtle was no different.

And so Moaning Myrtle made up her mind on something and set out to do it, after of course leaving the water running as a nice surprise. And for the first time in a long, long, long time the girl ghost stepped, er – fazed, out of her bathroom and into the hall beyond.

At the time, classes were at their peak and the halls deserted. Myrtle floated hesitantly for a moment shifting non existent weight from one foot to the other.

Everything was so golden and warm, nothing like her white and wet domain. Having not been in any part of the castle other then the restrooms since the days of her death, excluding the Death Day party for the Gryffindor ghost, Myrtle found the entire thing a bit biases. After all, wasn't gold a Gryffindor color? She didn't see any silver or bronze or copper around.

Little was known about Myrtle's personality that didn't go beyond dreary and moaning so no one quite knew about the other strong force that controlled her. Moaning Myrtle was very curious and stubborn and when she got something in her head it stuck until she found a satisfying answer.

The question of the colors set the houseless girl set off down the hall hopelessly curious. Now determined to find some great display of another house's color the ghost had two goals and you could bet she wasn't going to be returning to her stall until she solved them.

Sometime later, about half an hour or so, and several floors up the haunter of the first floor toilets were seething, though one might notice, not quite moaning – yet.

"Gold. Gold! GOLD! This entire castle is bent with the color." Myrtle angrily swiped at a painting of a tea party. The dainty ladies in paint smiled down at her when her hand when straight though their canvas doing no harm.

"Now, now dear. Don't be upset," said one large woman in a poof of a blue dress.

"Hem, hem," sniffed Myrtle crossed her arms and pouting in the opposite direction. "I am not upset."

"Please child," said a slim painted woman with a large nose. She picked up her tea and sipped with her eyes closed. "How could you not be with that rats nest. Oh, and those glasses. Horrid!"

"Shut your trap Sue!" said the large woman as Myrtle began to "hem, hem" respectively as a warning of the moaning to come.

"Dear, you're quite pretty. A doll, really!"

"Ha!" Sue mocked. "With that pig snout, I think not."

The ghost had heard enough. With a loud wail Myrtle flew away from the portrait and weaved between walls and floors and ceilings. If she disturbed any class rooms she did not notice and continued to wail and weave and curse nasty things with well groomed self pity.

And she didn't even notice when she dived below ground level into a maze of dark halls. She stopped finally and suddenly when a great, snide voice called out.

"HAULT!"

A pregnant silence followed.

Moaning Myrtle opened her eyes and shut off her mouth. There about ten feet behind her stood a hunched greasy git in black, billowing robes. The man was wearing a frazzled but perfectly executed sneer beneath his hefty nose.

"Ghost," spat the man. "Get out of my dungeon and out of my sight. Pray I never stop you down here again if you value your meaningless existence."

Myrtle wasn't listening for she had been distracted by two things. One, the freakish way the man's nostrils flared to the size of pennies when he talked and two, the certain boy with the certain scar and the little habit of brewing potions in bathrooms.

"Harry!" Moaning Myrtle squealed. Okay, so she didn't exactly hate the boy; sulked a lot for his attention and wailed when she did not receive it, sure, but she did that for everyone. Besides, he was cute, and nice, but mainly cute. Myrtle was not ashamed to say she nursed a crush.

"Oh no," said boy groaned. He hung his head to hide the blush and avoid the stares as the girl ghost fazed threw the tables and tried to give him a hug. She failed only succeeding in making him shiver.

"Hello Harry," Myrtle grinned and pushed up the glasses that would and could never slip.

"Myrtle," Harry hissed. "What. Are. You. Doing. HERE!"

Myrtle pouted, crossed her arms, and faked sitting on the desk. "Hem, hem. You don't visit my toilet any more."

The class snickered. Snape, being the heartless bastard he was, decided to put up with the ghost a few moments more just to share in Potter's humiliation. Beside the boy the other bathroom visitors were sharing a look. Hermione smirked and Ron blushed even worse then Harry.

"I visit you later Myrtle. Not now!"

"Hem. That's what they all say. That's what SHE said!" Moaning Myrtle wailed pointing at Hermione who joined the boys in blushing.

The living girl stumbled. "Well, you see. Ah, Myrtle – I was really busy . . . with school and tests and – "

Myrtle moaned.

The students coward hands over ear. Snape twitched.

"Mr. Potter," he growled over the noise. "If you can not control these mindless fan girls then take them with you. Out and detention for three weeks, eight o'clock. Go!" Billowing over dramatically he yanked Harry out of his chair and dragged him out of the class.

Looking back at the ghost in his dungeon, Snape repeated his earlier threat tying exorcism in. Moaning Myrtle took on look at the man, cursed him wildly and flew out of the room screeching.

"I can't believe you did that!" Harry exploded. "What are you even doing here!? Don't you have some bathroom to haunt!?"

"Hem," said the ghost never to be put out. "But Harry, I missed you, AND besides who are you to get off telling me what to do! It's my death and I'll do with it what I want! You're just some stupid Gryffindor BOY! Ha, Gryffindor, bloody gits."

"Myrtle, what is wrong with you?" Harry shot back sweeping an irritated hand through his hair as boy and ghost exited the dungeons.

"You won't know and you won't care, would you? You don't even visit. You know my death day past and no one gave me a party or said 'Happy Death Day Myrtle!' You for sure didn't!" Moaning Myrtle wailing high pitched but cut it off abruptly.

"Just forget it, stupid, bloody Gryffindor – Potter! I don't need you, I have a house. I know I do! I'll find out which one, you'll see!"

With an ear splitting screech the bathroom haunter flew into the ceiling and went up and up and up until popped right out of the castle's ceiling.