Flowers For Myrtle –
Part One: The Road to Eternity
"… And her glasses… my god have you seen them? They look like they belong in the discount bin at the knut store… Oh I know… Sometimes I wonder if she even knows what a shower is…"
Olive Hornby and her friends sat in the corner, talking quietly, every once and awhile shooting furtive glances at a rather round girl reading a book on the other side of the room. If they had taken the time to examine her they would have seen that behind a pair of thick lenses her small black eyes weren't moving, just staring fixedly at the same word on the page, listening to everything they said.
"It was so funny," Cassie Xanthe whispered excitedly, trying not to burst out into laughter. "I was in the bathroom the other day and, as usual, she had locked her self in the end stall and was blubbering. For a second I thought something was dying until I saw her big feet underneath the door." All the girls began to giggle. "I asked what was wrong and she was like, 'you know what's wrong, you stupid fat cow.' I was shocked. I told her that I only wanted to help and she told me to piss off."
"What a slag," Olive growled, glaring at the girl. "She should have been grateful. I doubt anyone else is going to take an interest in her sad, pathetic life from now on. You didn't deserve that, you were only trying to be nice to her." She patted Cassie's hand sympathetically. "Maybe we'll get lucky and the Heir of Slytherin will take her off our hands."
Cassie gasped. "You don't really mean it, do you?"
The girl, Myrtle, had no doubt that Olive meant it. She was a nasty piece of work, extremely conceited and cruel. Anyone who didn't praise the earth she walked on was instantly considered worthless and deemed undeserving of the life they had.
When Myrtle failed to be impressed by Olive's new diamond necklace, Olive jumped her in an empty corridor and cursed her. She wanted to go to a teacher but they all loved Olive and would believe her over miserable, moping, moaning Myrtle any day. So for an entire Myrtle week was plagued with outbreaks of painful and disfiguring acne, and it only went away when she told Olive that her necklace was gorgeous.
Olive nodded. "Of course I mean it. The world would be a lot better place without clots like her mussing it up." She cast a look at Myrtle and grinned cruelly when she saw the girl watching. "I mean she has the worst fashion sense ever…"
Myrtle had had enough. Tears were welling up in her small black eyes and she was having trouble holding them back. Slamming her book shut, she ran out of the common room before anyone could see her break out into sobs. They always laughed when she began to cry, not that it mattered. They were always laughing at her.
Her feet automatically took her to the girl's bathroom on the second floor, her normal haunt when she was feeling depressed. Pushing open the door Myrtle made her way over to the last stall and locked herself in. She ripped off her glasses and flung them against the wall, watching with pleasure as they smashed into tiny bits, glimmering in the last light of day streaming in through the windows above.
The tears came freely then, running down her cheeks, chin, and the front of her robes. She knew she was making a mess of herself but she really didn't care. All that Myrtle cared about was the words that had left Olive's mouth. She was better off dead, and she believed it. Believed it more than anything in the world.
Before receiving her Hogwart's letter Myrtle had been the least popular kid at her school. Kids didn't take to her odd appearance and stand-offish behavior They wouldn't openly laugh at her, because weird things happened to those that did.
For example, one boy who had said she was a fat cow. He ended up being chased around the school yard by a stick, which would crack into his back every few seconds. By the time lunch was over his shirt was torn and stained by tiny droplets of blood.
But she knew they had still mocked her behind her back, she heard their whispers. Every time she walked passed they would lean over to the person next to them and ask if they had heard about Myrtle…
At Hogwarts she had hoped to find her place in the world, make some friends. But there was no one, not a soul. For the same reasons when she was younger, Myrtle was shunned by her classmates. No one would talk to her, no one came near her. And the whispers continued.
Her death would probably make such a small impact on them, it would be like she had never been alive in the first place.
All she had wanted was friends… to be loved… to be wanted and desired…
The door to the bathroom creaked open and footsteps rang on the stone. Olive had probably come to make fun of her some more. Probably that she was really a man or maybe that she was… perverted and liked girls. Nothing was taboo when it came to taunting Myrtle.
