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Story of Her Life	By : Nikkilicious Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 2779 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I did not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Story of Her Life
- 1
AN: Hey all! This
was a story written for a fic fest on livejournal. :D Thank you to everyone who
helped out with it. And thanks to my prompter! I was
incredibly excited to try out this pairing. The couple definitely intrigued me
and I absolutely loved writing this. Characterizing Tom Riddle and Myrtle is
incredibly difficult but I�m so glad I took on the challenge! Haha. So here it
is and I really hope my recipient likes it! And just a warning, this is dark.
Thanks to my awesome possum step-in beta: angelmischa. Also, credit for the
quote by Moaning Myrtle in the first italicized section belongs to J.K.
Rowling.

Enjoy!

1943.

That was the year
she died. The Muggle-born girl who nobody knew and everybody hurt. She wasn�t
ignored. No, neglect would have been a reprieve; a salvation in disguise.� Instead, she was taunted and tormented every single
day, every single moment, of her very short life.

"D'you think I
don't know what people call me behind my back? Fat Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle!
Miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle!"

She wouldn�t be
missed. But she wouldn�t be forgotten, either.

The
bell chimed as the splintered, wooden door opened, signaling a customer. Mr.
Shivs scuttled to the front of the store and smiled at the young man who
entered. He didn�t look much like his normal customers. There was a darkness,
an intensity surrounding him. His clothes were sharp and clean, impeccably
tailored. He kept his hair combed to perfection, not a strand out of place. And
his face was as pale as it was flawless.

He
looked cold and frightening, but Mr. Shivs held his smile.

�Can
I help you young man?�

The
man looked at him and shook his head politely before starting down the first
isle of rickety shelves. Mr. Shivs nodded and stood at the counter but his eyes
never left the stranger strolling through his shop. He didn�t look right. Not
right at all. It was almost as if he were from another world altogether. There
was a sense about him, about the man. Something truly� evil.

He
lost himself in his thoughts and the second he blinked, the man was standing in
front of him, item in hand. They were eye to eye but there was no comparison,
no equality.

�Find
everything alright?� Mr. Shivs asked courteously.

�Yes
sir, I did.�

He
passed the small, leather bound book over and Mr. Shivs held it in his hands a
moment. He stared at the diary, unable to look away. For some reason, he
couldn�t seem to move his hands. It was like there was a weight in his finger
tips, trickling all the way down to his wrists, immobilizing him. It was an
omen, he was certain. But for what?

�Is
something wrong?�

Mr.
Shivs snapped to attention, his blue eyes wide. He cleared his throat
embarrassedly and began jotting down the price.

�Oh
no, sorry. This will be all then?�

�Yes
sir.�

�You
don�t look like you�re from around here. What�s your name?�

The
man stared at him, his mouth relaxed.

�I�m
not from around here.� He said ominously.

Mr.
Shivs nodded and packaged the diary, his hands shaking the entire time. He
couldn�t explain his powerful reaction to the man but he couldn�t deny it
either. Danger seeped from his every poor and his aura screamed agony.

Mr.
Shivs felt the most peculiar urge to refuse him the diary.

But
he couldn�t. He needed the sale far too much. Times were slow, money was
scarce. His shop was just one of many rubbish stores along the poor streets of
London and his wife needed to eat.

�Here
you are. Take care of it now, it�s quite nice.� Mr. Shivs handed the package to
the young man. He was rewarded with a small smile, one that was meant to charm
and tantalize.

�Thank
you.� The young man started to walk away, his gait strong, sure, and confident.

�Wait!�
Mr. Shivs demanded suddenly. �I didn�t hear your name.�

A
suspicious smirk was drawn from the man�s lips and it was so disturbing it
caused Mr. Shivs to stagger backwards. The expression was beautiful and
glorious� and sickening.

�Tom
Riddle.�

And
then he was gone with a chime of the bell.

The
halls were quiet for the most part, all the students in their beds. Curfew had
passed, just barely, and the castle was ready to sleep. The prefects started
their rounds, the professors locked up their classrooms.

