"Harry, what are you thinking about?"
It was Moaning Myrtle. Myrtle had long ago left the U-bend in one of the toilets in the girl's bathroom, but nobody had really noticed until recently, when the newest Hogwarts class had discovered this 'new bathroom' that nobody ever used. With the Basilisk gone, and the doorway to the Chamber of Secrets sealed, it was just like any other girl's bathroom. Only a few, like Hermione, remembered seeing Moaning Myrtle there. Many even began to believe she didn't even exist.
"Oh, hi Myrtle," Harry replied, nonchalantly. Myrtle's help during the Triwizard Tournament had been invaluable, but lately, Harry was almost sorry to see her. Still, it was not in Harry's nature to be rude, especially because he truly felt sorry for Myrtle. Like his parents, and even Sirius, Myrtle had been killed because of Voldemort.
"You seem awfully quiet today, Harry."
"Yeah, well, I've had a lot on my mind. Sirius, 'Advanced Potions' with Snape, more Occlumency lessons, and, well, lots of things."
They were alone in the Gryffindor Common Room. No one else was there, what with Quidditch practice, and Hermione's extra-heavy work load this term. Harry thought that maybe Myrtle would stay with the Ravenclaws, since she was a Ravenclaw, but she preferred to stay in the Gryffindor tower. She preferred staying with Harry. After all, Harry had avenged her, by killing the Basilisk, and by defeating Voldemort, and uncovering the Chamber of Secrets. And Myrtle had helped Harry with the Triwizard Tournament. Of course she wanted to be with Harry.
But Harry didn't really want Myrtle to be with him.
Oh, sure, there were times when Myrtle could be helpful. She told Harry about Snape's surprise exam last week. And then she tried to kiss him on the cheek, but it didn't work out very well. Harry felt a cold chill, and Myrtle had almost passed through him. That was an experience that Harry almost regretted, but it was strangely comforting, having Myrtle care so much about him.
Harry's 6th year had begun well. Even with the war and all, things were beginning to look much brighter from Harry's perspective. Luna had written him several times during the summer, though Harry only replied once, and his time at The Burrow had been happy, relaxing, and memorable. Ron and Hermione got over their differences about Viktor, particularly when Viktor came to visit, bringing Fleur Delacour with him. It was a very happy reunion for them all. Fleur had entered the Madame LeFevre's School of Magical Remedies, to train as a Healer, and after her first year, all she could think about was vacationing abroad. Viktor had been in Paris for a Quidditch match, and they met up with one another and planned on a visit to England. And Ron and Hermione were both delighted to see them. It was happy times, good memories, and the rivalries of the past were over.
Harry, Hermione, and Ron had also visited Luna Lovegood, and met Luna's father. Hermione's opinion of 'The Quibbler' notwithstanding, she found Mr. Lovegood to be an intelligent, inquisitive, and generally honest person. But of course, his persistence on the importance of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks in the face of the war against the Death Eaters kept Hermione sitting on needles the entire time.
Luna had (in many ways) taken over the responsibilities of the home, after her mother died. But Mr. Lovegood was no housekeeper, and domestic skills were hard to pick up at such a young age, and Luna's taste in decorating (and general lack of cooking and cleaning skills) kept the mansion in a perpetual state of 'neo-post-hurricane' with a touch of 'psychadelic color mismatch' (though Hermione certainly appreciated that no house-elves were being exploited). And Luna's tendency to place Harry in her close proximity was nearly embarassing for everyone, except Luna's father, who surprisingly didn't seem to notice.
Luna kept her attention entirely on Harry while he was there. Sure, she tried not to show it, but both Ron and Hermione noticed immediately. Harry didn't, of course. He was still focusing on the death of Sirius, and had no room for anyone else in his life at the moment. But Luna was attracted to this sort of thing. Her tastes were always a bit peculiar. And she had a natural liking for anything unusual, and for people who wanted to be alone.
And so the friendship between Luna and Harry slowly grew, without either one really noticing, as Luna became stranger than usual, yet more comfortable, in Harry's presence, and Harry began to be more of a recluse, more and more likely to be by himself at the oddest of times. Luna would frequently look for him, and more often than not she would find him. And nobody else really knew what happened when she did find him, but it was rumored that they were romantically involved. And Harry never confirmed it, though he didn't deny it, either.
