Revenge?

She had been going to ask Bakura if he had found any other secret passages, that weren't public knowledge, while they were together down in the kitchen, but a sad tint to his contemplative smile had stopped her; now, as she ate her dinner, she wondered about it, staring down at her pile of peas.

Bakura had ordered Myrtle to be more self confident; if she was, she would have just asked him about what bothered him so, but she was a coward, and he despised her for it, she knew.

Glancing up the table, anything to avoid her companion, Myrtle noted that Rosemerta was hunched down beside Hornby, and they seemed to be energetically whispering back and forth. Surprisingly, she couldn't hear a word they were saying. A wave of sickening nausea watched over the girl as she remembered the threatening whispers she had overheard. What were they planning?

"You might want to watch your step." Myrtle muttered, looking across at Bakura as her fork continued to frolic among the peas.

His eyes seemed to flicker to the floor behind her, before refocusing on Myrtle. "What do you mean?"

"I think some of the other girls are planning some kind of revenge." Myrtle felt the blood draining from her face as she finally voiced her fear.

"For what?" Bakura's iron tight self-control couldn't hide his incredulity.

"For…" Myrtle swallowed nervously, her eyes falling back to her plate. "Going out with you."

"Going with you to Hogsmeade?"

Myrtle nodded shyly, "they think it was a date." The blood returned to her cheeks with a vengeance.

"A date." Bakura repeated, ever contemplating.

Myrtle tried to study Bakura's face for a few bold seconds, finding no hints as to his own feelings.

"I need to go to the library." Bakura's voice sounded harried as he practically leapt from his seat. "I'll talk to you later then." He added, over his shoulder, his voice clearly intoning to her that he did not wished to be followed.

Myrtle swallowed back to a catch in her throat, she hadn't thought her warning would drive him away like that; she hoped he wouldn't avoid her from now on, for his own comfort. This was Slytherin after all.

Apparently her time with Bakura had paid off, to some extent; Myrtle was able to eat the rest of her dinner, walk to the second floor girl's toilet, and safely obscure herself in a stall before the tears overwhelmed her. She was doomed.

Monday was darkly overcast, and clouds pressed down from the Great Hall ceiling to swirl mistily among the groggy students.

Myrtle sat despondently with only a mound of pancakes for company' pancakes covered in a half gallon of syrup, and topped off by a dozen strawberries. It was a beautiful sight, but Myrtle only picked at it.

"Pryor is such a cow."

"Stuffing herself like some kind of cravings obsessed pregnant sow."

Myrtle pressed her fork into the sugary pile, skewering and ripping; pulling free, she took a defiant bite as anger boiled through her veins, they all binged anyway.

"Her and her dream boy must have had a fight."

"I did think I heard her crying in the loo after dinner."

"I didn't see anything…"

Myrtle took another bight, fighting back her emotions with deliciousness.

"It must be that though, Pryor is so easy to read."

"Why are we wasting so much thought on her anyway? I heard that Riddle and Malfoy did it."

"No way!"

I heard it from Horby, who heard it from Weasley, who heard it from-"

Myrtle ignored the excited giggles, to concentrated on her food. She was going to enjoy it, even if it killed her. She waited and waited, slowly consuming every last drop of strawberry juice, until breakfast was over; he never came.

Myrtle stood, and a wave of sickness broke over her; she had eaten far too much. Stumbling one step, she managed to regaining her balance and walking out of the hall; she still didn't see him as she walked up the stairs, to the Hospital Wing.

"So the boy seems to be completely human?" Myrtle halted in the doorway, a middle aged man, his hair dark, but graying, peered at Madam Brandon through thin rectangular spectacles.

"In all rights, sir." The little old healer nodded, emphatically.

"We've looked over your report and-" the man happened to glance sideways, and his mouth snapped shut abruptly.

"What's wrong dear?" Madame Brandon had followed his gaze, and stepped towards Myrtle.

"Upset stomach." Myrtle mumbled, her eyes flitting between the cool silence of the man, and the sudden obscuring warmth of Brandon.

"Sit down here, I'll have a settling potion in just a moment." Gesturing to the first bed to hand, the elderly women nodded the man into her closet.

Myrtle sat, all alone, on the cold stiff sheets; surrounded by the cold harsh stone.

"Here you are, dear." Myrtle was broken out of her ennui, and offered Madame Brandon a weak smile, as she excepted a steaming mug of an odorless liquid. "If you need anything, just call, I'll be in the medicine closet. You can lay down for a bit, if you need to." With a final smile the healer disappeared behind the door.

The morning flickered away as Myrtle dozed in the infirmary she felt better, and wondered what Bakura was doing; but feared, if she found him, he would avoid her.

Finally, the clock boomed out eleven o'clock, and Myrtle's stomach rumbled.

"You should go eat some lunch." Madame Brandon encouraged from across the room.

Myrtle sighed, and stood. She felt fine; she couldn't just hide away for the rest of the weekend.

"Thank-you." Myrtle yanked nervously at her hair as she descended to the Great Hall.

The ceiling was still mostly obscured by clouds like that morning, but the sun managed to still shine down on the student body with a little cheerfulness, and gleamed off white hair at the far end of the Slytherin table.

She was supposed to be more confident; she was supposed to be self-assured. Myrtle stepped confidently over to where Bakura sat and took her place directly beside him.

"Where were you this morning?" Teeth glittered slightly as the boy offered her a smile.

"Infirmary, upset stomach. Why didn't you come down to breakfast?" She countered, beginning to slather a piece of toast in butter and jam.

"Wasn't hungry." Myrtle felt the brush of his shoulder on hers as he shrugged; her breath hitched slightly. "Any ideas of what to do this afternoon?"

Myrtle whipped around to face Bakura, caught completely off guard. "You want to?" This time he didn't shield his annoyance; simply glared at her.

"I wouldn't have asked if-"

"I know," Myrtle brazenly cut through his reminder. "But, what will everyone think?"

"I don't care."

"Doesn't the idea of everyone thinking we are dating bother you in the least?"