novelraw Chapter 19: Moaning Myrtle’s Visitors
Chapter 19: Moaning Myrtle’s Visitors
Chapter Nineteen: Moaning Myrtle's Visitors
As usual, Myrtle sat on a broken toilet in the innermost cubicle of the girls' bathroom on the third floor, whimpering and sobbing. For fifty years, she had been lamenting the injustice of fate and the cruel mockery of Olive Hornby.
A soft knock sounded on her cubicle door. She looked up warily, wondering who would dare disturb her daily crying.
"Hello? Are you alright?" A girl's voice came hesitantly from outside. "You sound upset. Do you need help?"
"Who's there?" Myrtle asked through her sobs, curiosity piqued by the unexpected kindness.
For a very, very long time, no one had spoken to her so gently.
People kept their distance, afraid of being associated with "Moaning Myrtle."
"I'm Hermione Granger—just call me Hermione. That's what my friends call me." The girl's voice held genuine concern. "Has someone been bullying you?"
Myrtle was astonished.
Had this girl never heard of the famous Myrtle?
*The ugly, pitiful, dejected Moaning Myrtle who haunts the abandoned bathroom on the third floor... Everyone avoids her, and Olive Hornby always mocked her...*
"Olive Hornby... she said I looked like a four-eyed dog with my glasses on..." Myrtle said with a sob, touched by the concern in Hermione's voice. "She mocked my glasses... and my spots... she was so cruel!"
"Oh... she shouldn't have said that." Hermione sounded genuinely angry. "I understand how that feels... I was upset recently and hid in a bathroom too... Some people just don't know how to be kind..."
Myrtle sobbed harder. "I wish people wouldn't talk about me behind my back! I have feelings too! Even though..." She trailed off, unable to admit she was dead.
"Which House are you in?" Hermione asked curiously. "You're probably not in Gryffindor—I've never heard of an Olive Hornby there."
House? Myrtle frantically searched her distant memories and finally recalled her House.
"Ravenclaw... I think..." Her voice was light, pleased to be asked. For a moment, she felt like a living girl talking to another living girl.
"I'm in Gryffindor." Hermione stared worriedly at the scratched, peeling door. "Listen, I don't think Olive Hornby sounds like a good friend. You should make other friends... ones who don't hurt you."
"No one wants to be my friend," Myrtle said miserably. "They all laugh at me and bully me... My existence here is full of misery..."
"I can be your first friend. I haven't even met any Ravenclaws yet." Hermione wrinkled her nose at the guttering candles, cracked mirror, and damp floor. "This really isn't a good place to talk. Why don't you come out? We could go somewhere else..."
"Somewhere else?" Myrtle said emotionally. "I won't go anywhere else—I can only stay here..."
"Alright, don't be upset. We can talk here." Hermione sighed. "What's your name?"
Myrtle hesitated. If she revealed her real name, the girl might avoid her like everyone else.
Then she'd be alone again with nothing to do but cry.
She cleared her throat delicately. "Elizabeth. Please call me Elizabeth."
Myrtle's full name was Myrtle Elizabeth Warren—using her middle name wasn't quite lying.
She stopped crying and floated up from the toilet, curiously peering at the girl named Hermione Granger.
She was holding several thick books, had bushy brown hair, fair skin with rosy cheeks, and bright brown eyes filled with concern for the mysterious Elizabeth behind the door.
This girl clearly loved reading—something they had in common. Myrtle immediately warmed to her.
"It's lovely to meet you, Elizabeth. Some people make fun of my front teeth—if we worried about everything people said, it would never end... Nobody's perfect." Hermione smiled at the door, completely unaware of the ghost peering through the gap above her head.
"You're right," Myrtle said shyly. Sharing secrets like this was completely new to her.
When someone willingly reveals their own vulnerabilities, shows you their scars—that's when trust forms. That's how friendships between girls begin.
From the day Myrtle arrived at Hogwarts until now, she'd never made a single friend.
Everyone mocked her. No one showed kindness. But this girl was willing to talk to her, even be her friend.
If only I'd met her sooner—
"It's wonderful to meet you, Hermione." Myrtle sniffed, voice bright with pleasure. "I'd love to be your friend."
"That's brilliant! Are you feeling better? I have class soon—do you need me to stay longer?" Hermione noticed the change in her tone and relaxed.
"Go to class. Come chat with me again when you have time," Myrtle said happily. She floated in the toilet tank, habitually touching a spot on her chin, smugly pleased about her first friend.