That's when she heard it, a boy's voice muttering some sort of made up language. Angry that a boy was in the girl's bathroom disturbing her, Myrtle threw the stall door open, ready to tell the boy off. She looked up and a pair of bulbous yellow eyes stared right into her gaze.
Then she died. And it was like nothing she had ever experienced. Her soul floating away, detaching from her body. And for that second she felt free, until the implications of death crashed down on her. She had never gotten over it.
&
Moaning Myrtle sighed heavily, spread out lazily in her u-bend. Death. It was all she ever thought about, what else was there. She was a ghost and every second was a reminder that she was no longer living. From the moment she floated out of her toilet in the morning to the time she dived back into it at night.
In death everyone still hated her. All the girls avoided the bathroom because she made them uncomfortable and none of the ghosts visited. She made them nervous as well, because most of them had gotten over their death while she still dwelled on it, fifty-four years after the fact.
It had been nice when Harry and his friends were in there daily, chatting amongst themselves about banal things like school. She almost felt like a normal, alive girl again. At least she felt like it would have been if she had been normal in life. They never cringed at the sight of her and greeted her cheerfully whenever they happened to run into her when they were doing something against the rules. And Harry… if Myrtle was still alive she would have turned the colour of a ripe tomato every time he was near.
But the damn boy wouldn't die. In fact he had the annoying habit of escaping death, over and over again. So much in fact that Myrtle became resigned to the fact that he would live forever and had given up on him, preferring to wallow some more in her toilet.
Myrtle was thinking about a visit to the lake when a someone began to bang on the door of her stall, calling out her name. With an annoyed sigh Myrtle rose out of her toilet, up over the stall door and stared down at a small house-elf with a bunch of transparent flowers in his hands. A tower of hats tilted dangerously on his head. He looked up at her through eyes the size tennis balls.
"What do you want?" she demanded. "You've interrupted my wallowing. So it had better be good." She placed her hands on her hips and glared at the elf.
He squeaked, and hid behind the bouquet of black roses. "Don't be mad at poor Dobby, he was sent to give you these." He held the roses out to her. "They is from a Secret Admirer, Miss."
Myrtle was taken aback, her eyes wide with surprise. This had to be a joke, some twisted prank that a cruel student had concocted. How could it not be? Who would ever love her?
She lowered herself to the ground, and hovered slightly above the stone floor. Dobby quivered in fear, his large ears lying flat on his head. "Who sent them?" she asked, trying to keep the annoyance and anger out of her voice. Why couldn't people just leave her alone?
"I was told not to tell you, Miss. But they did give me a message to give to you…" Dobby set the roses on the floor and began to feel around his overly large shorts, that fit more like pants on him, and pulled out a folded piece of transparent parchment from his side pocket. He held it out for her to take.
Reaching out a translucent hand Myrtle took it from the elf, trying to keep the anticipation and hope subdued, all it ever brought was grief. Silently she unfolded the letter as Dobby watched, again holding the bouquet. With his free hand he straightened out the tower of woolly hats.
The letter was written in loopy, elegant handwriting. Myrtle's eyes roamed to the bottom, hoping for a name, but it was simply sighed "A Secret Admirer."
"Really original," Myrtle muttered, trying to prepare herself for disappoint, as she looked back at the top of the letter.
My Dearest Myrtle,
With hair as black as beetle's eyes, and skin as pale as moonlight; you are the ghost for me. Pearly tears running down your crystalline face, as you weep and moan about a life that was never good for you.
Myrtle felt a twinge of something in the pit of her stomach as the words resounded in her head. A silvery blush was creeping up her face.
Leave that all behind, do not doom yourself to an eternity of misery. Be at the Astronomy tower at midnight, if you want. A surprise will await you there.