Myrtle
walked as swiftly and softly as she could, making every attempt to stay in the
shadows. She�d dozed off again in the library. All that quiet chaos, all those
books. They put her to sleep every time. There was a distinct comfortableness
about sitting in a desk, papers strewn across the top, the only light coming
from a barely lit lantern.

The
setting was too comfortable, apparently.

Her
shoes hardly made a sound against the stone floor as she moved. Sneaking around
past bedtime wasn�t something she liked to do. She was a rule follower, for the
most part. Not like some. Some of her fellow classmates, they weren�t any bit
of decent. Staying out late, skiving on classes, bullying others�

That
was the worst of it. The teasing and laughing. It hurt. She knew what they said
about her, what they thought. All of them.

Myrtle
didn�t have one single friend.

It
was her sigh of hopelessness that captured the unwanted attention of two sixth
years around the corner.

�What
was that?� A girl whispered.

Myrtle
froze in place, her body pressed to the wall.

�I
don�t know. Ignore it.�

�No,
stop, I definitely heard something. It could be a prefect!�

�I�m
sure it�s no one.�

No
one� right.

�But
what if it is?!�

The
whispering was getting louder� closer� right on top of her.

�See,
I told you it was no one.�

A
bright white light shined suddenly and she cringed away from it, melding into
the brick wall behind her. Her eyes were closed but even then, she could see
the light trying to filter through her lids. She could feel it on her skin like
it was poison, soaking into her flesh and eating away at her bones. The light
was bad, very, very bad.

�You�re
right. Miserable Myrtle is absolutely no one.� There was laughter and Myrtle
finally blinked open her eyes. A boy and girl stood in front of her, wands
alight and pointing. They were in her year, she knew, but they were nameless.
Everyone was, except for herself. A true irony in her opinion considering she
was seen as anything but human.

�What
are you doing out Myrtle? Shouldn�t you be locked in your cage?� The boy said,
cruelly. The girl, brunette and beautiful, giggled and clutched his arm.

�Oh,
Staleton, don�t be mean. Maybe she had the same idea we did.�

�Rubbish,�
he scoffed. �Myrtle sneaking out of bed to meet someone for a good snog? It�s
absurd. Who would touch her? She�s probably infested with disease. Look at her.
She�s disgusting!�

More
laughter rang tauntingly in her ears. It was like a song; one that children
danced to on a hot summer day, outside in the sun, with the wind blowing
through their dresses and ruffling their hair. She could picture the smiles,
the joy. Her stomach rolled.

�Oh
look, she�s crying!� The girl exclaimed excitedly.

Myrtle
felt the tears, hot and wet, rolling down her cheeks. They were nothing new. The
days were long and painful and they blurred together into one big flood of
salty liquid, pouring from her dull, glass covered eyes.

�Stop
it! It�s not funny.� She screamed at them. Her outburst only made them laugh
harder.

She
didn�t understand how people could enjoy humiliating one another. To cause
another person pain seemed horrifying and heartbreaking, an action ridden with
guilt and shame. But it happened so much. Too much. All throughout history, all
throughout the world. And she still did not understand.

�What�s
wrong, Myrtle? Did you finally realize how fat you are? How hideous? It�s
alright, I�m sure there are spells that could take care of that for you.� The
boy, Staleton, said, holding his stomach from the chuckles.

�Yes,
like one to hang herself.�

They
howled.

Myrtle
couldn�t breathe. Her lungs were tight and her throat constricted. Try as she
might, she couldn�t seem to pull in any air.

Would
suffocating hurt? There would be panic to be sure, a natural reaction she knew.
But would there be pain? Once the fear was taken out of the equation, the only
thing left would be knowledge. Knowledge of impending death and the acceptance
of it. The world would get blurry around her, the colors would start to die.
She�d slowly loose feeling in her body. No more hurt, no more sorrow. And then,
almost too quickly, she�d be gone. Sleepiness would take over and she�d give
in. She�d just float away.

�What
is going on?�

The
imposing figure walked smoothly down the hall towards them. Myrtle couldn�t see
him clearly, her tears burning her eyeballs and making her vision fuzzy. The
two in front of her jumped at his voice, their expressions going slack.

