How old are you?

Myrtle watched as Bakura shoved the last of his toast into his mouth, a frown pulling at the back of her mind, even as her mouth twisted into a smile. What was he hiding?

Her wonderings of the afternoon before, of whether the almighty Bakura was actually afraid of something returned to frolic around the meadow of her mind; he wanted her to be more confident, and if they were dating… Shouldn't she know a little more about this titan, who had fallen so haphazardly into her life? Or would it just drive him away? Was it worth it?

Finishing the last crumbs of her own breakfast, Myrtle began to make a list of things she did not know, and probably should, about Bakura; if she ever worked up the nerve to ask him. Thinking it over as she began the pilgrimage to her first class, she began to realize just how little of him she knew. How old was he? Where, exactly, was he from? Who were his family?

Remembering the strange agitated flicker in his eyes over the small bit of breakfast they had shared, Myrtle stilled her whirling brain to concentrate upon Professor Binns and his monotonous monotones on the formation of a separate wizarding government.

Bakura was silent over lunch; his eyes locked on the plate before him as he transported the sustenance from the plate, unto his fork, and into his mouth.

Myrtle decided it probably wasn't the best time to be questioning him; something was obviously bothering him. She could think of an entire list of excuses, if she actually sat down to do it; it was useless though, he looked rather preoccupied, so she obviously shouldn't bother him.

But he certainly would have bothered her, and then probably discarded her excuses as ridiculous; why should she be any nicer?

Because, no matter how much bolder she felt, she was still Myrtle the mouse.

"Is everything alright?" She finally forced the question out over her half eaten plate.

"Yeah." His voice was not as commanding as usual, and Myrtle wondered if she should question it, but his look effectively silenced her; and the next few minutes were filled with silent masticating.

"Myrtle, do you think I'm a good person?" The abrupt question took Myrtle by surprise, and it took a moment for her to collect the obvious answer.

"Yes, I do believe you to be." She offered, perhaps overly tentative.

"See you at dinner then," and he was gone.

Now he was only acting stranger and stranger; she should have asked him at least one question. How offensive could the question , when were you born, be?

At dinner, Bakura was there to greet her, and almost seemed cheerful, for him anyway.

"Bakura would you mind if I asked you something?" Myrtle began, placing her fork down slowly, and taking a deep breath before looking back up at the top of her companion's head.

"Sure…" Bakura's reply was slow in coming, and slow in delivery; as if she was pulling out his toe nails for the answer.

"I was just thinking, since I spend so much time with you, and I've told you the few things that are interesting about me, that it would only be fare if you answered a few questions for-" Myrtle began to slowly, and began to fall into a babbling nothingness, which Bakura halted with a slight narrowing of the eyes.

"You wanted to ask a question."

"Don't take any offense to it- anyway. I was just wondering, how old you are exactly?"

And that was the moment, as the blood was already flowing up into Myrtle's cheeks, that the pumpkin pasties decided to explode over them.

"What the?" Bakura blinked as he attempted to wipe the mushy pumpkiny substance out of his line of site as ruckus laughter burst out at the other end of the Slytherin table, and the rest of the Great Hall turned to look.

Oh, she was soooo dead; burnt in shame, Myrtle leaned over and buried her face in her plastered arms.

"Don't just sit there and cry about it." Bakura's was obviously trying to not blow up at her, but she could tell it was hard; he poked her a few times to get her attention. "You must know some charm to clean all this up."

"I know how to clean up the pumpkin mess, but everyone is staring at us and laughing." Myrtle moaned; still not looking up.

"You can use magic, or I'll do it the good old fashioned way, and throw you into the lake." Bakura snapped, meeting Myrtle's slowly rising eyes with a pointed look.

Myrtle fumbled for a moment before procuring her wand. "We're technically not allowed to do magic in the halls I don't think; could we not do it right in front of the teachers?" Myrtle mumbled; her eyes dropping from Bakura's to her plate.

With a loud sigh Bakura snatched up Myrtle's hand, and pulled her, not that unwillingly, out of the Great Hall, through the Entranceway, down a side corridor, and finally stopped in a small alcove to the side. "Is this secluded enough for you?"

Myrtle's tongue flickered nervously over her suddenly dry lips as she nodded; less then a foot separated them. "Scourgify." The word was barely obove a whisper, but it did the trick, and they were left smelling faintly of pumpkin.

"I believe you had a question." Bakura's voice rang out above her downturn face, not unkindly.

"I just wondered…" Myrtle gulped, and looked up to face him. "How old are you?"