A Secret Admirer
She looked from the letter to Dobby, her hands trembling like crazy. "Are you sure that this isn't some sort of prank?" It has to be real, it has to be…
Dobby wrung his hands, trying to think of the best way to word this without revealing the name of the ghost. "I am sure, Miss. He handed me the letter and told me to bring it to you. Very kind sir he is, Dobby doesn't think he could be mean, even if he tried."
Myrtle stared back at the letter. If she had a heart it would be thudding at the speed of a stampeding hippogriff right now. But she didn't, so she twirled around the air doing cart wheels instead. It had to be real,how could it not? Someone actually liked her. She looked over at Dobby, who seemed pleased to have delivered her something that made her this happy.
"Someone actually likes me… Someone wants me!" Her cries echoed loudly off the stone walls. "Pearly tears running down your crystalline face. He makes it sound so beautiful." And suddenly it felt like the entire world was open to her and that nothing would hurt her anymore.
She swept down out of the air and scooped the black roses out of Dobby's hands… holding them up to her face, imagining the most beautiful smell she could remember, her mother's perfume. There was twelve of them, all of the thorns neatly trimmed off as if Myrtle could actually prick herself.
His job done the house-elf bowed, balancing the precarious tower of hats, and looked back up at Myrtle, smiling. "Dobby has to be going now, we've got to serve dinner. But we are glad to see you smiling, Miss. All the other elves talk about how miserable you are."
Normally the news that someone was talking behind her back drove Myrtle to tears, but now it barely registered. She flew low and planted a cold kiss on Dobby's cheek. He shivered slightly, but his cheeks were turning red. "Thank you," she whispered. Not even in life had she felt this good. Ever.
"Dobby will be seeing Miss around then." He waved good bye sheepishly, and snapped his fingers. With a loud crack he was gone.
Gliding over to the mirrors Myrtle spread herself out on one of the sinks, and looked at her reflection. Her face fell slightly. She was so plain looking. Straight black hair, small inky eyes, a round face. Nothing about her appearance screamed beautiful or exquisite. Just boring. She needed something more…
Her eyes stopped on the bouquet in her hand. Quickly she plucked a rose from the bunch and slipped it behind her ear. She turned her head to the side to admire the effect the flower had on her looks. It was a small touch, but she thought it worked, at least she looked a little less plain.
A stray hand roamed over her school robes and Myrtle wished that she had been killed in something a little more stylish, a nice shade of purple perhaps. But it couldn't be helped, so she pushed it out of her mind.
"Be at the Astronomy tower at midnight, if you want. A surprise will await you there. Ooh… I can't wait." Myrtle turned to look around her bathroom and found that the sight of it was sickening. For years it had been her sanctuary from the outside world, but now it felt like her prison.
On the other side of the wall she could hear the footsteps of students as they made their way to the Great Hall for dinner. Myrtle took one last look at her bathroom and decided she would join the other ghosts tonight, get a change of scenery.
She stopped in front of the wall and hovered pondering whether or not this was the right decision. It had been awhile since she had left the bathroom and in the company of so many living people.
"Breathe," she told herself, taking in a breath of nothing. "You can do this. They're just people. They don't matter." Still she felt uneasy.
Mustering up her courage she floated through a wall and glided over the heads of students. No one took particular interest in her presence and this put her more at ease. She looked up and saw Felix gliding in her direction. He was the shy ghost of a seventeen year old boy who had contracted pneumonia while on a trip in the Alps, his parents didn't get him to a healer in time and he had died.
"Good evening, Felix," she said, waving a pale hand in his direction. He looked up from a book in his hands and stared at her through wide eyes like he was scared of her. Myrtle knew this wasn't true because he looked that way at everything.
"Good, evening, Myrtle," he stuttered back, flying quickly passed her, hiding his face back in his book of poetry. Myrtle felt bad, she'd probably scared him to death by saying hi. Watching his figure growing smaller as it moved down the corridor Myrtle wondered if maybe he was the Secret Admirer. She entertained the idea for about a split second before blowing it off as absurd. He couldn't even speak a full sentence, let alone write a whole letter.