�Oh,
um, nothing. We weren�t doing anything.� The girl denied quickly.

�Yes,
we were just heading up to are tower. Isn�t that right Emily?�

He
was a prefect. She could see him clearly now, his badge gleaming in the wand
light. His hair was black and sleek, same as his clothing. And she didn�t need
to see his face to deduce exactly who he was.

Tom
Riddle.

He
was well known throughout the school. One of the top students, earning the
highest scores and winning many awards. She�d never actually met him before,
only seen him around. But he wasn�t someone a person could miss easily.

�Are
you hurting her?�

The
two students looked at her, their eyes wide. They shook their heads adamantly
and lied, lied, lied.

�No,
sir, of course not-

�She
hurt herself. Stumbled in the dark and stubbed her toe on the wall-

�We
were only trying to help, you see-

�She
screamed so loud, we wanted to check it out-

�Enough.�

His
tone made them cease instantly with their poor excuses. He stared them, his
demeanor screaming authority.

�Twenty
points from both of you for being out past curfew and bullying another student.
And I will be sure to speak to your head of house about this incident.�

The
two glared daggers at him but didn�t say another word. They were dismissed and
as quickly as they could, they left. Myrtle envied them. She wanted to escape
as well. Their teasing seemed almost pleasant compared to being in the presence
of Tom.

�You
are out of your dormitory.�

�I
know, I�m sorry.� She mumbled, standing straight and adjusting her glasses. She
wiped the tear streaks from her face and glanced around. Everything was dark.
�I fell asleep in the library. I was heading to bed but I just had to use the
loo. Then those two came upon me.�

He
looked her over and she felt pinned under his scrutinizing gaze. And it was
scrutinizing, despite his completely neutral expression. She didn�t know why
she could tell, but she could.

�Alright,
off to bed then.� He said simply.

She
nodded but didn�t move right away. Her eyes focused in on him like he was a
magnet. He�d been completely polite and cordial, only doing his duties, but
there was something sincerely sinister about Tom Riddle. She couldn�t pinpoint
it but as she looked at his black hair and deep eyes, his handsome jaw line and
aristocratic bone structure, she knew it was a mask. Everything about him was
dark and dangerous and the truth was hiding, just behind the glass.

The
idea didn�t frighten her as much as it should have.

She
scurried off and did not look back but the feel of his eyes on her never went
away, not even in the morning.

Lunch
was always uncomfortable. Her housemates isolated her most of the time and the
rest of it they spent jesting about her repulsiveness. It was okay. She
wouldn�t let herself hear them in the Great Hall. The noise was like static,
filtering everything out so it was nothing at all. So why was it uncomfortable?
Because even if she couldn�t hear what they were saying, she could still see
their actions. It was never obvious. Ravenclaws weren�t known for their
immature, malicious ways. That was reserved for the Gryffindors. But maybe she
was just special. She always noticed the looks, the grimaces.

Sometimes,
when she�d eat, they�d watch every time she took a bite and then they�d blow up
their cheeks and spread their arms out like an expanding balloon.

Glancing
downward, Myrtle noticed a tear drop fall into her goblet. She took a drink.

When
she looked back up again, her eyes met his. He was surrounded by people but it was
like he didn�t see them at all. Like he was on a throne, fifty feet in the air
above everyone else. He was a king.

Her
imagination wasn�t far off.

He
only gazed at her, his face as relaxed and honest looking as it always was.
Something about him made her nervous. She had no idea what to expect with him.

The
pressure in the room became too much and she had to flee. The sobbing noises
she made as she left went unheard by her own ears.

He
watched her go, black hair and blue ribbons flowing behind her. Her face was
ugly and splotchy from crying and her robes made her look round and lumpy. She
was a bruise. A bruised bruise, beautiful and swollen. One light press and the
pain would shoot straight through�

Moaning
Myrtle was what they�d deemed her. And he knew of her. She was born of dirty
blood and the muggles obviously had no care for her.

She
was intelligent, the hat judging it true.

She
was also alone. Completely, truly, utterly alone.

Weren�t
they all?

