Disclaimer: Not my people, I bow down to J.K. Rowling! I am poor and am remaining poor, don't sue me.
"Four eyes! Four eyes! Hey Myrtle, those glasses make you look like a bug! Myrtle the millipede! Myrtle the moth! Myrtle the mealworm!"
Olive Hornby pranced around her, Myrtle's small frame overcome with wracking sobs. This happened on a daily occurrence so no one paid particular attention to the odd display. Olive insulted Myrtle, Myrtle cried, end of story. The head boy, Tom, didn't even stop to glare as he passed the two in the hallway.
"Leave me alone Olive! I hate you! I hate you!"
Myrtle screamed at her oppressor but had no effect. She had tried running away before but Olive simply followed her and taunted her at a higher volume so more students could hear. Myrtle had even tried running to the Headmasters office but she didn't know the password. She had been forced to wait and endure Olive's insults until Headmaster Dippet wandered by.
Olive was an interesting girl. Short, chubby, and elected the bully of Ravenclaw, she spent her spare time harassing first-years, lighting dungbombs in bathrooms, and most religiously, picking on Myrtle at every chance she got. Myrtle was the perfect candidate for bullying, few friends, afraid to stick up for herself, and with a limited and malleable self respect. With no confidence in herself, Myrtle, commonly called Moaning Myrtle because of her annoying habit of moaning, bawling and whining, was easily put down. Olive found no shortage of hilarity in this. Her obsession with causing pain would have fit better in Slytherin.
Myrtle wouldn't stick up for herself and didn't have any close friends to stick up for her. She knew people in her classes and a few were polite enough to say hello, but no one shared secrets with her, or asked the guy she liked if he liked her, or did her hair and makeup. She was a loner. Her day consisted of waking up, going to class, being tortured by Olive, and going to bed. No one paid attention to her so she paid no attention to the world. Myrtle secluded herself, avoided everyone, and became remarkably talented at disappearing into a crowd. The only person who seemed to be able to find her was Olive.
Myrtle hated Olive with a fiery passion, but she lacked the confidence to act upon her rage. So she cried. She cried and cried and cried because no on cared if she was hurt and no one would stop Olive for her. After one particularly harsh verbal berating, Myrtle ran to the bathroom on the second floor so she could cry in peace and contemplate all the terrible things she would do to Olive. When she got the chance she would put toads in her bed and spiders in her drinks and worms in her clothes. As she looked into the mirror above the sinks Myrtle saw her face; small, round and bespectacled. All of the pain and rage at being unjustly treated like a weak inferior for so many years bubbled to the surface. Staring at the glasses that she had been constantly tormented about finally pushed Myrtle over the edge.
"I can't do this anymore! I won't stand for it! I will avenge myself, I will prove myself, and Olive, for as long as I live and after, a swear I will make your life a living hell! I may hate my face and I may hate my life but I HATE OLIVE HORNBY!!!!!!!"
Myrtle screamed as she punched the mirror, shattering the glass and peppering her knuckles with sharp fragments. She slowly wiped the blood from her hand and took a deep breath to calm her racing heart. Amazed at what she had done, Myrtle sat in a stall, thinking about what she could do. I don't have to put up with this anymore. I am strong enough and pissed off enough to show Olive once and for all who's boss. At a sound Myrtle looked up, prepared to use her new found strength on anyone who dared disturb her. She opened the stall door, her face twisted into a sneer, and...died.
As unpopular and unimportant as she was, it still came as a shock to the school when her dead body was found in the girls lavatory. After the culprit had been found and sent to Azkaban, the school mourned simply and quickly and got on with their daily lives. At least, everyone but Olive Hornby did. Myrtle hadn't lied when she said "as long as I live and after." Olive Hornby never knew what caused toads to appear in her bed every night, why spiders always found their way into her glass, or why every morning she had to look for the worm in her clothes. Her potion ingredients fell into her pots, she screamed in the middle of class when sharp pains like a pinch on the arm or yanks on her hair caused her to ache. Her food always tasted like too much salt, even when she had put none on.
As she matured, so did the torture. Lovers left her blaming notes she had never written about people she had never met. She had problems sleeping because the branches outside her apartment scratched the window, even after she cut down the tree. Her cats would spook and claw and bite her. Bills that she was supposed to receive never made it past her mailbox. Things disappeared, objects moved, Olive became paranoid. What she had assumed was bad luck or just plain ditziness now seemed malicious, like someone had it out for her. When she started tripping into busy streets and falling off high places, Olive got superstitious. She threw salt and skipped cracks and avoided ladders. She sold her cats and tied red ribbons all over, but nothing stopped the unique streak of bad luck that Olive had suffered from since her third year.
It was only a matter of time before Olive snapped. The final straw came when writing a letter one night. In the background her faucet had begun to drip.
drip...
drip...
drip...
Olive finally relinquished her seat and went to check the faucet. After tightening the and checking that the water had stopped, Olive returned to her seat, making sure to knock on the wooden door frame as she passed. After picking up her pen and re-reading what she had just written, Olive found her train of thought and began writing.
drip...
drip...
drip...
Maybe it wasn't the kitchen the sink that was dripping? Olive hypothesized. Pulling herself out of the chair once again, Olive proceeded to check every faucet in the house, including both spigots outside. Once she was sure that all faucets were securely tightened and that the drip had ceased, she settled herself back in the chair and tried to remember what she had been writing about.
drip...
drip...
drip...
Olive tensed in her chair. Where is it coming from! I've checked every faucet and every spigot and there is no water leaking anywhere! Where is it!!!!!! Olive leaped up and ran to the basement where she quickly shut off all the water in the house. Confident that she had solved the problem but terrified it might return, Olive warily walked back towards the study, after tripping and falling down the stairs twice (a common occurrence that she was quite used too) she made it back to her chair. But she didn't sit. Olive stood by that chair for six hours without moving, waiting for the drip. Just waiting and waiting and waiting, convinced it would return as soon as she sat. A nervous twitch that she had developed years ago started up again. She waited and twitched and waited and twitched. Well, after standing perfectly still for six hours you can get a little tired and sore. Olive began thinking that a little rest wouldn't hurt. So, slowly, warily, stealthily, she sat in her chair...
drip...
drip.. "AAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
screamed Olive Hornby. Olive promptly went silent however, stood up from her chair and then curled into the fetal position on the floor where she rocked back and forth to the tempo of the dripping for 14 hours until she was discovered by her neighbor and institutionalized at St. Mungos. Olive spent the rest of her life in the St. Mungos Institution for the Incurable Insane. She twitched and stared at faucets and screamed bloody murder whenever she heard a drip. Myrtle lived happily back at Hogwarts in her lavatory stall after Olive died, although still called Moaning Myrtle because of her sensitive emotions and ear-piercing wails.
A/N: Thankz for reading! please review so I know how I'm doing, flames are ok, but some constructive criticism is much more appreciated!
Thalia05