Work Text:
Springtime had always been her favorite season. The long dreary days of winter were done, replaced by fresh new growing things and glorious, warm sunlight. Not that she could exactly smell the growing things or feel the sunlight, she thought as she floated out through the main castle entrance.
Myrtle drifted along the meandering path that led to the garden. It was Saturday and the Hogwarts students were out in force enjoying the late spring weather. None of them paid her any mind as she drifted past; she was simply part of the scenery and that suited her fine. The less attention they paid to her, the more attention she could pay to them.
Two first years sprinted by her, their sacks of gobstones rattling as they passed her without a single glance. She paused for a moment. An argument over a silly game could be fun to watch, but that might ruin the brightness of the day. She let them go and continued drifting along, encountering a group of girls on a stone bench. Their heads were together which immediately piqued Myrtle’s interest and she let herself be drawn to them.
“And then she says to me, ‘Well, I wouldn’t have made that particular choice,’ in that snippy voice—you know how she gets,” the girl, a blonde third year in Hufflepuff said. The other girls nodded, eyes wide.
“Well then what did you say?” another girl said, breathless with anticipation. Myrtle thought she was called Rebecca and remembered the good crying session she’d had just yesterday in the second floor girl’s toilets over a boy. What was his name … ?
She shook her head, bringing herself back to the gossip at hand. Sometimes she could use gossip to her advantage with some of the other ghosts. Being a ghost was often a boring occupation and having a good story to share could help pass the time. Myrtle had lately decided that she wanted to become closer to the Grey Lady and was on the lookout for a story that might interest her.
The blonde girl flushed a pretty pink. “I haven’t gotten her back yet because right then McGonagall came by to see how we were getting on with our tea pots and you know how she can be.” The other girls sat back, moving away from her and sighed in disappointment. They’d all been eager to hear how their friend had cut the other girl down.
Losing interest, Myrtle continued down the path. She’d keep an eye out for the blonde girl in her toilet. Sooner or later, they all came to her toilet to bawl their eyes out over some boy or perceived slight.
Deciding that she wouldn’t get anything of interest out of the students in the garden, she headed out towards the lake. Vast and black, it tended to attract the moody, broody variety and it was always useful to know who was down in the dumps. As she floated, she spied a tall boy by the shore. He was alone with his head down, kicking rocks. After a moment’s thought, she remembered him—Dean Thomas.
She willed herself to float faster. Dean was an interesting one, or at least he had been when he was dallying with the youngest Weasley. He’s alone today, though. Perhaps she has to study? Myrtle drew closer, concern growing when she saw the frown on his handsome face. So expressive, he was usually smiling or telling a joke or trying to coax someone into letting him draw their portrait.
Myrtle wished he would ask to draw her, sometime.
Clearing her ghostly throat, she closed the distance between them. “Hello, Dean,” she said. She hadn’t been trying to surprise him, but surprise was part and parcel of being a ghost.
Dean’s head snapped up and he spun around, looking for who had spoken before he saw Myrtle floating in front of him. “Oh. Hello, Myrtle.” He kicked a rock into the lake, making a loud splash. “What’s got you out here? Aren’t you usually hanging around a toilet?”
She let the implied insult pass, twisting the end of one of her pigtails around her finger. “It’s a beautiful day. Sometimes I like to get out of my U-bend.”
Dean snorted, squinting up at her. “Beautiful day for some, I guess.”
Myrtle’s nose practically twitched as his expression and tone clearly indicated that he was very unhappy about something. Perhaps something that the Grey Lady would be interested in? “Why are you out here by yourself? Where’s … Ginny?” she asked, coming up with the name after a moment’s recollection.
“Not you, too,” he said, crossing his arms.
“Not me what?” She floated down a little lower and closer to him. “The last time I saw you two together, you were … kissing in an out-of-the-way corridor. The memory of the two of them in a clinch sent a thrill through her and she let out the giggle that that horrible Regina George in her year had ridiculed as childish and annoying.
“You don’t know?” Dean’s scowl had been replaced by a look of surprise. “I thought you knew all of the gossip.”
“Tell me,” Myrtle demanded.
“What if I say no?” Arms still crossed, he had a sly smile now. “Do you have something to trade?”
Myrtle spun in a circle as she considered his request. Secrets and gossip were her stock in trade and she wasn’t above the occasional information swap if she felt the information being offered was interesting enough. However, one thing she’d learned over the years was to never show your hand. Never let them know what you know. Make them ask for what they want. So she did. “What do you want?”
Now it was Dean’s turn to consider. His gaze turned inward and he licked his lips. She spun in place as he thought, waiting for his request. “What’s one of the secret passages out of the castle?” he finally asked.
“There’s a passage out of the castle behind the statue of the one-eyed witch,” she said promptly.
“No way! I knew it!” Dean pumped his fist in triumph. “Seamus said I was daft. Where does it go?”
“The cellar of Honeydukes.”
“Brilliant! That’s just brilliant!” Dean clapped his hands and laughed. “I’ll make a killing with what I can bring back on non-Hogsmeade weekends!”
She waited patiently while he crowed about his newfound knowledge, wondering if he would think to ask about the password. They never think ahead of the information in front of them.
Scrubbing his hands over his face, he looked at her again, serious now. “You’ve given your information, so I guess you get mine. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Ginny’s not here with me because she’s with Harry.” As he spoke, his face screwed up as if he were sucking on a lemon wedge, but truthfully, Myrtle barely noticed.
Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter are dating? This is news indeed! Out of long habit, Myrtle kept her face neutral so Dean wouldn’t guess at the true value of the information he’d given her and ask for more of her hoard. “When did this happen?”
“After the last Quidditch game last Saturday.” Dean’s voice was wooden and he put his hands in his pockets. He kicked another rock and shrugged. “I’m going to go. Thanks for the secret passage.”
Only vaguely aware of Dean leaving her, Myrtle’s mind spun and she probed her deep knowledge of the school and its environs, wondering where they would be on this beautiful springtime Saturday. She knew that Harry had been banned from Quidditch and as such unable to take part in the game he loved. She also knew that Ginny had been made Seeker for Gryffindor in his place, so … Maybe they’re flying together?
She detested flying. She didn’t understand how she was expected to trust her life to a skinny broomstick that took her high above the ground. When she was growing up you had things like cars that you sat inside of and stayed sensibly on the ground. Or you took a bus like that one time her and Mum had gone on the bus to see her gran. That had been right before she’d gotten her letter …
Myrtle did love to watch others fly, though, especially the boys. She arrived at the Quidditch pitch, looking around for her quarry. Unsurprisingly, there were quite a few students zooming around or sitting in the stands. She headed towards the stands first, catching snatches of conversation as she passed.
She didn’t find them in the stands, so she focused on the figures zipping through the air. A glint of sunlight shining on red hair caught her eye and she turned to look. There they were, Ginny in the lead with a Quaffle tucked under her arm. She turned her head to look at Harry behind her, her laughter reaching where Myrtle floated in the stands.
Behind her, Harry lay almost flat on his broom, lanky body stretched out and black hair swept back. He shouted back, but Myrtle couldn’t catch the words as they flew past at breakneck speed. Ginny heaved the Quaffle at the goal and pulled up on her broom, spiraling higher into the sky. Harry sped past the Quaffle and got between it and the goal, blocking it with his body and sending it flying in the opposite direction.
If Myrtle still had a heart, it would have been in her mouth as she watched the two teenagers use their bodies so recklessly. They were hovering now, facing each other and having some sort of argument that involved a lot of gesturing and who, me? expressions. She knew that she could easily float up there and listen in on them, but this way, she could make up what they were saying.
She imagined a lover’s quarrel. Harry, the dashing dark one had been caught en flagrante with another and Ginny, the fiery, passionate one was determined to give him a piece of her mind. Myrtle recalled another dashing, dark one from her time, one that did set her heart racing when she saw him. Tom Riddle. Dark, mysterious, brooding and always nice to her.
I don’t think he meant to kill me with that basilisk. It just happened. If Regina George hadn’t been mean to me in the common room, I wouldn’t have been out wandering around.
The sound of approaching voices brought her back to the present and she saw that Harry and Ginny were heading straight towards her. “Myrtle! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you outside! What brings you here?” Harry said as he brought his broom to a stop in front of her. He looked quite disheveled and she wondered if it would be bad form to suggest he take a turn in the Prefect’s Bath.
“I don’t have to stay inside,” she said, another girlish giggle escaping. “Sometimes I like to get out. I quite enjoy the Quidditch games.”
“I supposed you don’t hear much of the Quidditch news in the second floor girl’s toilet,” Ginny said, nudging Harry’s shoulder.
Myrtle raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you’d be surprised what I hear in my toilet.”
Ginny narrowed her eyes and Harry looked confused. “Well, erm, it’s a nice day and I’m glad that you’re enjoying it. We’re going to … go now.” He waved awkwardly. “Bye.”
Myrtle giggled at his earnest politeness. “Good bye.” She watched them go, matching their flying speeds perfectly. When they reached the edge of the field, they stopped and she stared as the two of them shared what she was sure was a sweet, perfect kiss.
Letting out a ghostly sigh, she let herself dematerialize enough to fall through the stands down to the ground. As she floated back to the castle, she pondered the ripple effects that Harry and Ginny’s relationship would have on the other students and the school. From her long years haunting her toilet, she knew that teenagers were only ever interested in other teenagers and who they loved and hated and how they could be made to love or hate specific people.
Back in the castle, she decided that she wouldn’t tell the Grey Lady about the budding new power couple in the castle. She would keep it for herself for now. Perhaps Ginny Weasley would soon pay her a visit for a secret about Harry.
As she made her ghostly way back to her toilet, she passed by Dean standing in front of the statue of the one-eyed witch. “Oi, Myrtle,” he whispered as she floated past. “How do I get to the passage? I can’t move this bloody thing!”
Myrtle stopped and floated in front of him. “There’s a password.”
Dean grinned and nodded. “Of course. Well, what is it?”
She pursed her lips. “What do you have for me?”
“What? You can’t be serious!”
“Dean Thomas, information trading is always serious. You tell me a secret, I tell you a secret.”
“Unbelievable. All right.” Dean closed his eyes for a moment, clearly racking his brain for something that would pry the desired password from her. He snapped his fingers and opened his eyes. “I got it. The Hufflepuff entrance is hidden behind barrels.”
“Dean, everyone knows that,” she said, watching his face fall. She waggled her fingers at him in farewell. “Come back to me when you’ve got something really interesting and if it’s interesting enough, I might give you the password to the secret passage.” She covered the sounds of his protests with the giggle that Regina hated as she left him there, standing in front of the statue.