His
mind reeled with thoughts, ideas, plans, and his eyes, they stayed glued to the
double doors she�d exited from. She was gone but he could still see her. Always
in his head.

He
had a lot to do.

She
was screaming and wailing. The students standing outside of the lavatory stared
at the door uncertainly. Myrtle could be heard all the way down the hall but
she refused to acknowledge them when they called to her.

�Maybe
we should go in. She could seriously be hurt.�

�Don�t
be stupid Meredith, she isn�t hurt. She is pitiful. And if she doesn�t quit
that howling soon, I�m going to go in there and make her. I really have to use
the loo.�

�The
door isn�t cursed and I�m sure she wouldn�t do anything if you went in. Except,
perhaps, scream louder.�

�Exactly!
And I won�t stand for it. She�s annoying enough as it is.�

�MYRTLE!
ARE YOU OKAY?!�

�Meredith!�

�What?
She could really be hurt.�

The
three girls huddled together and continued to stare at the door. They didn�t
feel him approach until he was right at their backs.

�Are
you going in?�

They
jumped and turned to face him. Tom Riddle loomed like sin over a saint. The
girls were quiet for only a moment before they rushed right into it.

�Of
course not. We�re not taking a chance of her loosing it on us. She�s been in
there for ten minutes, her moaning only getting worse.�

�She�s
obviously upset and she won�t say anything to us.�

�I
don�t think anything is wrong, this isn�t unlike her. Myrtle has always overreacted.
She is an emotional person.�

�I
have to use the loo!�

�Do
you think you could go and see if she is alright.�

�Meredith!�

Tom
held up his hand. He stared past the girls� heads and looked at the heavy wooden
door. The noise seeped through the cracks and fought against the stale air. It
was harsh and unpleasant, a cacophony of disgusting sadness.

He
stepped forward and went for the door. The whispers behind him made him pause.

�I�m
a Prefect, I�ll take care of this. The loo on the first floor is open again.
You can use that one.�

The
girls rushed off and Tom opened the door. The high-pitched squeals flooded his
eardrums and his eyes sought out the source.

Myrtle
sat on the floor in one of the stalls. He could see her feet sticking out of
the bottom, her shoes filthy and worn.

�Whoever
is there, go away! This is the lavatory! I want to be alooooooooahhhhhhh.� He
barely made out her words through all of the sobbing but once he had, he ignore
them. With a lazy flick of his wand, the stall door opened and Myrtle was
revealed, a tattered mess on the floor.

�I
said-�

She
stopped when their gazes met. Snot ran down her face and lips, her eyes were
bloodshot. Her ghastly appearance was nothing beyond the ordinary. He flicked
his wand again to clean her up.

�Are
you alright?�

The
words came out of his mouth, his voice deceptively sympathetic, but she had the
strangest feeling that he didn�t care at all. That he found pleasure in her
pain. But if that was true, he did well at hiding it. She�d never seen him be
anything but cordial and professional, the true picture of a Head Boy. He�d be
that one day, she knew.

�I
flushed it down the toilet.� She whispered, her voice almost giggly despite her
broken appearance.

�I�ll
report them if you�d like.� He assured her like the good boy he was.

�Who?�

�The
ones who teased you.�

�Everyone
teases me. Didn�t you know? I had to flush it because it will be safer.�

Tom
folded his hands in front of him, his wand safely in his pocket. Myrtle stood
and fluttered around, rolling her head on the wall of the loo as she glided
across the room. Her tears were gone, almost as if they�d never been there.

�Oh,
poor thing.� She whispered as she draped and dragged the toilet paper she was
clutching. The roll unraveled quickly, much like her mind. He watched as she
moved, heavy with sorrow, light with insanity.

�Yes,
poor thing.� He agreed.

Tom
stood there a moment and watched the girl. Studied her.

�Down,
down, down it went. Swirling water just taking it away.�

�Taking
what?�

Myrtle
pivoted on her foot and came face to handsome face with him. She hadn�t heard
him move but there he was, only an inch away. The air around them was cold but
electric and her veins tingled at his nearness. People never came near her. Not
as close as he was, anyway.

