A small, pale boy with white blonde hair raced through the halls, finally skirting around a dark corner and retreating into a smaller, completely deserted corridor. He flicked his cool gray eyes around him, watching and listening for the caretaker.

Footsteps pattered just around the corner, and the boy panicked, searching quickly for a place to hide. He didn't visit the second floor much, and he definitely didn't have a mental map suggesting broom cupboards or abandoned bathrooms. Come to think of it, he realized in irritation, there were none of those options anywhere near anyway.

"I know you're somewhere around here," cackled the wheezing voice of Argus Filch, who Scorpius imagined to be darting his eyes maliciously around for his quarry.

There was the sound of a cat gleefully meowing along with the scampering of paws, and Scorpius's heart froze, willing himself to melt away into the wall.

"Yes? You can smell him, my sweet Mrs. Norris?" Filch was whispering. Despite his recent marriage to Madame Pince, he was still as sour as ever to the students. Scorpius had no doubt that he even discriminated against some, having carried unpleasant memories of their parents' various exploits.

He moaned desperately, throwing glances everywhere in vain one last time. To his absurd shock, he saw a moldy old door about ten feet down, hanging slightly open, as if inviting him to seek his shelter.

Scorpius smirked violently, and casting a smug look over his shoulder, crept silently towards the door. It was an old girls' bathroom, the paint that had once announced the fact peeling off the door. The boy paused before pushing it open and sliding inside. He shut it after him, and was pleased to find that it did not squeak treacherously.

He tentatively took a few steps into it, careful not to slip in the water, that curiously enough, gleamed on the tiled floors. While the place was not sparkling clean, it was also not as slimy and mold-infested as he had initially suspected. Behind him, the voices of Filch and Mrs. Norris had faded down another corridor.

Scorpius ran his slim fingers over the basin of a grimy sink, allowing himself a moment to gaze into the mirror. A boy with a pale, pointed face and platinum blonde hair looked shrewdly back, the ghost of a much-used smirk lingering on his cool Malfoy features.

"You look just like him," came the echoing, eternally glum voice of someone behind him.

The first-year boy spun around, hand flying to his wand. He narrowed his eyes, then widened them in shock as he saw a girl, the silvery, transparent shape of a depressed-looking girl floating near the half-open door to a stall. Scorpius backed into a sink, stumbling in surprise.

"Oh, no need to be so scared," continued the girl, a rare look of glee spreading over her rather plain face. She floated towards him, evidently enjoying the sight of Scorpius scrambling to stay away and at the same time, slipping in the pools of water.

"Who-who do you think you are?" he gasped, trying to recover his balance. Out of the corner of his mind he briefly wondered who he "looked just like".

The ghost paused, the expression on her face falling so fast Scorpius had to wonder if he had really seen the gleeful look she had worn earlier. "He hasn't told you about me?" she asked falteringly, looking as if she were about to cry. "I'm…I'm Moaning Myrtle. This is my bathroom."

Once the shock had worn off, Scorpius's face contorted again into an involuntary smirk, the kind his father had told him not to use in public. "You haunt this place?" he sneered, flicking his eyes around the drab, glistening wet place. "What does it do, remind you of your old mansion?" It was no secret, after all, his family lived in Malfoy Manor, which, according to his father, had been in bad shape after being abused as headquarters of the Dark Lord during the second Wizarding War, but now sat proudly as one of the finest old wizarding manors in the country. Other homes he had visited were nowhere near as fine, although his mother always tactfully advised him to ignore that fact when they were guests.

Moaning Myrtle's face drooped even more, and she began to wail unceremoniously, causing Scorpius to shield his face from the streams of water that had begun pouring from the toilets.

Despite everything, he felt a twinge of pity for the ghost, even if she was unfortunate enough to have to live in a bathroom. "Okay, I'm sorry for saying that," he repented, shrugging his shoulders. "I suppose you do have a right to stay wherever you like."

"Wherever I like?" screeched Myrtle, transparent tears dripping down her face. "How can you talk about what I like? As if anyone could care…as if anyone cared about Moaning miserable Myrtle at all!"

Scorpius wasn't sure, but it sounded to him like Moaning Myrtle was fishing for compliments. He didn't say this though. "I care," he said in as earnest a voice as he could manage. "Tell me why you're so sad, and I'll…" he hesitated, realizing his life was pretty much perfect. "And I'll tell you my problems." He heard Filch's voice growing louder and internally panicked. Anything to keep her quiet.

Myrtle suddenly ceased to sob. Her eyes lit up, and she floated slowly towards him again, regarding him suspiciously. "Hm," she said indignantly. "Your father said that he cared too. He used to come in here nearly every day to cry about talk about his feelings," she said sullenly, but looking pleased at the memory.

