A Ghost And a Boy.
Myrtle cried a lot.
Harry hadn’t quite realized how *much* until he let her linger in his presence. It wasn’t just quiet sniffles either—sometimes, she *wailed,* her translucent form shuddering as she threw herself dramatically into the nearest sink or toilet.
The first time it happened, Harry had just stared at her, unimpressed.
Now, he simply waited.
It was strange, this quiet companionship. Harry wasn’t used to people *wanting* to be near him for no reason other than existing. But Myrtle was different. She wasn’t trying to get anything from him. She wasn’t demanding explanations or answers.
She just wanted to *stay.*
So, he let her.
They spent time together in silence, Myrtle floating near him, occasionally rambling about something before descending into tears over a perceived slight from decades past. Harry didn’t comfort her, not in the way others might have. He didn’t tell her things would be fine, didn’t promise her that life—or unlife—would get better.
But he *listened.*
And somehow, that was enough.
One evening, he sat cross-legged on the bathroom floor, idly flipping through one of his books. Myrtle hovered above him, sniffling quietly.
“Olive Hornby used to *torment* me, you know,” she muttered, wiping her translucent nose on her sleeve. “Always teasing me, calling me names, saying I was *ugly*—”
Harry turned a page. “You haunted her after you died.”
Myrtle blinked. “You *know* about that?”
Harry hummed. “It’s in the records.”
Myrtle puffed up slightly. “Well, *good!* She *deserved* it.”
Harry didn’t disagree.
Myrtle eyed him, curiosity flickering across her face. “Did you ever have someone like that?”
Harry didn’t look up from his book. “Yeah.”
Myrtle seemed to hesitate, then floated closer. “What happened?”
Harry turned another page. “Nothing.”
That wasn’t true.
But it was the only answer he was willing to give.
Myrtle pouted, but she didn’t push. Instead, she sniffled again and dramatically collapsed into the nearest sink, sending a burst of water through her ghostly form.
Harry sighed.
They sat together in comfortable silence, the distant sounds of Hogwarts echoing through the pipes. It was strange, having someone nearby, even if that someone was an overly dramatic ghost with a tendency to drown in her own misery.
But Myrtle didn’t pry where it mattered.
And that made her presence bearable.
As Harry stood to leave, Myrtle floated closer, watching him with something almost resembling concern.
“You’ll come back, right?” she asked, her voice quieter than usual.
Harry paused.
Then, with the smallest nod, he stepped out of the bathroom, leaving behind the girl who had been forgotten by time.
Myrtle smiled.