But this got her wondering to who it was. She had been so excited at the prospect of having someone like her that she hadn't given much thought to whom the person who liked her was. However, now that the initial excitement had worn off it seemed like the most obvious thing in the world to speculate.
Myrtle decided to start with who it couldn't be. She knew there was no way in hell that is was the Bloody Baron because the House-elf had said he was nice; it couldn't be the Fat Friar because he was gay; Sir Nicholas was out of the question, he was too serious to write a letter like that; Jonathan, the ghost of a young man who had been skewered by a graphorn, could possibly be it, but Myrtle doubted it. He was too wrapped up in spying on the girls as they showered to do something like that. And then there was Felix, he was just too shy and inarticulate to be what must be a very suave ghost, judging by the beauty of the letter.
Even with taking all of them off the list it could still be any number of ghosts, Merlin knew the school had dozens. Smiling dreamily, imagining a headless knight in shining armor on the back of his white horse gleaming with splotches of blood sweeping down to take her away from everything, Myrtle glided down through the floor and found herself in the entrance hall. The large amount of activity did nothing to dampen her mood. She was completely oblivious to the looks of shock on some of the girls' faces as she flew passed.
One girl prodded her best friend and pointed at Myrtle bluntly. "She's smiling. Something absolutely horrid must have happened. Last time I saw her like that was when Filch slipped on the water outside her bathroom and broke his leg."
Myrtle, hearing the girl, grinned to herself remembering with glee that beautiful day. Filch had come into her bathroom, shouting that if she flooded the hall one more time he would have the Ministry ban her to the Florida Everglades. As he was storming out he slipped in the water. His arms waved around like crazy but he still fell, the bone in his leg cracking loudly.
The whole world was alive around her, and even though she was dead she felt alive too. More alive than even when she was alive. She felt like a person again, a person hovering a foot above the floor, but human none the less.
"Myrtle, good to see you out of your toilet," said a kind voice. She looked down into the twinkling blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore. "I dare say it's about time. Fifty-four years is far too long to sulk, though I have been known to do it time to time."
Her face became noticeably paler and the smile evaporated. She was still unused to being addressed by the castles inhabitants, having only been amongst them for five minutes. But Dumbledore's voice was inviting and she lowered herself to the level of his eyes, forcing a smile on her face. Dumbledore's face was warm and gentle, making her feel at ease. A real smile spread back across her face. His gaze flickered across her face.
"You look beautiful this evening. Smiles really bring out the best in people. And is that a rose I see, what's the occasion?"
For the second time that night Myrtle felt herself begin to blush. Something in Dumbledore's manner made her want to open up to him. Besides the news was chewing away at her insides. "I have a secret admirer," she said, beaming. "He sent me a beautiful letter and a bouquet of roses." Her eyes surveyed a group of ghosts floating passed and she pondered if any of them were guilty of sending the letter.
"How exciting." And he looked truly thrilled for Myrtle. "Tell me, do you have any idea as to the identity of the person?" His eyes gleamed with interest.
"No. Some house-elf knows, but he won't tell me." She twirled around feeling like she was going to burst, her see-through robes flaring out. "But his letter told me to meet him in the Astronomy tower at Midnight."
Dumbledore laughed. "Midnight, the Witching Hour. A truly magical time. You will have to tell me how that goes. Now if you'll excuse me I think I smell roast beef, it's my favourite."
"Good-bye, Professor," she called, watching his figure glide across the floor, purple robes swishing silently in his wake. He had made her feel completely comfortable and she felt like she could take on the whole school now.
Some kid who wasn't watching where he was going walked right through her. Myrtle felt some mild discomfort but it was nothing compared to the boy. He began to shiver, his hands wiping at his body like there were a million little bugs crawling on his skin.