"What?" Scorpius now felt a genuine tug of curiosity. His father didn't fit the image of someone who cried. It wasn't that he didn't have emotions, of course. His father would often laugh with him, and when he thought Scorpius wasn't looking, would often gaze at either him or his mother with a foolishly soft expression in his normally cool eyes. His fingers trailed away from his wand. "Tell me," he commanded, with the air of an only child who has been modestly spoiled.

"Well…" An eager look had lit up Myrtle's face, and she now positively beamed with excitement. "Okay…Draco was in his sixth year when he started coming," she started.

Scorpius nodded, relaxing as he listened, though it was a bit strange hearing his father referred to by his first name. "Go on."

"I wasn't about to stop," snapped Moaning Myrtle. She quickly returned to her dramatic tale, however, picking at a strand of transparent hair while wearing a different, calm, and even dreamy expression that positively creeped Scorpius out. "I was just there in one of my bathrooms, you know, contemplating the effects of death on my emotions, when the door opened."

She paused, sighing. "Normally I don't get much-" Scorpius snorted. "-visitors in any bathroom I decide to haunt, so I was curious to see who he was. Of course, Potter promised to visit, but he never did," she added under her breath, to Scorpius's interest.

"Anyway," the girl continued, waving a hand. "Draco came in, and he was looking absolutely dreadful." She said this last word as if savoring it. (Scorpius raised an eyebrow, trying to imagine his father looking less than immaculate.)

"So, I hid in my toilet and waited for him to do something interesting. He stopped for a moment, gulping for air and all, and then wiped his eyes on the sleeves of his school robes. I realized that he was crying."

Scorpius wondered why Moaning Myrtle sounded so surprised that someone should be crying. It seemed, of course, to be all she did all day-

"So I watched a little more, and then he just stayed at the sink which would have been over there, and then he cried some more. He kept moaning about how he would be killed if he didn't complete the task. It was all very mysterious and all, you know? So then I thought, it wouldn't hurt if I just approached him and asked him what the problem was? But when I did, he got all scared and angry like you did, that someone might tell everyone he was crying…see, he didn't normally cry, but he did get picked on too…"

"I'm sorry?" Scorpius asked eagerly. What Moaning Myrtle was describing sounded an awful lot like the subject his father tried to drop whenever Scorpius brought up anything remotely near to "Did you ever have to kill anyone when you were a Death Eater?" He leaned forward excitedly, dying to learn more. "Yes?"

"Well, I just said, didn't I?" said Myrtle mournfully. "He was sensitive too, and he wasn't afraid to cry, to show his feelings sometimes, and to express who he really was…"

Although Scorpius didn't feel that who his father really was was a crying wimp, he ignored the last part. "No, no," he pressed with a note of impatience. "I meant about having to kill someone."

"Kill, k-k-k-k-kill," sobbed Myrtle, beginning to collapse with ghostly tears again. Scorpius had to wait in exasperation until she finally recovered a few seconds later, dabbing at her eyes with her robes' sleeves. "So terrible," she sniffed. "His terrible master was making him kill the Headmaster, or-or his entire family would have been killed! Of course, Draco's mother was the only one at their house-"("It's a manor," corrected Scorpius under his breath.) "But she would be killed too if he f-failed. And it was soooo tragic for him, because his father was locked up in Azkaban because you know, you know, him, he, was mad…" Her voice trailed off in a musicale of tears.

Scorpius nodded sympathetically. Grandfather had been in Azkaban, and that had been when the dementors were everywhere. His grandmother, Narcissa, would have been alone at their Manor, probably crying every day as well. It was obvious, he thought, how much she loved her family. It would have been ridiculous had it not been for the fact that she acted a bit haughtier in public. Scorpius smiled.

"But anyway," resumed Myrtle, looking doleful, "He never had to do it in the end, which was really great for him. The other teacher…oh! The Potions master then, Severus Snape, I think, in the end he…"

The boy nodded sagaciously, his pale eyes glittering. The rest was history. Snape had been a triple agent for Dumbledore, and he was mourned and admired as a tragic hero only after he was killed horribly by the Dark Lord. He thought of it as immensely unfair. It must be really unfair to be hated by everybody while you were alive and working for their ungrateful heads to stay on their stupid necks all along, thought Scorpius, feeling saddened by the change in subject. Snape was a hero, from what he'd heard, and pretty much all that anyone had done to honor him was to include his first name in some ridiculous string of dead people's names for their second son, he remembered dryly. Noble, but ridiculous.

