Rainbow Series - Faint Yellow
Rating: PG
Category: character study
Era: Hogwarts, Harry Potter's sixth year, beginning of March
Main Characters: Moaning Myrtle, Draco Malfoy
Ship(s): none
Keywords: consolation
Summary: Myrtle still envies the living, even if they suffer. But then, all emotional, they are interesting, at least...
Author's notes: An interlude in the Rainbow Series. Thank you, nomango, for the quick and helpful beta! Any remaining mistakes are mine.
Word count: 1.043
Concrit is always welcome!
Faint Yellow
When she had been a girl of flesh and blood, Myrtle had been sorted into Hufflepuff. Now, as a ghost, she felt like she belonged to her toilet more than to any of the Hogwarts’ Houses. While she had been alive, she had felt obligated to loyalty towards her fellow students, even if the pressure made her eyes twitch and her voice shrill. Now, her voice was still shrill - though she wouldn’t admit this to herself - but her loyalty was a precarious gift these days. That girl who had Polyjuiced herself into a cat hadn’t deserved it - she had been way too full of herself. Harry Potter had been with her. He was such a cute boy. But then, the cute ones never stayed. She long knew about that.
Recently, another boy was visiting her toilet. He wasn’t especially cute, not with his running nose and his reddened eyes. He rubbed away his tears vigorously, leaving his pale skin with irritated blotches. Myrtle saw this, but she didn’t comment on it. Rubbing the tears away never helped, because they were always replenished from the inside. Better let them flow freely. She shrugged inwardly. She had had decades of years to get that particular lesson alone. He would learn it too, in his own time.
He was leaning heavily on one of the cracked sinks, sniffling from time to time. Myrtle floated nearer. Human tears were interesting - she could never keep herself away. Alerted by the coldness radiating from her, the boy lifted his head. Draco - she remembered a big burly boy calling him - his name was Draco.
“Oh,” he said, “it’s you.”
His voice rested a tad too long on the last vowel, like he was questioning her right to exist.
“Of course it’s me,” she snapped at him, ready to lash out. “If you kindly remember, I live here.”
He sniffled once more.
“You’ve been crying again,” she said, stating the simple fact. Life after death was a very simple affair. A tad boring at times, which was why she welcomed every emotion carried into her home. It was leisure time when she didn’t have to make them up for one day.
Draco stayed silent, with his head hanging low again, while the tears continued to run down his cheeks. Some drops emerged and dripped from his nose. He sniffled again.
She eyed the House badge on his school robes. “You’re in Slytherin,” she observed matter of factly. “Why are you crying? Slytherins never cry.”
The notion struck her as funny, and she relaxed into a giggle fit. Hearing her laughter, he tensed up, and she sucked up that emotion as well. Oh, sweet emotions! They were all a girl like her lived for. What she wouldn’t give for more of them.
He said something. Myrtle jerked her head around, interrupted in her dance of folly. “What did you say? I didn’t get that.”
“I said, I know,” he murmured to the tiles. “I know that I’m not supposed to cry.”
“So why,” she laughed shrilly, “are you crying?”
“I can’t do it.” He looked up, and the sudden view of the desperate fear in his eyes made her freeze. If she had had a throat, she would have swallowed. Instead, she floated a little closer.
“You can’t do what?”
He was shivering like a mouse in a trap. “I can’t talk about it. I wish I could, but if… I can’t.” He paused, staring into her eyes. Once more, Myrtle wished that she could cry and feel her eyes well up with tears. She had been actually good at crying. Today, of course, she could only pretend, whereas his eyes spilled over again, leaving more tears to stain his already blotchy skin.
“He will kill my parents if I do.”
She’d almost missed that one, so close was his voice to silence. If his parents were in danger because of him, so was he. Her thoughts flew back to the day of her death. She at least hadn’t seen it coming. If she had known, maybe she wouldn’t haunt her toilet. Maybe she would have gone crazy, and vanished like smoke. If you had nothing to pull yourself together, a ghost’s substance could get lost so easily. Those who managed to stay always had a strong attachment to hold on to - like fear, revenge, or hate. Some even stayed for love. No one had ever managed to stay out of madness. Suddenly, she felt something like a stab inside. Could it be… compassion? She had missed this feeling for such a long time, that she almost couldn’t remember how it was supposed to feel, almost couldn’t place it. Excitement tickled her and she longed for more of him, more contact, more of his humanity.
“Hey, you.” He looked up. “Don’t cry. You’re only making it worse.” It was a feeble comfort, but she couldn’t give him a hug. Hell, as far as she knew Slytherins, he wouldn’t have ever tolerated that, regardless of his desperation. “Don’t cry,” she repeated.
“I musn’t fail,” he whispered.
“You won’t. You won’t fail.” She still wanted to hug him, but he’d already started to pull himself together.
“Maybe you are right. I will not fail. I simply have to try harder.” He nodded, trying to convince himself.
“And if you need to relax, you can always visit me.” She couldn’t help flashing him her most winning smile.
He straightened his back some more. “I might actually do that.”
She watched him rinsing his face and drying it with the sleeve of his cloak. At the door, he turned to face her once more. “Thank you… erm… I don’t know your name.”
She felt the familiar annoyance rising. Of course, why would he know her name? But then, she decided not to give into her fit. “Myrtle,” she simply said. “It’s Myrtle.”
“So, thank you, Myrtle.” His smile curled the corners of his mouth upwards, even though his eyes went untouched by it.
Myrtle was floating high above the ground, ready to go for a swim. She waved at him casually. “I’ll see you around.”
When he closed the door behind him, she was already halfway through the pipes and on her way into the lake.