"Watch where you're going," Myrtle snapped, contorting her face in anger. The boy backed away muttering an apology. Myrtle giggled to herself and floated up into the air before someone else decided to walk through her.
The Great Hall was brightly lit with a thousand candles floating above the heads of the dining students. Clouds of all the colors of the rainbow blanketed the enchanted ceiling, mirroring the sunset outside. All the teachers sat at a long table at the head of the room. Dumbledore was chatting casually with Flitwick, who waved when he saw Myrtle. Dumbledore winked.
"Oy, Myrtle over here," someone shouted. Myrtle turned to see a red-haired boy waving her over to the Gryffindor table. Beside him sat a boy with messy black hair and across from them was a girl with an unusual amount of bushy brown locks.
Fingering her rose so they would notice, Myrtle glided over and floated down into a seat next to the girl. "Hello, Harry," she greeted, smiling genially. "How are you, Ron?" She looked over the boy with red-hair. Shock was written all over his face.
"How am I? What I want to know is what's up with you? You're cheerful." Ron composure changed to one of excitement. "Filch hasn't died, has he?" Hermione tried to kick him the leg but she missed and hit Harry instead.
"Ow! Why'd you do that Hermione?" His leg was throbbing with a dull pain. Shooting an angry glance at her, he reached down and began to rub the bruise to assess the damage.
Hermione looked stricken. "I'm so sorry, Harry. It was a complete accident." Trying to change the subject she looked over at Myrtle. Her eyes took in the rose and the huge smile on the ghost's face. Realization hit her in the head with the force of a two ton dragon. "Oh my God, what's his name?" Ron looked up from his dinner in surprise, the mashed potatoes on his spoon dropping down onto the plate.
Myrtle grinned, leaning over to whisper to them everything that had transpired in the fifteen minutes.
&
As midnight approached Myrtle floated nervously around her bathroom, checking out her reflection in the mirror every time she glided passed.
"For the hundredth time, you look fine," Hermione said impatiently, leaning tiredly against Ron's shoulder, yawning. She had agreed to sit with Myrtle until midnight and Ron had come along, complaining that they never had any time to be with each other. Harry had declined, too tired from Quidditch practice. He had had to get up before everyone to set up the training schedule for the day. But he let them use his invisibility cloak, which now lay beside them like a silver puddle. "Now why don't you just stop floating back and forth and let yourself… erm… cool down. It's never a good idea to get yourself worked up before a big date."
Myrtle gave her a look that clearly said, "How the hell can I calm down? This is the biggest thing to happen in my afterlife." In defiance she continued to glide slowly back and forth. Hermione just didn't understand what it was like be this excited. There was no possible way for her to relax, not now. Not when someone actually LIKED HER.
"Myrtle, please. You're making me nervous," Hermione pleaded. "It really does help to remain calm. Whenever I get worked up over a problem I can't figure out I just breathe deeply and work on another assignment until I'm relaxed enough to think rationally about the problem."
Ron snorted, kissing the top of Hermione's bushy head. "That's why I love you so much."
"Why?"
"Only you would relax by doing more homework." Ron pulled Hermione closer, caressing her back with his large hands. She snuggled up to his chest. Myrtle's existence was temporarily forgotten.
But Myrtle wouldn't stand for that.
Rolling her eyes she descended to the stone floor,
her hands place firmly on her hips. "Fine! I've stopped!" she
said loudly, interrupting the cuddlefest that until a few moments ago
had been Ron and Hermione.
"Now what do I do?"
Flustered, Hermione pulled away from Ron, blushing a horrible shade of red, and looked at Myrtle. "Well… now… now you just sit and think about something besides whatever is making you so anxious." She scooted away from Ron to prevent them from getting re-distracted.
"Like what?" Myrtle said sourly, wishing that midnight was here already. Now that the immediate high of finding out someone had liked her Myrtle was becoming just a little bit like she was before. Not a whole bunch, but just enough.