"Oh! And that reminds me!" Moaning Myrtle was gushing elatedly now, her glasses slipping from her excitedly bobbing head. "I saw Snape once too. But it was in the boys' bathroom on the sixth floor. I called the alarm myself! It was when your father almost got killed in here by Harry Potter!"

"Really?!"

"Honestly!" confirmed Myrtle, nodding nonstop. "Your father came in here,
she said stoutly. "He was clutching the sides of the sink…I remember it all. There were tears streaming down his face, it was so sad…He was sobbing about how his whole family would be killed if he didn't do something, and then…and then Harry Potter came in. He saw me comforting Draco and-and I think he was jealous," added Myrtle with what Scorpius took to be a sly expression. He gagged when she turned away.

"For a moment none of us knew that Harry was in here, but then Draco looked up into the mirror-it looked just like the one you were just admiring your face in…yes, that's right, you can blush. And then…" Moaning Myrtle floated higher, entranced in her own memory.

"And then they started dueling! Imagine that! Right in the bathroom. They started throwing jinxes-well, Harry did. And I think Draco was really mad, because he started to use…"

"What?" Scorpius demanded, eyes slightly crossed from trying to follow Myrtle's erratic flying around the bathroom.

She stopped and leaned forward. "He tried to use the Crutacious Curse," she whispered, not looking horrified at all. "And then Harry used-"

"But isn't that Unforgivable?" asked Scorpius shrewdly.

"Of course it is," she sniffed. "But as I was saying-"

"I wonder if he'd used it before," mused Scorpius in a voice that was mildly laced with greed. When his father had taken him into Knockturn Alley once to get rid of some Dark Arts stuff his mother had been feeling annoyed about (she was practically paranoid about her family's safety and reputation), a creepy old witch in nasty-smelling rags had cackled at him and asked him mockingly if his father had "taught his son how to Crucio yet in that pretty little manor they had escaped back to". Scorpius wrinkled his nose in disgust; she had given off the impression that she bathed in fingernails for some reason.

"And then Harry cast the most horrible spell ever!" babbled Myrtle, swirling around and around in the air above the stalls. "I think Draco had just deflected a nonverbal jinx or something…but then Harry just raise his wand, swished it all around wildly, and then-and then-"

"What?" asked an annoyed Scorpius. Moaning Myrtle's pauses were getting less and less dramatic, he noted with irritation.

"And then Draco's face and chest were completely sliced open everywhere! His whole entire face and torso were all cut up and horribly lacerated and disfigured…there was horrible blood spilling all over the bathroom, and there were puddles of red everywhere!" she moaned, spinning around in circles in the air.

Scorpius gasped; perhaps this was why his father and Potter had never gotten along? But the amount of violence in their duel suggested some mutual dislike from sometime way before, he reasoned. "What was the incantation?" he asked, curious despite himself.

Moaning Myrtle cringed visibly. "Oh, you're going to do it on Harry?" she said, looking quite terrified. "Oh, but it's absolutely horrendous!"

"Of course I'm not," said Scorpius, nonplussed. The things people assumed, he thought, rolling his eyes. "I'm just interested; that's all."

"Well, I don't quite remember," said Myrtle doubtfully. "It's been many years and all, but I-" She faltered. "It might have been something along the lines of Sectumsempra…"

"Oh." Scorpius stored this piece of information in his head, realizing that he would probably never have a chance to use it anyway. "Well, cool." Then he realized that he had no enemies he would want to slice up that bloodily anyway. Suddenly, a wild thought sprang up from the depths of his mind. "Hey, erm, Myrtle?" he said warily.

"Yes?" she huffed.

"How-how many people have you told that to?"

She glared at him from behind her thick pearly spectacles. "Oh, just you," she scowled. "No one else ever comes in here anymore."

"Oh, good." Scorpius felt a wave of relief that no one else could lace up his face. Then fearing Myrtle, like everyone, would automatically assume the worst, he hastily added, "No, I mean, it's bad that no one comes in here anymore."

The ghost paused, hovering over a sink now. "Do you really mean that?" she squeaked, looking as though she would cry again.

Scorpius folded his arms, actually feeling a bit sorry for this ghost. "Yeah, sure," he said cautiously, hoping she would not request daily visits.

But to his immense eternal gratitude, she just half-smiled tearfully and let out a little howl. "So-So what are your problems?" she asked, eyes watery.

"Uh, well…" A little growling sound made him turn pink. "I, uh, I think I just missed lunch," he said haughtily, trying not to sound completely stupid. "And, um, I missed lunch because Mrs. Norris, Filch's old cat buddy, you know, she bit me for accidentally dropping my Transfiguration book on her head. So I did a full-body bind on her," he added smugly, allowing some of the old smirk to creep over his pale features.