Category: character study
Era: Hogwarts, Harry Potter's sixth year, beginning of March
Main Characters: Moaning Myrtle, Draco Malfoy
Ship(s): none
Keywords: consolation
Summary: Myrtle still envies the living, even if they suffer. But then, all emotional, they are interesting, at least...
Author's notes: An interlude in the Rainbow Series. Thank you, nomango, for the quick and helpful beta! Any remaining mistakes are mine.
Word count: 1.043
Concrit is always welcome!
Faint Yellow
When she had been a girl of flesh and blood, Myrtle had been sorted into Hufflepuff. Now, as a ghost, she felt like she belonged to her toilet more than to any of the Hogwarts’ Houses. While she had been alive, she had felt obligated to loyalty towards her fellow students, even if the pressure made her eyes twitch and her voice shrill. Now, her voice was still shrill - though she wouldn’t admit this to herself - but her loyalty was a precarious gift these days. That girl who had Polyjuiced herself into a cat hadn’t deserved it - she had been way too full of herself. Harry Potter had been with her. He was such a cute boy. But then, the cute ones never stayed. She long knew about that.
Recently, another boy was visiting her toilet. He wasn’t especially cute, not with his running nose and his reddened eyes. He rubbed away his tears vigorously, leaving his pale skin with irritated blotches. Myrtle saw this, but she didn’t comment on it. Rubbing the tears away never helped, because they were always replenished from the inside. Better let them flow freely. She shrugged inwardly. She had had decades of years to get that particular lesson alone. He would learn it too, in his own time.
He was leaning heavily on one of the cracked sinks, sniffling from time to time. Myrtle floated nearer. Human tears were interesting - she could never keep herself away. Alerted by the coldness radiating from her, the boy lifted his head. Draco - she remembered a big burly boy calling him - his name was Draco.
“Oh,” he said, “it’s you.”
His voice rested a tad too long on the last vowel, like he was questioning her right to exist.
“Of course it’s me,” she snapped at him, ready to lash out. “If you kindly remember, I live here.”
He sniffled once more.
“You’ve been crying again,” she said, stating the simple fact. Life after death was a very simple affair. A tad boring at times, which was why she welcomed every emotion carried into her home. It was leisure time when she didn’t have to make them up for one day.
Draco stayed silent, with his head hanging low again, while the tears continued to run down his cheeks. Some drops emerged and dripped from his nose. He sniffled again.
She eyed the House badge on his school robes. “You’re in Slytherin,” she observed matter of factly. “Why are you crying? Slytherins never cry.”
The notion struck her as funny, and she relaxed into a giggle fit. Hearing her laughter, he tensed up, and she sucked up that emotion as well. Oh, sweet emotions! They were all a girl like her lived for. What she wouldn’t give for more of them.
He said something. Myrtle jerked her head around, interrupted in her dance of folly. “What did you say? I didn’t get that.”
“I said, I know,” he murmured to the tiles. “I know that I’m not supposed to cry.”
“So why,” she laughed shrilly, “are you crying?”
“I can’t do it.” He looked up, and the sudden view of the desperate fear in his eyes made her freeze. If she had had a throat, she would have swallowed. Instead, she floated a little closer.
“You can’t do what?”
He was shivering like a mouse in a trap. “I can’t talk about it. I wish I could, but if… I can’t.” He paused, staring into her eyes. Once more, Myrtle wished that she could cry and feel her eyes well up with tears. She had been actually good at crying. Today, of course, she could only pretend, whereas his eyes spilled over again, leaving more tears to stain his already blotchy skin.
“He will kill my parents if I do.”
She’d almost missed that one, so close was his voice to silence. If his parents were in danger because of him, so was he. Her thoughts flew back to the day of her death. She at least hadn’t seen it coming. If she had known, maybe she wouldn’t haunt her toilet. Maybe she would have gone crazy, and vanished like smoke. If you had nothing to pull yourself together, a ghost’s substance could get lost so easily. Those who managed to stay always had a strong attachment to hold on to - like fear, revenge, or hate. Some even stayed for love. No one had ever managed to stay out of madness. Suddenly, she felt something like a stab inside. Could it be… compassion? She had missed this feeling for such a long time, that she almost couldn’t remember how it was supposed to feel, almost couldn’t place it. Excitement tickled her and she longed for more of him, more contact, more of his humanity.
“Hey, you.” He looked up. “Don’t cry. You’re only making it worse.” It was a feeble comfort, but she couldn’t give him a hug. Hell, as far as she knew Slytherins, he wouldn’t have ever tolerated that, regardless of his desperation. “Don’t cry,” she repeated.
“I musn’t fail,” he whispered.
“You won’t. You won’t fail.” She still wanted to hug him, but he’d already started to pull himself together.
“Maybe you are right. I will not fail. I simply have to try harder.” He nodded, trying to convince himself.
“And if you need to relax, you can always visit me.” She couldn’t help flashing him her most winning smile.
He straightened his back some more. “I might actually do that.”
She watched him rinsing his face and drying it with the sleeve of his cloak. At the door, he turned to face her once more. “Thank you… erm… I don’t know your name.”
She felt the familiar annoyance rising. Of course, why would he know her name? But then, she decided not to give into her fit. “Myrtle,” she simply said. “It’s Myrtle.”
“So, thank you, Myrtle.” His smile curled the corners of his mouth upwards, even though his eyes went untouched by it.
Myrtle was floating high above the ground, ready to go for a swim. She waved at him casually. “I’ll see you around.”
When he closed the door behind him, she was already halfway through the pipes and on her way into the lake.