Voyeur

Moaning Myrtle was jealous. In the back of her spectral mind, she knew that Harry Potter was never going to drop dead at Hogwarts and come share her toilet stall. She still liked Harry, though. She liked him a lot. He had always been considerate of her, never teasing her, and he had been such a cute boy when he'd come to Hogwarts, only improving with age. Myrtle still blushed silver when she remembered the night three years previously, when she'd spied on him in the prefect's bathroom. If he really believed she'd kept her eyes shut that night, she had a snorkack to sell him.

Which brought Myrtle to her present dilemma. Harry's fifth year at Hogwarts had been disastrous. He'd seen his godfather die. He'd found out Dumbledore was capable of being totally wrong. He's almost gotten several other people he cared about killed. He'd learned the truth about Sibyll Trelawney's dreadful prophecy. Overwhelmed, Harry had shut himself off from all his friends. It had been hardest with Ron and Hermione. They had been a trio for so long, but breaking up the trio had allowed a couple to form, and Harry seemed to take comfort from their happiness. They still cared about Harry, but between schoolwork and the wonder that was first love, they had ceded to Harry's will and left him to his independence.

Only one person had not accepted Harry's self-imposed isolation. Luna Lovegood, treating it as an incomprehensible nuisance, had continued to try to get close to Harry, and he had given up on trying to drive her away. Snide comments about personal space didn't phase Luna Lovegood any more than death threats had affected Dobby the house elf, and Myrtle had to admire Luna's patience, if nothing else. In the sixth year, whenever Harry had gone walking around the grounds and halls of Hogwarts, trying to cope with his feelings of dread and frustration, Luna had often appeared quietly at his side and taken his hand. They had walked silently together for hours, or sat in secluded places with their arms around each other, gradually letting their guard down.

When Harry had finally begun to talk, Luna had listened for hours. He had poured out his heart to her, telling her things that he had never told anyone. And when Harry was all talked out, Luna had done the same. Myrtle doubted if there was anything these two did not know about each other.

Myrtle had been there when Harry had told Luna about the shock of finding out his parents were magical, and she had told him about the shock of finding out what her mother had actually been doing at the Ministry.

Harry had told Luna about all of the torment he'd received at the hand of Dudley and his friends, and he now knew from Luna exactly which girls in Ravenclaw had persecuted Luna, or allowed that persecution.

They'd talked about seeing thestrals, and hearing the voices beyond the veil, and one night Harry had told Luna his mother's last words, and she had told him hers. That night had been hard for Myrtle. Harry and Luna had kissed before, friendly pecks on the cheek, which had later become gentle kisses of comfort, but when they kissed that night, it had become something else. Their kisses from that point on at first were warmer and sweeter, then deeper and more passionate.

The hardest part for Myrtle of dying at seventeen was having to accept that she had missed what she now began to see. If Myrtle had ever had anyone touch her in the way Harry had begun to touch Luna, or been able to touch anyone the way Luna was now able to touch Harry, Myrtle would have enjoyed her short life much more. By the end of Harry's sixth year, they were doing things that Myrtle couldn't even spell, and it was like watching a car crash. Myrtle didn't want to look, but at the same time, she couldn't look away. She idly wondered at the end of the term exactly how many times poor Hedwig would be making the trip from Little Whinging to Otterly St. Catchpole that summer. And Myrtle had a fair idea of what would happen when the two got back together in the fall.

When it did happen, Myrtle was fascinated and disgusted at the same time. She's not even that pretty, thought Myrtle, zooming away afterwards, but in her ghostly heart, Myrtle respected Harry for that. If he'd just wanted to lose it to a pretty girl, there were countless girls at Hogwarts who would have given him the roll of his life with no strings attached. Luna had given Harry all she had to give, and more, and Myrtle could grudgingly appreciate Luna's total devotion to Harry Potter.

Through the fall and winter Harry and Luna had secretly been together whenever possible, and Myrtle had continued to lurk, at the same time keeping their secret. Now, however, she was ready to confront Harry, for his own good.

She caught him on his way to breakfast one morning. "Harry Potter," Myrtle whined, "You have got to do something about your girlfriend. She's thrown up in my toilet four mornings in a row. Can't a person have any peace around here, even in death? I want you to go get her out of there right now!"

Myrtle watched his eyes, and saw the different emotions there. It was interesting in a clinical sort of way, to see the surprise turn to worry, the worry turn to shock, and the shock then turn to understanding. Harry looked horrified for a split second, then Myrtle saw the love and loyalty that had always been the core of Harry Potter return. He left her in the hall without a word, marching resolutely off.

And this time Myrtle didn't need to watch. She already knew what Luna would have to say, and she knew what Harry would want to say. They had been idiots, but at least they knew they were alive. Life might have them by the throat, but at least they had it. And Myrtle sighed one more jealous sigh.

The end.