"Oooooh!" Myrtle gasped as if this was some juicy scandal about somebody she hated. "And Filch's cat connected with him and he came running, didn't he? Oh, you don't want to use that spell again. Anything but that spell. That's a sore spot for him, don't you know?" She rolled her eyes at Scorpius's quizzical and slightly dubious expression. "Remember?" she empathized. "The Chamber of Secrets and all? When You-Know-Who did it the first time and worked through Ginny Weasley the second time? You know? When he had me killed the first time?"

"Wait, hold on," said Scorpius craftily. "Isn't the entrance to that in-in a bathroom and all? My father told me. He was in his second year last time it reopened." He stopped, interested in something else. "Wait, and he, the Dark Lord or whatever…he killed you?" he asked sympathetically.

Myrtle nodded fervently. "The first time it opened," she whispered, approaching him. "I died. Right here. Yes, of course that's why I haunt this bathroom." She nodded yet again. "And of course, Mrs. Norris was Petrified by old Slytherin's monster last time, when your father was at school."

A look of glee crossed his face, and Scorpius smirked. "Ha ha. Oh, and speaking of Filch and his cat…" He listened very carefully, but there were no sounds of either of them anywhere near. For a brief moment he wondered if they were pressed outside the bathroom, waiting to ambush him, and he felt a flicker of discomfort.

"No, they're gone," grumbled Moaning Myrtle half-heartedly. "Believe me, I know. More than you do anyway. You can go now."

Again, Scorpius had the vague feeling that the old ghost was fishing for compliments. He started to think of a witty insult to throw at her as he sauntered back into the Great Hall in time for deserts, but realized it wouldn't be very cunning or resourceful to do so. Who knew if he ever had to duck into a hideout on the second floor again? And of course, he felt that Moaning Myrtle also knew a lot of things he didn't, information that he could use very well to his benefit as well as simply be amused by. Plus, he did feel a little sorry for her to be so lonely…

"Okay," he snorted, throwing up his hands. "But if you want…" He paused, making sure to make it sound enticing. "I could come back. I need a friend sometimes too." He grimaced, briefly wondering if he sounded a tint too sarcastic. "Yeah, and I'll just go now…" He motioned towards the door and started towards it.

As the door turned open and Scorpius began to squeeze into the noticeably brighter, cleaner, and more impressive Hogwarts hallway outside, he heard Moaning Myrtle give a small squeal of protest and half-smirked.

"Wait…" she asked, looking abashed. "I-I was just curious, but…but who did Draco get married to?"

"What?" asked Scorpius, feeling flustered. He had not expected this. Trying very hard not to sneer even a little, he added offhandedly, "Oh, my mother? Her name's Asteria Malfoy. Well, before it was Greengrass." Glancing around to see that no one could hear him, he bragged, "She's a pure-blood, of course."

"Oh…" Moaning Myrtle's voice trailed away. "So, so you're pure-blood too then?" she asked unenthusiastically, sounding, to Scorpius's annoyance, as if she did not care the slightest.

"Yeah," he said, shrugging. "I'm also the Malfoy heir, and one of only five wizards alive descended from the Blacks." He paused, feeling good. "Of course, one of those five is a half-blood and half werewolf…my cousin Teddy. But he's really cool!" Scorpius said a little defensively, truly meaning it. "I take pride in being pure-blood," he explained loftily to a skeptical-looking Myrtle, (Scorpius had said this line at least a thousand times) "Because it's something really rare, and great witches and wizards have come from my family, and the Malfoy and Black houses can be traced back with thousands of years of wizarding blood. They have a really extensive and rich history. And plus we're rich," he threw in, rolling his eyes as if anyone should know this. "But I don't discriminate against anyone else based on their blood. Only intelligence. In fact, I treat Muggle-borns and half-bloods better than I treat other pure-bloods just to show how tolerant we are."

There was a strange, gurgling sound coming from Myrtle's throat, and it took Scorpius several stricken moments to realize she was laughing… at him? "That-that-that was a-a-a very funny lecture about your beliefs," she gasped, still doubling over with laughter. "Oh, believe me…your family's changed…just…just not that much!" she giggled, and with that, dived straight into a toilet, disappearing with a great splash.

Scorpius considered this for a moment, then shut the door, bemused. That was certainly interesting, he thought. Perhaps he would even write to Mother and Father about it…he definitely had loads of other things he was dying to tell them about.

Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy hurried towards his common room, abandoning plans to return to the Great Hall. He had almost forgotten that his grandmother Narcissa had sent a package bursting with cream cakes just the other day …

He also did not realize until much later, to his horror, that his new school robes had been dripping wet from the water in the old girls' bathroom on the second floor for quite some time.