Harry treasured the birthday present that Luna had given him that summer. It was the most bizarre-looking example of artwork anyone had ever seen. Luna had seen it during her trip with her father looking for Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, and had insisted on getting it for Harry's birthday. Nobody could figure out what it was, but it kept vigil at Harry's bedside, occasionally doubling as a rack for Harry's wizard cloak. It was much too large to fit anywhere else, anyway. Nobody was really sure what it was, but Dean had commented that it looked like a phallus. Neville refused to look at it at all, after becoming a bit red faced the first time.
Dinner that evening was somewhat uneventful, except when Luna made her daily appearance at the Gryffindor table. She always came by to talk to everyone there, saying that she had little in common with the other Ravenclaws, but of course her attention was fixed on Harry. And of course, Harry's attention was fixed on nothing at all.
And Myrtle saw this happen, every day, from the rafters, carefully not being noticed by anyone.
One evening Harry was awakened by a cold sweat, from a very unusual dream. He had been falling, backwards, down a long shaft, which seemed to take forever, and the light from the opening above him was slowly, slowly, fading away. Myrtle was standing there staring at him, while he had been asleep. Harry put on his glasses, saw it was Myrtle. "Myrtle, have you been staring at me the whole time?"
"Harry... are you mad at me?"
"Well, I don't know, maybe a little. NO, Myrtle, don't start crying. Please, I don't want you to be upset."
Myrtle was close to tears again, something that always happened too easily. It was worse when she was in the girl's bathroom, because whenever she cried about Harry, the toilets would erupt, along with their most recent contents. Myrtle's anger was explosive, to say the least, and she seemed to want the entire world to know about it, like a child having a tantrum.
"You just don't want to clean up the mess again," griped Myrtle.
"No, really, that's not it. Honest," Harry only lied slightly. He did care about Myrtle. But the messes her anger created smelled of the sewer she used to live in. So in a way, Myrtle had already figured Harry out.
"Myrtle, if you want, you can stay here while I sleep. I don't mind, really I don't." Some things were less unpleasant than others, Harry reminded himself.
"Really Harry? Thank you!" Myrtle wanted to kiss him again, but then Harry closed his eyes and went back to sleep.
Myrtle stayed there the entire night, until the others began stirring from their sleep. Then she left, to wherever it was she stayed hidden in the Gryffindor tower. Harry got up, put his glasses on, looked around, and (not seeing Myrtle) put his clothes on and went down into the Common Room.
Everyone was laughing as Harry walked downstairs. Harry's eyes and glasses were still fuzzy, so he took his glasses off, cleaned them well with his wizard robe, and put them back on. And then he wanted to do it again, just to make sure that what he saw was really there.
A large number of items had been re-arranged in the room, and up near the ceiling, a large heart had been painted with what could only be guessed, but it had a dark unpleasant color to it. Inside the heart, MM + HP. Harry went bright red, and those who saw couldn't stop laughing for several minutes.
Harry knew that MM didn't standing for 'Moaning Myrtle', because Harry had heard that Myrtle got her nickname before she had died. It was a play on her real name, which apparently started with 'M', but Myrtle never told anyone what it was. And Harry hadn't wanted to look over any of the class rosters from the time when Tom Riddle was there. But the coincidence of 'MM' and 'HP', combined with the somewhat frequent mention of the sightings of Myrtle in connection with Harry, just left everyone rolling on the floor in hysterical laughter, for the obvious reasons.
And in Snape's Advanced Potions class, it couldn't have been worse. "Hey, Potty, you find any girlfriends in the bathroom lately? Do they write you love notes in 'poo'?" The other Slytherins in the class gave Harry the Bronx Cheer, but of course Crabbe and Goyle weren't there. Their scores had been too low on the O.W.L.s.
Harry couldn't stand it any more. "Cut it, Malfoy. Just because you're father's a total arse, doesn't mean you have to act like you came out of it." Then Snape walked into the room, catching the latter portion of Harry's retort to Malfoy. "MISTER POTTER! I will have none of this loathsome talk in my class." Then, with an unusually high level of malice, Snape added "And anyway, you're not one to speak about other people's parentage." It was all Harry could do to avoid doing something rash. So instead, he spent the remainder of the class rehearsing in his mind the various curses he would apply to Malfoy, as soon as he had a chance.
Myrtle beat him to it. When Malfoy was on the loo, it blew up its contents beneath him.
