Author's Note: I am the Seeker for the Falmouth Falcons. This is written for Round 10 of the QLFC. My prompt is: Myrtle Warren

The Haunting of Olive Hornby

Myrtle floated amongst the bushes on the edge of the property, watching the proceedings. The lawns of the Hornby estate had been expertly trimmed for the wedding. Guests sat at the white-draped tables, champagne flutes in hand, as three musicians on a stage played a slow waltz. Myrtle stuck her head through one of the bushes, squinting.

At the head table, a man in black dress robes and a woman in white sat close together, their fingers intertwined. Neither of these people were the reason Myrtle was there. Her head turned, eyes combing the round tables until they settled on a young woman wearing red. Contempt rose up in Myrtle's heart, and she wished for the ability to easily interact with the real world. The urge to throw things was not an uncommon desire she'd had, both in life and in death.

The music faded, the musicians taking their seats on stage. The groom stood and tapped his wand against his champagne flute. The woman beside him looked up at him with adoring eyes as the wedding guests turned their heads.

"I want to thank everybody for being here tonight. It means more than the world to Jess and me," he said. "Love is what makes the world go 'round, and it's what makes life worth—"

Myrtle tuned him out, shoving her fingers into her ears. It did no good, of course, considering she had no physical ears. However, Myrtle didn't care. If there was one thing she had learned from following Olive Hornby around for the last several years, it was that her brother was a silly sap of a man. It made her insides sour.

Above her, one of the fairy lights dipped down and peered curiously at her. Myrtle swatted a hand at the fairy, and the tiny thing squeaked and darted away. It returned a moment later with two other fairies carrying miniature lanterns. Growling, Myrtle snapped at the fairies. They only giggled once they'd figured out she couldn't touch them and danced around her head.

"—and now, my sister, Olive, would like to say a few things."

Myrtle's head whipped around, and she forgot the fairies existed. She watched as the woman in red stood. Myrtle floated towards the cluster of tables and chairs set up in the garden and kept her eyes trained on Olive. The woman's face was in a perpetual grin that night, and it made Myrtle angry.

Olive had no business being as happy as she was. Hell, Myrtle had always thought Olive held herself a little too high above reality. The level of happiness the woman carried with her in life was just absurd, and Myrtle hated it. Even at Hogwarts, when Olive was making fun of Myrtle's glasses, there was a layer of contentedness about the other girl. One would think, with all the teasing Olive had participated in, that it would sully Olive's soul. But it didn't.

Eyes trained on Olive, Myrtle charged towards the wedding guests. They were so entranced by Olive's speech that they didn't notice at first the ghost closing in on them. Only when Myrtle drifted through Olive's great-aunt, who began screaming, did heads turn.

"Oh, look at Olive. She's soooo happy." Myrtle gave no care to the people she was drifting through. She even reveled in it a little, knowing the chill her spirit would give them. "Oh, what a happy day!" Moving in a circle around Olive, Myrtle screwed up her face to mock the other woman. "Look at you standing here. 'My name is Olive and I live a perfect life!'" Myrtle threw her hands up. "Oh! I'm happy, happy, happy."

Myrtle dipped and darted around Olive, making sure to pass through the woman. When finished with her dancing, Myrtle turned to the head table. Without even the slightest hesitation, she grabbed for the tablecloth. She missed it on the first three attempts but managed to grab an edge of the fabric on the fourth. Giving it a tug, a sharp surge of satisfaction rose in Myrtle as the tablecloth shifted, sending all the glasses and plates tumbling to the ground.

Oh what fun she was having! What fun indeed.

oOo

Three days later, Myrtle floated outside Olive's bedroom window, watching the woman. It was one of her favorite places to watch Olive—aside from her bathroom, which provided the amusing option to pop up from behind the shower curtain when the other woman was in a state of undress. Olive sat at her vanity, brushing her hair.

Myrtle drifted through the window and into Olive's bedroom. She stopped beside the vanity, reached forward, and shifted all of Olive's brushes and combs. Olive swallowed a shriek and stood quickly, her chair scraping across the wooden floor.

"That's enough, Myrtle," Olive said, her gray eyes regarding the ghost with contempt. "It's time that you stop."

Myrtle smiled, enjoyment blooming in her chest. "Stop? Oh, dear Olive, I've just begun for the night." She tore herself away from the vanity and all the trinkets, swooping through the bedroom and into the bathroom.

Lifting the lid of the toilet, Myrtle dove into the water, sending it over the basin. "Oh! I'm having so much fun, Olive!"

Olive appeared in the doorway, her face expressionless as she watched Myrtle splash inside the toilet. Myrtle looked up at the other woman and smiled, flicking water out of the toilet. Checking the silver watch fastened around her wrist, Olive smiled slightly and left the bathroom. Put out that Olive was not willing to watch her antics in the bathroom, Myrtle extricated herself from the toilet. She took care to leave a water trail through the bathroom and bedroom that soaked the rug.

Glancing at the wet rug, Olive set her jaw and once again looked at her watch. When the doorbell rang, Olive's smile widened.

Myrtle clapped her hands. "The doorbell!" She raced out of the bedroom and stopped just inside the front hallway. "Who could it be?"

Olive opened the door, and Myrtle peeked around the corner. A tall and severe-looking man wearing Ministry robes stood on the front step. Taking a step back to let the man into her home, Olive gestured at Myrtle.

He glanced at a clipboard in his hands. "Myrtle Warren?"

Myrtle moved backwards and away from the man.

"You are hereby banished." The man pointed his wand at Myrtle.

Before she could react, he cast his spell and she was frozen.

oOo

Myrtle would look back on the wedding for years to come with regret. No longer would she be able to haunt at will, nor would she be able to drift freely. She was stuck, rooted to where she died, and it was all because of Olive Hornby—it always was, in life and death.