Chapter 8: Ruminations on heartache and potential dates for the Yule Ball.


VIII.
Girl Gossip
[Moaning Myrtle's Bathroom | November 1943]


It's early afternoon and Penelope Fairchild ducks out of History of Magic to fix her hair in the girl's bathroom on the first floor. With appearances to keep up, a quick trip to the bathroom was necessary in between classes—especially with the Yule Ball approaching. Many seventh-years had the same thing on their minds, finding a mate before graduation, and she was certainly part of that group. Not that she had much of a struggle ahead of her. Penelope Fairchild was by far one of the most beautiful girls in the whole school. Men and women alike have fallen prey to her charm, which has earned her the reputation of being quite the heartbreaker. Of those lucky enough to get at least a date with Fairchild, all of them recount the experience of being in her presence as simply sublime, and speculate she's likely part veela. That would make sense. Although it could also be chalked up to her ambition in the arena of love and romance. She is practiced in the art of seduction, as her latest conquest knows first-hand. Edward O'Connor, captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, didn't stand a chance against her strange powers. One look and he was done for. Quickly the pair became a power couple, bucking the age-old rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin, and making an attractive spectacle of it all. They dated for three years before she finally broke it off over the summer. And since returning to school this year, her sights are set on the Head Boy. That would really get O'Connor's goat. He hated Riddle. But that's not her only motive, of course—vanity definitely factors into this. And after all, she deserves to date a Head Boy...I mean look at her.

She enters and nearly walks right into Olive Hornby, Hufflepuff, who is hurriedly exiting, as though escaping from some pest. That's right, Fairchild remembers, the ghost of the girl who was killed last year has been hanging around this bathroom. Poor Olive—can't catch a break can she?

"Oh, Penelope! Can't even take a piss without being spooked by that git. What did I ever do to deserve this?" Hornby whines.

"I'm just glad she's not haunting me..." Fairchild says, adding a sympathetic smile. Hornby adjusts the books in her hands, balancing them on her hip.

"I mean, don't take this the wrong way. Of course I'm sad she's dead and all, but come on. Just leave me alone already! Find someone else to be obsessed with!"

"She...can't..." Fairchild says slowly, a little confused.

"Well yeah I know that, but...I mean...you know..." Hornby says, then changing the subject, "So you think Riddle's gonna ask you to the Yule Ball?"

"I doubt it." Fairchild's face darkens. "After what happened in potions yesterday...Oh Olive I messed everything up! I don't have a chance..." Before Fairchild could finish the thought, a third person enters the girls bathroom. It's Spektor. She walks right past the two girls, who don't notice her until she's over at the sinks. She twirls the faucet but no water comes out, so she moves to the next one down, where she holds her hands under the hot water.

"Watch out, Myrtle's on the prowl." Hornby shouts in Spektor's direction. She looks over at the two girls standing by the door.

"Ghosts can't hurt anybody. I wouldn't be too worried." Spektor says flatly.

"Yeah but when you least expect it, she comes right up behind you and..."

"Terrifying." Spektor interjects. She lathers the soap, crushing tiny bubbles with the weight of water and skin. "Hey Fairchild, you feeling better?"

"Yeah I guess." Fairchild chimes glumly. She's twirling a lock of her golden hair around her index finger coquettishly.

"What she means is that she's devastated because now Riddle won't ask her to the Yule Ball because she puked in his cauldron." Hornby says, grinning. Taking pleasure in others' misfortune was one of Hornby's most notable traits. She's a classic mean girl.

"Hmmmm that's too bad..." Spektor dries her hands on her robes, eyes fixed on the sink, carefully keeping her glance from the mirror. "But I can't imagine you wanting to go with him after he pushed you though..."

"Oh I don't really mind. I mean, I guess I sorta deserved it...I did puke in the cauldron after all...And he's so handsome...and he's Head Boy." Fairchild slips into a daydream. "I've always wanted to date a Head Boy."

"I think you picked the wrong one." Hornby chimes in. "He's awful, Fairchild. I heard he docked fifty points from Ravenclaw because he caught George Hawkins laughing at a joke."

"What was the joke about?" Spektor asks.

"Does it matter?" Hornby scoffs. "He's such a drag, Penelope. You deserve better. What about Lestrange? You've talked about him before..." Penelope glares at Hornby, shaking her head. Hornby nods apologetically.

"You like Lestrange?" Spektor's surprised, she never would've suspected.

"He's alright...I guess..." Fairchild sways awkwardly from side to side.

"I can tell him, if you want..." Spektor offers. Fairchild is shocked. She's under the impression, as is everyone else, that Lestrange is going to ask Spektor to the ball. It just goes without saying. How could she be so indifferent?

"But...then Tom will know...and he'll think I don't like him anymore..."

"Get a grip, Penelope!" Hornby steams exasperatedly.

"I wouldn't worry too much about it, Penelope." Spektor says. "Tom will probably ask you."

"You think so?" Fairchild says, her ego beginning to re-inflate.

"Of course." Spektor says.

"What about you then? Got someone in mind?" Hornby shifts her attention to Spektor now.

"Oh I dunno..." Spektor shrugs. "I wasn't even planning on going...but I guess if someone asks me...Why not, right?"