Breakfast

Watching his retreating back, Myrtle felt almost giddy. She had made an idiot of herself, stammering so much, but it wasn't like someone talked to her just any day; it wasn't just any someone… For now he was gone again, but, she knew now that he was a student.

Finally, looking up and around, Myrtle realized she hadn't moved a muscle since Bakura had left. What a strange name that was, and he said he had no last name, peculiar. Shaking her head violently to clear it, she beat her own retreat up to her bed and sleep.

"The oddballs would know each other."

"He doesn't look like any pure blood family I know of."

"Dirt knows dirt."

"I wonder who he is."

"He doesn't matter; you are supposed to be helping me on this potions essay."

The whispers were slightly different tonight; a hint of confusion marred their aloofness. This, in some odd way, warmed Myrtle; that night, she dreamed of her family.

The next morning Myrtle awoke on time; to the sounds of her classmates primping, gossiping, and giggling.

"Never came back up."

"Where do you think he came from?"

"Did you see how arrogant he was last night?"

"And he only talked to her."

Myrtle was in the act of swinging her legs out of bed when everyone froze to stare at her. Looking up at the hush, she was met by a wall of eyes; immediately the blood rose to her cheeks. What had she done now? Was there a giant pimple on the end of her nose? She hadn't been paying that much attention to the bubble of vocalizations around her.

The next minute seemed to drag out an eternity as Myrtle felt their eyes on her as she rummaged through her trunk, pulling out her only unwrinkled uniform, but, as suddenly as it had stopped, the babble began again; Myrtle relaxed.

Grabbing her books quickly, she walked hurriedly up the stairs, not running like yesterday; she did not want a repeat of that incident. When would she get to see Bakura again?

"Watch where you are going!" Myrtle had lost track of her surroundings and sent someone sprawling up the stair; looking down she gasped, that person was Bakura.

"Oh, I am so so so so so so so so very sorry." Myrtle practically wailed out; automatically reaching for his arm and yanking him back up again.

"Girl," Bakura exclaimed, wrenching his arm out of her grasp. "Be silent!" Myrtle immediately obeyed, flushing out of agitation and embracement.

"I am just so very sorry." Myrtle added after a moment's silence, her agitation getting the better of her.

"Obviously," Bakura commented absently; reaching down to pick up his own bag of textbooks, he hoisted it onto his back purposefully. "In penance I am requiring you to tell where I am supposed to be at the moment."

"The Great Hall to eat breakfast," Myrtle replied, walking up a few more steps to look back at him. "Everyone does." She added, seeing his brows knit in deep thought. "I can show you." She finished, almost bashfully.

"Okay." Bakura shrugged, and following her as she made her way up the rest of the stairs; past various gaggles of students spread across the common room.

As they walked along the silence stretched out, painfully long in Myrtle's view; she didn't think it worth it, however, to risk offense to the single person who wasn't making fun of her at the moment, and so she didn't say anything at all.

Breakfast was a strange affair for her; she couldn't remember more then a handful of meals that she actually ate with another person. Not that he was very good company, but that hair… His strangeness intrigued Myrtle.

"The moan has a friend?"

"They're eating together."

"He doesn't look as dirty as her, but you can never tell with mud bloods."

"Where are you from?" Myrtle finally asked, trying to block out the whispers that were closing in on what was one of the happiest moment she had had in a while.

It took a moment for him to reply, and when he did it was very apprehensive "Kemet." Myrtle, though his answer was far less then satisfactory, let it drop, thinking she could look it up later in the library.

"Why are you here?" Myrtle continued to pry, becoming braver as he continued to answer her questions.

"To be a student," Bakura replied simply, his voice sending the explicit answer that that would be all for now. "Where, exactly, is first year History of Magic?"

"You have that first thing in the morning? I pity you." Myrtle noticed she was getting almost chatty, but figured she might as well seize the chance; sooner, rather then later, he would figure out what a stupid, horrible, and unattractive individual she really was in comparison with the rest of the student body of Hogwarts.

"Where is it?" Bakura pushed, seemingly uninterested in her sympathies.

"Fourth floor corridor, third door on the right," Myrtle obliged, only slightly put out by his rebuff.

"Bye." Standing up, Bakura walked away.

Staring at his back, Myrtle wondered what had happened. This was so foreign to her past two years of school; overwhelming was an understatement.

"Why is he in the first year class anyway?"

"How old is he?"

"What does he see in her?"

Alone again, there was no reason to remain with her cooling bacon. Getting up she went to her own class.