Harry spent his afternoons studying in the library. Studying to be an Auror was hard work, and his classes were worse than he could have possibly imagined. It was as though his career choice doomed him to a life of constant study, with little or no time for anyone else, and the prophecy about him and Voldemort kept him even more focused on succeeding. "No wonder everyone thinks I'm a recluse," he thought. "I'm always somewhere studying, or thinking about what I've been learning, going over it in my mind." Luna even helped quiz him a couple of times, having discovered Harry's frequent use of the Room of Requirement. Harry gladly accepted the help, but shunned what appeared to be Luna's romantic interests. "I don't have time for this," he thought. "I have too much going on, and the last thing I need is someone else in my life that Voldemort can hurt to get to me." He recalled Ron's father, Sirius, his parents, even Cedric. Voldemort would hurt anyone that was in Harry's life, if he could. Maybe that's why he kept distancing himself from Ron and Hermione, he thought to himself. "No, I just have too much to do, that's all" he concluded, and went back to his studies.
Myrtle knew this. She could read Harry's thoughts on this matter, which were very strong. Voldemort couldn't hurt her, after all, since she was already dead. "I am perfect for Harry," Myrtle thought to herself. "And if Voldemort kills Harry, we'll be together forever." She blissfully thought about herself and Harry, drifting throught he halls at night, going for romantic moonlight walks on the rooftops, dancing to the music at the Deathday Party.
"But I don't want to see Harry die," Myrtle suddenly said to herself, out loud this time. "I love Harry, and Harry is nice to me, when nobody else is." She started crying, and quickly flew to the attic in the Gryffindor tower, which began to smell like a sewer from her frequent crying spells. At least in the tower she cried as quietly as she could. She didn't want to disturb her love, her reason for leaving the U-bend, her one and only Harry. She was becoming somewhat schizophrenic.
"How odd," Harry thought. He didn't know what it was, but it was like someone was watching him again. He looked around carefully, but didn't see Myrtle anywhere. Harry sighed. Myrtle could REALLY be a pain sometimes, worse than Peeves even. Harry had found the perfect place to hide and study, in the Room of Requirement. The desk and study materials that appeared there were ideal for Harry, and he could study for hours without feeling sore, or tired. And he remembered more afterwards. Then, suddenly, Luna walked in, like she often did. Luna was the only one who seemed to be able to get in while Harry was using the Room of Requirement for his studies. "Why can't I just get some time to study, things are bad enough as it is" Harry thought. "Hi Luna," he said, putting his friendliest smile on. He didn't want to offend her, after all.
"Harry, what's with Moaning Myrtle and you anyway?" she asked. "Everyone's talking about something she wrote in the Gryffindor Common Room."
"Myrtle's behaving strangely, that's for sure," replied Harry. "She was watching me when I was asleep last night, and when I woke up, she'd written that message. If she knew how much that sort of thing bothered me, you would think she'd stop. But I can't say anything like that to her, or she'll start crying again and leave pee-water all over the place."
"I've never been haunted like that before," Luna said, matter-of-factly. Then she paused for a bit, and said "Harry, people talk about us, too." At this, Harry turned a bit red. "How so?" he asked, almost afraid to hear the answer, because he already knew. "They say we're lovers, that we go somewhere to 'make out' which is why we disappear all of the time." Harry didn't know what to think at this point. His reputation was always being tarnished or ridiculed at every possible turn, and he didn't want to appear angry at Luna for saying this, because deep down he really did like her a LOT. The sudden realization that Luna had been stalking him, a bit like Myrtle even, left a panic sensation somewhere near his duodenum, and it wasn't very pleasant.
"Heh, yeah, imagine that..." Harry blundered, not sure of what to say or think any more. He had grown accustomed to talking on eggshells around Myrtle, and now he found himself doing the same thing with Luna. "I hate my life," Harry thought.
Then, suddenly, Luna threw her arms around Harry, knocking some of the books off of the study desk, and somewhat clumsily, like an oversized dog trying to sit in his lap. Harry almost fell over backwards in the chair, but some fast wand-work kept the chair balanced on its back legs for a moment, then on all fours again.
"Luna, I," Harry began, but Luna sort of snuggled up to him and he found he couldn't talk any more. Then he didn't want to talk any more.
And Myrtle was watching, from the rafters. Myrtle was PISSED.