"Alright." Hermione sounded puzzled—she didn't understand why they had to meet in such a gloomy place—but she was running late. She quickly said goodbye to the mysterious Elizabeth and hurried away.
Just as Myrtle settled into savoring her conversation with her first friend, footsteps sounded outside her cubicle again.
Several boys ran in. How rude! This was a girls' bathroom!
Myrtle floated up and peeked out—two identical red-haired boys and one with platinum-blond hair.
They were all rather handsome. She felt suddenly shy, too embarrassed to scold them.
Were they here to befriend her too? The fleeting fantasy made her hide and eavesdrop instead of chasing them out.
Neither the Weasley twins nor Draco realized a ghost was spying on them.
"Give it a try." The Weasley twins mysteriously produced a box of custard creams, exchanged knowing looks, and offered it to Draco.
Draco took the box, eyeing them suspiciously. "Before I try anything, tell me why you dragged me here."
This had happened right after Easter. The Weasley twins had brazenly kidnapped Draco and hauled him to the abandoned girls' bathroom on the third floor without explanation.
If Draco remembered correctly, this was Moaning Myrtle's territory.
"We need privacy," Fred winked.
"These aren't ordinary biscuits," George said with gleeful malice. "You'd better stand in front of that mirror, or you'll miss the show."
Draco stared at the box. "You think I'd eat mysterious food without precautions?"
Fred shrugged. "I remember someone saying they appreciated our sense of humor."
"This was inspired by you," George grinned. "We spent ages perfecting it."
Draco rolled his eyes and casually picked up a custard cream.
BANG! A large canary appeared in the mirror where Draco had stood. The Weasley twins burst into laughter.
Even after a minute—when Draco returned to normal—the twins were still doubled over, clutching their stomachs.
Draco tried to appear dignified but failed miserably, glaring at them furiously instead.
"Dad never imagined we'd turn a Malfoy into that," Fred said to George, barely suppressing more laughter.
Draco abandoned all pretense of composure, his cheeks puffing indignantly. "Why didn't you just tell me what it was?"
"We wanted to make sure you could really appreciate our humor," Fred patted his shoulder, "and see if you're genuinely interested in partnering with us."
"Oh, don't be so serious," George added. "You're so young—always looking severe. You'll frighten away all the girls!"
"We went easy on you. You haven't tried the Nosebleed Nougat yet..." Fred grinned.
"Efficient work," Draco admitted grudgingly. "So. Partnership?"
"Absolutely." Fred shrugged.
"Mum and Dad will be gobsmacked when they find out," George said casually.
"Please keep this secret! I don't want Father breaking my legs," Draco said dramatically.
"Alright." "Fine," George and Fred chorused, slightly disappointed.
Just as they prepared to discuss specifics, Draco casually gestured toward the last stall: "Hello, Myrtle. A polite ghost like you surely wouldn't mind giving us privacy?"
Draco had heard rustling from that cubicle—even a suppressed giggle when he'd become a canary.
Scanning the bathroom, he'd glimpsed Myrtle's silvery-white face through the gap in the door.
George and Fred whirled toward the stall in surprise. They heard a shriek, then something plunged into the toilet with a tremendous splash.
"It's fine—she's always easily startled," Draco shrugged.
He waved his wand, quickly drafting a magically binding agreement.
The contract stipulated that Draco, as Party A, would invest 2,000 Galleons in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, making him majority shareholder with 51%.
The Weasley twins, as Party B, would hold 49% and serve as co-managers, responsible for product development, procurement, production, and sales.
Profits would be split equally. Party B must strictly maintain confidentiality regarding Party A's identity as major shareholder.
Numerous detailed clauses filled several sheets of parchment. Draco and the twins reviewed them carefully, found no issues, and signed.
"We're developing new products..." Fred began.
"...still in experimental stages," George continued.
"We want to test their popularity with students first..."
"...maybe sell by Owl Post later."
"Advertise in the *Daily Prophet*..."
"...they run advertisements every day."
Draco was gradually accustoming himself to the twins' alternating speech pattern.
"Sensible approach. You've got your N.E.W.T.s to worry about too. Let's take it step by step—I trust your judgment."
Draco glanced warily around the bathroom, checking whether Myrtle had returned. Then he withdrew a heavy money pouch from his dragon-hide bag, clinking with Galleons.
"Brilliant!" Fred eyed the bag enviously. "Extension Charm! Must have loads of space inside?"
Draco smirked lazily and handed them the pouch. "Several dozen square meters—big enough to live in. Once the shop turns a profit, I'll get you each one."