Creeps

Gregory Goyle wandered the halls at night.

He was surprisingly successful at this endeavour, having only been caught three times in his six years at Hogwarts. All three times had resulted in detentions horrible enough that he was grateful for whatever deity had it in its divine head that he ought to be watched over.

Tonight, though, he was frantically trying to find a place to duck away and hide. He heard the unmistakable shuffling footsteps of Filch approaching down the dark corridor, and he really, really didn't want to be on the receiving end of one of Filch's 'back in the day' stories of masochistic delight.

He spotted a door, and he quickly ran into it before he'd even processed where he was going. Once inside, though, he realized his mistake. This was the girl's bathroom that was haunted by Moaning Myrtle and housed the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. He considered running back out into Filch's grasp, but quickly changed his mind as he thought of the smelly work that would be sure to follow such an action.

He looked around the bathroom, and was relieved to see no basilisks or morose ghosts. He sank down onto the floor against the door, and listened. Filch was murmuring to that creepy cat of his, and he sounded close. Goyle stayed as silent as possible, willing Filch to go search some other part of the school.

"What are you doing here?"

Goyle gasped, startled, as he looked around for the source of the words. He didn't look for long, as it was impossible not to notice the ghostly face a few feet to his left. He had never seen this spirit before, but she was undoubtedly Moaning Myrtle, even if she wasn't currently moaning.

"Shh!" he hissed at her, listening at the door. Had Filch heard her?

"Stay here, my sweet, while I look for troublemakers elsewhere," he heard Filch say, and then the slow shuffle of feet... away from the bathroom! He hadn't heard!

"Were you trying to get me caught?" he snapped at the ghost that was hovering nearby.

"Well," replied Moaning Myrtle. "Maybe."

"Why? I've never done anything to you!" Goyle said. Moaning Myrtle looked slightly taken aback, but then quickly straightened up and flew around the room once.

"How dare you?" she wailed. Goyle motioned for her to be quiet, not knowing whether Filch was out of hearing range yet. Moaning Myrtle ignored him, and continued, louder than before. "Do you know what kind of misery it is, being dead?"

"No," replied Goyle. "I'm alive."

"Of all the insensitive things to say!" Moaning Myrtle managed to gasp and shriek simultaneously. "Next thing you'll be telling me that it can't be all that bad, or to cheer up, things can't get worse or something horrid like that!"

"Actually, I was going to say to shut up," Goyle said.

Moaning Myrtle looked aghast. "Oh, woe is me!" she said with a dramatic sweep around the bathroom. "This neanderthal has no respect for the dead! Leave! Leave!"

"I can't until I'm sure Filch's cat is gone," replied Goyle, listening at the door again.

"LEAVE!" Moaning Myrtle bellowed.

"I can't!" Goyle said. "Haven't you listened to a word I've said?"

"Yes, all those spiteful words you hurtled at me, just because you're happy and alive and you can!"

"I look happy?" Goyle said, amazed. "Did dying somehow affect your eyes?"

Moaning Myrtle let out an indignant sob. "You insensitive clout!"

Goyle just turned his back on her, and tried again to see if he could hear that demon cat prowling around.

"Do you think you could look out there and see if the cat's still there?" he asked after a few unsuccessful minutes of listening.

"You think I'm going to do you any favors? You're dumber than you look," Moaning Myrtle said with an unnecessary huff.

"If you look, I'll leave," he said pleadingly. He had to get out of this damned bathroom and away from this maniac ghost. He definitely appreciated the Bloody Baron's stoic nature a lot more now.

Moaning Myrtle eyed him warily. "Is this a trick?"

"What?" Goyle couldn't believe it. She was a paranoid maniac dead girl. What luck to end up stuck in a bathroom with her. "You're dead! What could I possibly do to you?"

"You might..." A thoughtful pause. "You might make fun of me, humiliate me."

"You live in a toilet," Goyle said flatly. "What could I possibly do that would cause you more humiliation than that?"

"There's nothing wrong with living in a toilet!" Moaning Myrtle exclaimed. "It's nice in the summer!"

"And disgusting!" countered Goyle. "Even I think the idea is revolting!"

