Chocolate steak
Myrtle went to bed troubled that night; the seconds of Bakura standing over Hornby playing over and over again in her mind. Had he meant what he said? It must be the demon talking.
Thoughts rushed from end of her mind to the other, Myrtle found it near impossible to fall asleep; when she finally did, it was only to fall into disturbing dreams.
It was her living room, at least it seemed to be; she had been there all too recently, but something about the room seemed wrong, even without noting any lack of Christmas decorations.
Walking slowly into her kitchen, Myrtle was confronted by the back of a familiar head of white hair. What was Bakura doing in her kitchen? Eating very rare…
Bakura turned at her entry to reveal a glowing and bloody smile. "Want some?" He offered, proffering a lump of raw meat.
"What?" Myrtle reached out automatically, but pulled it quickly back as soon as he dropped his gift into her hand.
"Steak; you eat it." Bakura explained, taking another bite from his own share.
"Isn't it bad for you?"
"Try it."
Bringing up to her mouth, Myrtle's nose flinched back from the putrid smell, but she somehow took a bite anyway. It was rubbery and slimy, and slipped out from between her teeth when she tried to bite it; it tasted like chocolate. "It's not what I expected."
"She might look like a witch, but Hornby doesn't taste that bad; after she shuts up."
"He's a killer. Did you see what he did last night?"
"She's his weak link."
Myrtle woke to the sound of indistinct voices, but when she'd finally untangled herself from her mussed sheets and blankets, there was no one in her dormitory. It was probably Hornby, but who knows.
What had that dream been about? All this talk of demons and human sacrifices was finally getting to her, but it would all be over soon.
Today was the day.
Scuttling around between her trunk and the bathroom, Myrtle got dressed in what seemed like record time, and nearly danced down the stairs to the common room; running a hand over her head to make sure her hair was lying as flat as possible.
"Well, at least someone's happy." Bakura muttered; getting up languidly, and walking towards the exit, under the harsh gaze of just about every Slytherin, first through fourth year; his mood was obviously degraded.
"When?" Myrtle asked, as they walked through almost empty corridors.
"After breakfast."
"Where?"
"I found somewhere over break."
"Do you have any family?" Myrtle blurted out the question without even thinking, and immediately wished she could pull it back, as misery, fury, and coldness washed over his face.
"They are all dead; a long time ago." Bakura, who seemed to have regained some rough control over his emotions, finally replied as the glassy look left his eyes that had almost suggested tears.
Myrtle tried not to slurp her oatmeal, not look at Bakura, and not say anything else stupid, for the rest of the meal.