Disclaimer:I don't own Harry Potter or making any money off this.

Chapter 1

The strongest of all warriors are these two- Time and Patience.

- Leo Tolstoi

" What is that?" Myrtle inquired, eyeing the first year and her cake with suspicion.

The girl's smile disappeared. "I made this cake for your Death Day. It is your death day, right?" the girl said worriedly. "I wrote to my uncle and he told me that you died sometime in May. So I did some research and I concluded you died on May nineteenth."

Myrtle sniffed. "I did die on this day. You don't have to rub it in. I know you're here just to gloat about how you're still alive and me-me-"

"Please don't cry, Myrtle! I thought the cake would-"

"Cheer me up?! Why would it? I'm a ghost and ghosts can't eat cake!" Myrtle wailed. The upset ghost glided quickly to her stall, tears running down her checks. Taking her favorite spot in the tiny wooden cubicle, Myrtle wept into her hands. Before the ghost could get into a good, hard cry, another sob interrupted her. Ghostly tears still falling from her eyes, Myrtle peeked her head out.

Myrtle was surprised to find the girl was still here. She was biting her lip, trying to fight back tears, but they were escaping and dripping onto the cake. Myrtle wiped her face with the back of her hand and floated over to the girl.

"Don't cry, Rosie. I really appreciate the thought. I'm just not use to people being nice to me so I took it the wrong way." Instead reassuring Rose, Myrtle's words broked the young witch's control. Rose started to cry, hands shaking so bad that the cake was in danger of falling off it's plate. Myrtle sighed. She wasn't any good at comforting people.

"How did you make the cake, Rose ?" Myrtle asked. The ghost prayed that her question would distract Rose from being sad.

"The-the elves helped me make-make-make it," Rose hiccupped.

"Really?"

"Yeah." Rose gave Myrtle a small, watery smile.

"How about you place your cake on one of the sinks and get out of here. You don't want to get in trouble for being out after curfew because you were visiting a mean, hopeless ghost," Myrtle said, returning Rose's smile with a somber one.

"You're not mean, Myrtle! You're really nice," Rose exclaimed. "People just don't notice." Rose carefully sat her cake down and with a wave, she ran out of the bathroom.

Myrtle shook her head in wonder. The girl must be out of her mind if she believed that Myrtle was nice. She was Moaning Myrtle; a spineless crybaby of a ghost who haunted a bathroom for Merlin's sakes! How pathetic was that? Rose really needed to find someone, preferably a living person, to talk to. The ghost should chase off the first year the next time she came to the bathroom.

"Don't kid yourself, Myrtle. You like having Rose around," Myrtle mumbled. Myrtle could never figure out why she liked Rose so much. In general, she was very antisocial. Myrtle believed every kind action was only cover for a person's true, cruel motive and she took offense at the silliest things. So it shocked the ghost how attached she was to Rose. Thinking about it, Myrtle decided the reason that she let Rose into her miserable afterlife was she could relate to the girl. The poor thing was always getting picked on by a girl named Sally Carson and her cronies.

It was due to Rose's tormentors that Myrtle met the smart red head. The first year ran into Myrtle's bathroom by chance trying to escape the group of girls. Myrtle didn't know why she protected Rose that day. When the girls came in looking for Rose, they were greeted by a huge wave of stale toilet water. From that day on, Rose came to see Myrtle every change she could. At first Myrtle found the young girl annoying. She would ask Myrtle a ton of questions or try to get her to talk. Rose's attempts of friendship were received with harsh words and numerous tantrums, but Rose never became discouraged. Rose would give Myrtle complements or would read from a book she brought with her until Myrtle had calm down.

Myrtle studied her gift. It was a pitiful baked good. The cake was unevenly frosted with runny, gray frosting. Chunks of unidentified cake were mixed into the frosting. On top of the cake, purple letters were all over the place. Some were teeny, others were massive, and a few were so swiggly that Myrtle could barely tell what the letters were supposed to be. The letters spelled out "Happy 75th Death Day." Myrtle past her hand through the cake. She could almost taste what she believed to be chocolate. The cake was the best Death Day present she ever got. It was also the only Death Day present she ever got.

Seventy-five years had past since her death. Myrtle was never bothered before by the days, weeks, and years that had past. She was already dead so being depressed about how long she had been dead for would be over kill. But now looking at the two numbers on her cake, she became gloomy. Not for herself, but for her family that she hadn't seen in over seven decades. They must all be dead by now. Myrtle wondered if her parents and sisters were unhappy in the afterlife because she was still here.

"I miss you so much," Myrtle whispered, crying once more. "I wished I hadn't ran into this stupid bathroom that night. If I just stood up to that damn Olive Hornby, I would had had a nice life."

"Is this the cake Rose gave you?" said a soft, cheerful voice behind Myrtle. Startled Myrtle felled out of the air and through her visitor. She caught herself before she disappeared into the floor and zoomed upward.

A teenage boy dressed in a pair of black jeans, a black sweater vest, and a grey short sleeved shirt stood under Myrtle. Myrtle figured the boy was as tall as one of the stalls. His brown hair was pulled back with a loose grey ribbon. The most unnerving thing about the stranger were his eyes. The pupils were wide and as round as a sickle and they were surrounded by a thin ring of dark green.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, crossing her arms. "Get out! This a girl's restroom."

"So this is Rosie's cake," the boy confirmed by himself. A gentle smile appeared on his face. "I always liked that little sweet heart."

Myrtle dove at the brown haired boy hoping to scare him off. When her body made contact with her victim, the most shocking thing happen. She couldn't faze through him! Just like a idiot, she slammed into him and bounced right off of him. The only good thing about the experience was she didn't have to suffer from the pain that would had occurred if she had nerves.