"Well, it's not like I have a body to get dirty," Moaning Myrtle said, her voice slipping into a distinct 'pity me' tone. "And no one cares that I live here. I've never been invited to the other ghost's quarters, you know. Even Sir Nicholas doesn't like me, and he even likes that Harry Potter brat." She took on a decidedly bitter tone when she mentioned Harry Potter.

"You don't like Harry Potter either?" Goyle said wonderingly. "I thought everyone outside Slytherin adored him."

"I was very nice to him, I'll have you know, and he treated me like a naughty puppy. Always shooing me off and acting like I was subhuman or something. But I have feelings too, you know!"

"I know you have feelings," Goyle said. "You haven't stopped expressing them since I got here." He tactfully decided to not mention that her ghost status did in fact make her technically subhuman.

Myrtle looked like she wanted to burst into tears again. Goyle briefly wondered how ghosts could cry, since they were intangible and all. "But Harry Potter still treated me like dirt!"

"He does everyone that way, don't worry," Goyle said. "He thinks I'm just a crony of Draco's, and acts like I'm wallpaper or something when there are confrontations. I don't even get insulted properly. He treats most people bad, when you get down to it."

"Really?" Myrtle said, looking surprised. "It isn't just me?"

"Nope," Goyle replied.

Myrtle hovered there for a moment, and then said thoughtfully, "You know, I even fancied him for a bit."

"A lot of people do," Goyle said. "Crabbe had the biggest crush on him fourth year, and the blockhead never noticed."

"He's a very naive boy," Myrtle agreed. "One time I was watching him in the bathroom-"

"I don't want to hear about it," Goyle interrupted immediately.

"It wasn't going to be anything naughty, you dirty boy," Myrtle admonished him, but Goyle could see the hints of a smile on her translucent face. "Though, now that you bring it up, there was this one time I happened across him and that strangely shaped-"

"Not another word about Harry Potter's bathroom habits!" Goyle said, horrified.

"Fine, fine," Myrtle said sulkily. "No one ever wants to hear about the things I've come across."

"Probably because you start shrieking and crying and go on about everything," Goyle said. "You don't see me going all emotional when people don't want to listen to me."

A pause, and then Myrtle said meekly, "People don't listen to you, either?"

Goyle leaned back against the wall, and draped his arms across his knees, clasping his wrists loosely. "I can't remember a time when anyone bothered to listen to what I say. They just assume that I really am as dumb as a pile of bricks, and never even give me a chance. Even my friends do that, you know?"

Myrtle sat across from him, hovering bare inches above the floor like a levitating Buddha. "At least you have friends, even if they don't appreciate you. All I have is the u-bend and the Squid, who really isn't the best of company."

"But you don't have to stay here! You're free to do whatever you want!" argued Goyle. "Hell, you don't even have to contend with gravity or hunger or anything."

"But what would I do?" Myrtle whined. "I can't actually do anything, I'm dead!"

"Binns and Peeves do plenty, and they're dead," Goyle argued. "You can do whatever you like! You have everything in the world to live for!"

"I can't live for anything!" Myrtle cried.

"That's exactly the reason you can't," Goyle said. "You're too hung up on being dead."

"Because I am!" she exclaimed.

"But that's no reason to go about all hung up on it, is it? Look at the other ghosts! They never go on about how dead they are, they just float around and have a grand old time while you live in a toilet!"

Myrtle sat there for a long moment, looking ready to either hit him or burst into tears, until she finally just swooped up, and stuck her head through the wall. "Mrs. Norris is gone."

Goyle stood up, reluctant to leave. "Um, Myrtle? Are you going to be okay?"

"I'm fine!" she snapped, then paused. "Do you really care if I'm okay?"

Goyle shuffled his feet a little, then mumbled, "Yeah, I guess I do."

Myrtle smiled, and pecked him on the cheek. Goyle shivered, her ghostly lips felt like a wisp of winter air against his skin. "You can come back and visit anytime you'd like," she said shyly.

"I think I'd like that," Goyle replied, still a bit flummoxed over the kiss. "I'll be seeing you, then."

"Good-bye," Myrtle said softly as Goyle slipped out of the bathroom into the moonlit corridor.