Chapter Two—Tears of Sorrow

On the fifth time he entered the bathroom, Draco could not control his emotions. Twice, he came up with feeble plans to kill Dumbledore, none that succeeded. Now, Professor Snape, a teacher he once loved, wanted a bit of his glory. Snape wanted to be the Dark Lord's favorite. Draco could not believe it when he heard it. Snape was a teacher whom Draco had once highly respected. Who can Draco turn to for advice now?

Draco half-heartedly blasted the stalls this time, destroying everything including the toilets. Instead of collapsing against a wall and thinking it over, Draco fell to the ground. He landed on his knees and hands, desperate for kindness and compassion. For the first time since his tenth birthday, Draco started to cry. Actual, real tears flowed down his pale face. He had momentarily forgotten what it was like to cry and savored this moment. No matter how hard he tried, Draco could not stop the tears from falling. His father had always said—

His father, Lucious Malfoy. It all comes down to him. Draco would not be weeping on the floor, had not for his father. The Dark Lord was punishing him because of the acts of his father.

Not feeling any better, Draco continued to sob.

"Oh, it's ok, what's wrong?"

Draco hiccuped in surprise at the voice. Cautiously, he looked up. What he saw shocked him.

A transparent, gloomy girl was peering at Draco through large glasses. Her eyes bore sympathy as she stared at Draco.

"W-W-Who are y-you?" Draco managed to stammer.

"I'm Moaning Myrtle," she replied kindly. "Just call my Myrtle. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Draco said quickly. He did not want to tell this strange girl anything.

"Oh, come on, there must be something wrong. Maybe I can help," Myrtle whispered.

"No, no one can help me," Draco moaned.

"Oh, all right, I guess… well then…" Moaning Myrtle started to drift away back to her toilet. Myrtle had secretly been spying on Draco since his first day in the bathroom to mourn. She felt extremely sorry for him, for she knew what it was like to hide in the bathroom, crying.

Draco suddenly said, "No, wait."

It was one of the least things he wanted to do, but Draco had to. It took sixteen years for him to realize something. All his life, he wanted a friend, a real friend. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle could hardly count as his friends. They were his bodyguards. Draco only accompanied them because his father insisted. Draco needed to "learn to be tough." Blaise was all right, but he was not someone Draco could spill his feelings to. The other Slytherins could care less about him. Perhaps Myrtle can help him. Maybe… she could be his friend.

Myrtle spun around. "What?"

"Maybe…" Draco whispered, "…there is something you can do."

Myrtle tried to hide her glee but failed. "What can I do?"

"I remember you. You're the Mud—girl who died from the basilisk fifty years ago." Draco had a hard time from stopping himself from saying the cruel word. Another habit he picked up from his father. Draco remembered what his father had said.

"Draco, how dare you let that Mudblood beat you in every subject? You should be ashamed. How could a filthy girl of no magical ancestors score higher than you have on the exam? Remember: Mubloods are second-class compared to us noble purebloods. You should NEVER associate with them."

Of course, Draco had to listen to his father in order to escape from his tortuous punishments. But Moaning Myrtle was all right… she could understand…

"Yes, that's me," Myrtle replied sadly.

"Then… can you spy on Potter for me?"

Myrtle first looked astonished then nodded. "Anything you want. That'll be easy."

"Right," said Draco, checking his watch. He was late for Transfiguration by five minutes. "I got to go. Bye." And Draco exited before Myrtle could say "see you later."