The boy tilted his head, giving Myrtle a goofy grin. "It's been a long time since someone tried to do that. Are you ok?" He asked

"Who the hell are you?" Myrtle said floating as high as she could before she exited the room via the ceiling. "What do you want?"

"I'm James and I'm here to wish you a happy death day," he said. He bowed dramatically at Myrtle.

"Well, you just did so get out of my bathroom, you creep!' Myrtle yelled pointing her finger towards the door.

Ignoring the enraged ghost, James sat down in the sink next to the forgotten cake. He clasped his hands in his lap and looked up at Myrtle. The teenage ghost noticed that James' pupils almost covered the whites of his eyes now.

"Myrtle, if you could be alive again, what would you do?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"If you could be alive again, what would you do?" he repeated in his soft, calm voice.

"None of you business," she snapped, floating downwards until she was at eye level with her unwelcomed guest.

"Please tell me. I promised I won't laugh or anything," James whined.

Myrtle sighed. "I don't know. I would want to see my family again. Hell, I would be happy just to received a letter from one of them." Myrtle put her hands behind her back and looked dreamily up at the ceiling. "I would get revenge on Olive. Nothing that would injury her too badly, but something to teach her a lesson. Then I would like to take a nice, long nap on a nice, soft bed…"

"So would you do anything to be alive again?" he questioned the daydreaming ghost.

A frown replaced Myrtle's grin. "Of course. Who wouldn't want to be alive again," she grumbled.

"Would you even take on your murderer?"

"You mean Tom Riddle," she said, giving James a sour look. "Sure, why not. Not only did he kill me and ruin my life, but he destroyed hundred other's lives. It's the least I could do for starting the bastard's career as a dark lord."

James nodded his head as if he was agreeing with what she had said. The teenage boy placed his hands together then lift the top one off. In his palm was some kind of box. James held it out for Myrtle to see it better.

It was an was an alarm clock. To be more precise, it was a 1941 Tick Clox alarm clock. It reminded Myrtle of the one her parents got her for her birthday. She was surprised her parents could find one because of the rationing of metal. This one had a beautiful lake blue painted metal frame with silver knobs and buttons. A pearly white silk cord and plug dangled in the air. The weird thing about the time piece was it was numbered from one to thirteen and both hands were on the thirteen.

"Happy death day, Myrtle!" James said. "I knew you would be prefect for my gift."

"What am I going to do with that?" Myrtle asked on the verge of tears.

"Take it."

"I can't pick it up. I'm a ghost!" she sobbed.

"You didn't past through me," he reminded her. "Take it."

Myrtle reached out and took the alarm clock. She could actually touch it! It felt cool and smooth ; two things she wasn't suppose to be able to feel.

"Happy death day and good luck." James disappeared.

The clock suddenly came to life with a harsh, metallic ring. The arms of the clock began to spin rapidly counter-clockwise. To Myrtle's disbelief, she saw Rose run backward into the bathroom and started to talk to another Myrtle. Myrtle watch in fascination as Rose and the other her went through everything that had happen that night backward. As time sped backward, Myrtle saw events and people she hadn't seen in years: her first meeting with Rose, young Harry Potter and his friends brewing the Polyjuice potion, the Marauders using her bathroom as a safe haven when they were first years trying not to get caught by a teacher. Myrtle though it couldn't get any weirder, but it did.

Appearing from the door, a man dressed in somber robes and a stretcher enter the bathroom. On top of the floating stretcher was a body covered up with a white sheet. Dread ran down Myrtle's invisible spine; she knew who was on the stretcher. The man directed the body to the last stall. With a wave of his wand, the sheet disappeared and the body floated off the stretcher and landed not so nicely on the floor. He walked out.

Then came the crowd of teachers who were alerted about her death, the six year who ran screaming from the bathroom when she found Myrtle's body, the basilisk who eyes killed her, and Tom Riddle opening the Chamber of Secrets. Finally Myrtle saw her fleshly self come out of the stall. Her mortal self was hurriedly walking towards the ghost. Before she could move out of the way, the other Myrtle ran right into her.

For the first time in seventy-five years, Myrtle felt pain. Unbearable pain raced through every inch of her body. Myrtle tried to scream, but no noise would come out. Then her other senses began to act up. The silence of the bathroom rang loudly in her ears like church bells. The dim candle light blinded her. She clutched the alarm clock, crying and praying that the pain would stop. As if the pain could hear her, it was gone. Sobbing Myrtle glanced at the mirror. What she saw cause her to drop the clock. It hit the floor and with a clang, skidded under a stall door.

Reflected in the large mirror was a flushed, pimply girl with brown hair and red rimmed blue eyes hidden behind thick lenses. With trembling hands, she touched her face. She felt the warmth of soft, bumpy flesh.

"This can't be real," she whispered in awe. "I'm alive."

"Are you alright?"

Myrtle turned her head and found a tall, black haired Prefect looking at her with concern.

"Minerva, right?" Yes, I'm fine. Thanks for asking," Myrtle replied in a husky voice.

"Are you sure? Would you like for me to walk you to your common room?"

Myrtle was going to say no, but decided against it. She didn't want to be any where near the bathroom when Tom Riddle showed up and she was possitive that she wouldn't make it to the Ravenclaw girl's dormitories on her own. "Yes, give me a second."

Myrtle took small, carefull steps to the stall that her alarm clock was in. Placing the clock in her robe pocket and joining Minerva, the two girls walked out of the bathroom.

This is a little experiment story. I had this in my head for a while and I don't know if I should continue it. Let me know what you think.

Till next time, my duckies,

The Good Witch of Dark Magic