Whispers
Myrtle could feel a crick forming in her neck as she slumped over her dinner plate, picking at the mashed potatoes; trying to ignore the giggles that seemed to be closing in around her. She hated dinner; it was the most crowded meal and you could never sit far enough away from everyone else.
"I heard she got six feet wide."
"No, it was at least eight."
"I heard her pimples swell up too."
Myrtle could hear their whispered comments all up and down the Slytherin table; her blood began to creep up her pasty complexion.
"Wouldn't it have been cool if she popped?"
Tears began to well up in Myrtle eyes; mucus began to slip down her nose.
"I don't think that she lost all the air. I think she still looks a little pudgier."
"Pryor's always that fat."
Dropping her fork she tried, fruitlessly, to fight back the tears as she stepped stiffly out of the Great Hall; listening to her classmate's snickering following her. Glancing back at the open door, and at the covert glances some of her classmates were sending her; turning back, she let her feet wonder the halls, halls that were currently empty of any student life.
As her feet wandered, so did her mind; it fell upon the mystery of the youth in the hospital wing. His brown skin and blue eyes suggested a European Middle Eastern mix, which wasn't that odd. What was odd was that Myrtle had never seen him before, and he certainly didn't look eleven.
Unsurprisingly, a few minutes later Myrtle found herself right outside the infirmary. Hesitating only a second, she stepped quietly into the ward, and proceeded to tiptoe over to the enclosed bed; reaching forward she listened for any sign of Madame Brandon and heard nothing.
Pulling back the curtain she was confronted, by not a sleeping figure, but the boy leaning back on a tremendous pile of pillows and staring at the ceiling.
"Who are you?" In an instant his head had turned to face her, and was staring at her.
"Myrtle Pryor," she answered obediently, her knuckles turning white as she clutched at the curtain. Her answer, however, did not seem to satisfy him in the least, and frown lines creased his brow.
"I didn't mean your name." He continued, his voice taking on a frustrated edge. "I meant what I said. Who are you?"
"I am a third year Slytherin…" Myrtle mumbled in reply, unsure how to take his blazing directness and annoyance.
The boy let out a long sigh, his eyes moving from her face to the room beyond her. "You are a student at this… School?" Myrtle simply nodded, and an approving smile fluttered at the edges of his creased lips. "That will be all for now." A thoughtful expression creeping across his face, he lay back once more and continued to stare up at the ceiling.
None too soon either. A second later Myrtle heard steps clicking up the stairs; quickly dropping the sheet she stepped away from the bed, to the center of the room to face Madame Brandon.
"What is it dear?" The elderly healer looked rapidly from where Myrtle stood, to where the boy lay hidden, and back again.
"I felt like I might be inflating again…" Myrtle mumbled out the lie, uncomfortably aware of the secrecy that surrounded the boy.
"I assure you that you are completely back to normal." Madame Brandon chirped reassuringly, looking her quickly up and down, and offering an encouraging smile. "Why don't you get back to your common room, it's getting late and you must be tired."
At those words, Myrtle's body seemed to lag, as if all her exhaustion had finally caught up to her, and she still had an essay about Werewolves to write; she cringed inwardly at the idea of returning to her common room, but, under the watchful eyes of the healer she had little else to do but turn and leave.
Myrtle did decide in the end to return to her common room. She would have to someday and there was no need to get in trouble for not doing her homework, and being out past curfew, and still being ridiculed. Perhaps people will have better things to do; of course they didn't.
Sitting in the farthest, and darkest, corner of the already dark Slytherin common room other people's words were only a nagging whisper, and she was able to scribble out her essay in near solitude.
"What else could you expect from muggles?"
"They shouldn't let trash like her into the school."
"Did you hear about what happened today?"
"Pryor, what are you scribbling on about?" An all too familiar voice inquired, Olive Hornby's voice breaking into her silence.
"Nothing," Myrtle snapped back, shoving the parchment into her pocket wet ink, quill, and all, forcing it into a crumpled ball.
"Mud bloods always seem so flustered. Why don't you just run back to your ugly little muggle mommy?" Olive spat, glaring down at her; Myrtle tried to meet her eyes, but was blocked by angry tears.
Apparently satisfied to reduce Myrtle to tears Olive turned away. "You are so pathetic."
Pulling out her ruined paper, now barely legible, she curled into the corner; sitting there she sobbed until her eyes stung with dryness.
Now in a deserted common room, she copied her paper out again in near darkness, waiting on edge for someone to sneak up behind her. Finally, some time in early morning, she dropped into bed.
A/N Spare a review, please?
Just tell me what you think; I don't mind however short it is :)