Word Count: 620
He hates having to hide; it makes him feel like a coward, and Kingsley likes to think he is anything but a coward. Not today, though. Today, it's easier to just slip into the girls' restroom and let the others find a new target. No one ever comes to this one. He will be safe here.
"Hmpf! Why are you here?"
He turns, unsurprisingly faced with Moaning Myrtle. He's heard stories about her, and he recognizes her immediately. "Sorry, Myrtle," he says, offering her an apologetic smile.
"You know my name?"
"Uh. Sure? Why wouldn't I?"
The ghost sniffs and huffs, floating above him. "Oh, I don't know," she says, sarcasm dripping from each word. "Maybe because everyone always forgets about me. Who cares about poor, ugly, miserable Myrtle?"
He swallows dryly. So far, the ghosts at Hogwarts have been mostly pleasant. Even the Bloody Baron was kind enough to keep his distance when Kingsley ran into him on his way to Potions. He isn't sure about Myrtle, though. From what he's heard, she's volatile and dangerous. Maybe she can't hurt him, but there's something menacing about her.
"Look, I just need a place to hang out for a few," he says, shrugging as he drops to the floor and rests his head against the wall. "There's a group of Slytherins out there who want to kill me, I think."
It's an exaggeration. At least, he hopes it is. Sometimes it's hard to tell. All he knows is that his father rejects the notion of blood supremacy, and some students don't like that Kingsley agrees with his father.
"Maybe I should let them," he adds bitterly. He's so tired of having to hide, of being afraid.
"Dying is easy, young man," she says, moving closer, her demeanor changing completely as she sits, hovering above the floor. "Living is harder. Aren't Gryffindors supposed to enjoy a challenge?"
He touches his fingers to his House tie. She's right. "I… Well, yeah."
She grins. "Then go be a Gryffindor," she says. "And if they kill you, find your own toilet."
Kingsley laughs and offers her a mock salute. "Sure thing."
Myrtle inches closer. "But don't do it now. Talk to me. I never have visitors."
…
He doesn't know why his first thought is to see Myrtle, but Kingsley bursts through the door, grinning. "I did it! Blimey, I'm going to end up with a month's detention, but I did it!"
Myrtle appears from behind the stall, brows raised. "Did what?"
"Stood up to them! They don't want to kill me anymore! I jinxed the hell out of them, Myrtle!"
Truth be told, they probably want him dead even more now. He's done more than just defend himself; he's wounded their pride. In that moment, it doesn't matter. He feels so free.
"Shame. I would have let you share this bathroom after all."
"I thought I had to find my own."
Myrtle shrugs, drifting closer with a grin. "Maybe you've grown on me. You are sort of cute… for a living boy."
He doesn't know why that makes him blush.
…
He doesn't know when it changes, but he feels it. Myrtle is more than just a ghost, just a whisper of someone others try to forget. It isn't right, but he realizes he loves her.
…
"You're going to forget me too," Myrtle says, sitting on the sink and kicking her legs restlessly.
"I won't."
She laughs. "Everyone always does."
Kingsley closes the distance between them. He wishes he could take her hand and pull her close, but he knows he would pass right through her. Instead, he just shakes his head. "I'm not everyone."
She smiles like maybe she believes him.