"I could dance," Ron suggested, tapping his feet on the stone. "I'm not very good, but maybe that would keep your attention for awhile. I mean just until midnight, which is only…" He looked at his watch. "Fifteen minutes away."
"Aren't we trying to distract me?" Myrtle asked, her eyebrows rising. "If you do that I might have to kill myself." She looked very serious.
Ron chuckled. "I guess it's a pity that you're already dead, isn't it?" Hermione looked at him scathingly, her lips pursed as thin as McGonagall's when he did something wrong in class. A chill went down his spine and he subconsciously scooted away from his girlfriend.
Myrtle froze in mid-air and stared down at Ron. "How is it that you have a girlfriend, Weasley? You are probably the most insensitive person on the face of this planet." A mask of sadness buried the glee that was a second ago so prominent.
"I found someone who was about as desperate as you," Ron said.
This time Hermione blew up at him.
&
"Is it time yet?" Myrtle asked, bouncing up and down impatiently, even though she had asked the question a minute ago. "I don't want to be late."
Ron sighed, glaring over at Hermione who wasn't speaking to him now. "You have five minutes, why don't you go all ready?"
"I wouldn't expect a boy to understand," she retorted snootily, repositioning her glasses on her misty face. "If I'm early it says I'm desperate, if I'm late it says I don't care enough. I have to be there on time, so that he knows I care enough, but not so much that it borderlines stalker."
Even Hermione, who was in fact a girl as Ron deducted in their fourth year, didn't understand that logic. She looked over at Myrtle with her eyebrows raised questioningly. "Where in the world did you learn that?"
"I live in a bathroom," Myrtle answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. She rolled her eyes at the blank stares. "For the best part of thirty years I've been listening to girls give each other dating tips, read the articles of magazines they leave behind, I've even witnessed more than a few students doing… well…" she whispered the last part, "it."
Ron looked confused. "It?"
A silver blush crept up Myrtle's opalescent face. She began to fiddle with her hands, staring straight at the floor. "You know… it."
"I don't get your mean…" Ron started, smirking to himself. Hermione hit him hard in the shoulder and gave him a warning look. "I mean… of course. It. Sex."
Myrtle went an even deeper shade of silver. Hermione glared at Ron and looked up into Myrtle's doubled over face. "He's just being stupid. Don't listen to him."
"But he has a point. I can't even say… s… se… that word," Myrtle moaned, clasping her hands tightly. "What if he wants to do it? I won't even know how to do anything."
Ron rolled his eyes. There was no chance he was going to pass this up. "You. Are. A. Ghost. You're dead. You can't have sex. When are you going to understand that?"
Myrtle looked up, murder in her eyes. "I KNOW I'M DEAD! THAT'S ALL I THINK ABOUT!" Something in her gaze broke and she proceeded to cry. "And for one minute someone makes me feel alive, and I have all these doubts and fears. I'm just as miserable as I always was." The cacophonous sound of her sobbing echoed throughout the stone bathroom. Pearly tears ran down her face, like drops of dew on the grass in early spring.
"Myrtle," Hermione whispered, her hands hovering inches from the girl's hand. "It's almost midnight. You'll be fine. Trust me."
The ghost looked at Hermione, a weak smile spreading across her face. She bent down and kissed Hermione on the cheek, her chilly lips bestowing a frosty outline of the kiss on Hermione's pale skin. "Thank you for being a friend."
"Get on with you. Wouldn't want Prince Charming to think you don't care," Ron said cautiously, waiting for Hermione to hit him.
Myrtle giggled, looking at Ron. "You're really mean. Do you know that?"
"What can I say? I do my best."
With a last parting glance at Hermione and Ron, Myrtle slipped through the ceiling of what had been her home for nigh thirty years. And as her friends' faces disappeared from view Myrtle got the feeling this was the last time she was ever going to see them. That this was the last time she would see her bathroom.
A sensation cloyed at her insides, whispering that everything was about to change and Myrtle faced it, a rose in her hair and a love letter in her pocket.
&