Gone!
Rubbing the last vestiges of sleep from her eyes, Myrtle gazed around the deserted dorm. Apparently she had slept through all the girly squealing of her classmates as they compared outfits, makeup, and exchanged last night stories.
Rolling out of bed, Myrtle caught site of one of the other girl's clocks; it was late, really late, it was practically time for her next class. She really needed to get more sleep; not let people get to her like that.
Shaking off the tears of yesterday, she threw on the first rumpled uniform she came to, grabbed her bag, and ran up the stairs to the common room.
Thump, Myrtle found herself splayed across the common room floor, something having caught at her foot and tripped her.
"It looks like I've actually caught something." The grating voice of a certain Quintus Lestrange commented far over Myrtle's head, his rat like eyes gleaming down at her in the near darkness of the underground common room. "Shouldn't you be in class?"
"I was just going." Myrtle mumbled, scrambling to her knees and recollecting her spilled books.
"I'd make you write my transformation paper that's due tomorrow." Quintus commented, pointing his wand lazily down at her. "But, I could never expect a filthy little half wit mud blood, like yourself to get it right; so…" He trailed off, and Myrtle climbed warily to her feet.
"I could have you carry my books to ancient runes." Quintus mussed. "It is sort of heavy." He finished, dropping his two ton bag of brick like textbooks on her back. "Follow."
The strap dug painfully into Myrtle's shoulder as she slumped after him; she would probably get a detention for being late to class, or at least points off, she had done her essay after all. What a rotten way for a rotten day to start; contemplating this, tears began to well up in her eyes.
"Hey, don't you dare get my bag wet with your gushing!" Quintus snapped, ripping his bag off her shoulder, her weeping exploding into a typhoon of tears. "Scat." Walking into his classroom, fashionably late, Quintus left Myrtle leaking all over the flagstones.
Turning slowly, Myrtle ran an already damp sleeve across her eyes, and walked slowly towards her own classroom; her class would be at least half late.
"Miss Pryor, You and I will discuss this after class." Professor Merrythought frowned across to Myrtle as soon as she set foot in the class; Myrtle sighed, there was no winning this, but, she had no more tears, so she simply slumped into the back desk.
Myrtle only attempted to pay attention for the next few seconds, but quickly gave up; there was no way for her to jump into the middle of the lesson and understand it. Instead, she began to doodle absently on the corner of her essay paper as she stared up at the ceiling.
"Slug, she's as lazy as she is stupid."
"Did you see her crying her eyes out in the common room last night?"
"I don't know how in the world she ever passes any of her classes."
Myrtle sniffed, her dry eyes attempting to water once more; she was a worthless cry baby.
Looking down at her paper, her eyes swimming with tears, she saw what she though might possibly be a pair of blue eyes framed in white hair; blinking, they disappeared, but it raised her spirits. No other student in the entire school knew about him, probably. He was hers.
"Miss Pryor, explain yourself." Myrtle looked up quickly to meet the Professor's eyes; looking around she realized that class was over, and that everyone else had already left.
"Here's the essay." Myrtle offered, holding up the scroll; which the women took, after sending her a sharp, questioning, look.
"Why were you late?"
"I over slept; I haven't been feeling well." Myrtle blurted out the half truth, the events of the morning flashing painfully through her memory. "Do you think I could go to the nurse?" She inquired, images of the strange youth filling her mind. He was her secret.
"If you do feel that ill," Professor Merrythought consented, looking down at her almost pityingly; Myrtle could almost hear her thoughts, 'oh, the poor little dear, they've been teasing her again and she just can't take it anymore. Why they let muggle children in, I will never know.'
Almost happy, Myrtle turned and walked quickly out of the classroom, unable to face her teacher any longer. Fairly running up the stairs she quickly reached the infirmary.
Her luck seemed in, since Madame Brandon was in her small office doing some paper work no doubt.
Tiptoeing across the open middle of the infirmary, it seemed to take forever 'till she was at the curtain. Reaching forward, she pulled it back, only to reveal a neatly made hospital bed; it was empty.
Shocked, Myrtle turned and fled, pelting to her next class, transfiguration; in this class Professor Dumbledore only looked up one second before he returned to his lesson on transforming tea bags into plants. Having only missed the first ten minutes Myrtle was able to follow him, and was able to turn her tea bag into a plant after her first few dozen attempts.
The thought of the boy, however, dragged down on her as the day continued. She would go back tomorrow; perhaps he had only needed to go do something. He obviously was important, and important people were always going places.