�The
sun.�

She
did not make sense but he didn�t expect her to. He simply smiled at her and
she, tentatively, smiled back.

It
was all he needed.

�Good
day Myrtle.�

And
then he was gone, with a ripple of his robes.

The
bathroom was her haven. It held no comfort, no kind words, no safety. But it
was familiar and sturdy and it was enough.

He
continued to trespass, encroaching on her home. He decimated it with his
footsteps, muddled it with his stare. Even his scent ruined it. And yet, she
looked forward to his arrival all the same.

They
talked sometimes. About what, she wasn�t sure. School, professors, the grounds.
He understood her and even if he didn�t he still let her talk.

She
was anxious when he was around. Her body was tense like it was waiting for him
to attack. And he would. She just knew it. Not like the others. His attack
would be of a different kind. He wasn�t a good boy, not like they made him out
to be. She saw it in his eyes. The predator rested just beneath the flawless
skin of the aristocrat.

But
she still let him come and still let him be. For weeks.

And
then one day, it was different.

He
got closer and closer and closer. And then they were touching.

�Myrtle.�
He said as he stroked her cheek. She stared at him, eyes wide and unblinking.
�You�re smart. But not smart enough.� His breath skimmed across her skin and
she could smell the mint he had eaten. �Do you want to know why?�

She
was backed into the wall, the toilet on her right, the stall door slowly
shutting on her left. It was moving on its own and locking, too.

�Because
of your emotions. They interfere, you see. They make you weak and distracted.�

He
ran his nose the length of her cheek, inhaling deeply. Myrtle swallowed the
large ball in her throat. The world was dizzying and unbalanced and she had
nothing to hold onto except for him. So that was what she did. Her hands came
up and grabbed his shoulders. He chuckled and leaned in closer so that they
touched. All of them. She was trapped in his cage.

His
fingers danced across her collar bone and it felt as if they were inside of her
skin, even though her shirt had her completely covered.

�Moaning
Myrtle�.� He whispered huskily, �I don�t believe I�ve heard you moan yet. Not
the way I want you to.�

She
should have felt fear and maybe part of her did. But mostly, she was drawn to him.
Her stomach was in knots and she wanted to vomit. Her head was light. Too light
to be held up so she let it fall back. It hit the wall with a thunk. Didn�t
that suggest heaviness?

He
undid the first few buttons of her school shirt. Slow and easy, one at a time.
Her breath came out shaky and his came out smooth. There was a glint in his
eyes. More feeling in them than she�d ever seen him have.

�You
like me.� She didn�t actually think he liked her. There wasn�t anybody who
liked poor, useless Myrtle. And there certainly wasn�t anybody who found her
attractive. But the look he was giving her suggested that maybe he did like
what was happening. With her.

It
didn�t make any sense, it never made any sense.

He
smirked at her and let his eyes drift almost lovingly down her neck like a
caress. Her cleavage was in view and he bent his head. His tongue was hot where
his fingers were cold and he licked her. He licked her all the way up, from her
breasts, along her collar, up her neck and to her chin. She had to lift her
head to allow him a full sweep. It felt different. A good different.

�No
one likes you.�

She
shuddered at his cruel words. Because they were true and because he said them
so sensually. Her reaction seemed to effect him because he hissed at her and
placed his forehead against her own.

Then
he kissed her. At first, their lips barely touched and she could tasted his
breath on her tongue. Her heart hammered in her chest.

Now
she was scared.

He
licked her partly open lips, sucked them into his mouth. Then he closed over
her and took her breath away, sucking it into his own lungs. His teeth scraped
across hers as he devoured her whole. Myrtle had never been kissed before.
Never.

Was
this what it was like? To have someone want you? Except, she didn�t think he
wanted her. It wasn�t an urge or a hunger needing to be fed. It was just
natural. Like the moon. It was always there, in the sky. It just couldn�t be
seen during the day with all the sunlight.

There
was so much in the kiss that when he finally parted, she still didn�t take in
air. It was too hard and too easy and she wasn�t sure if she wanted to or not.

His
hands skimmed over her belly and hips. It was funny how she could feel the
disgust coming off of him and still notice his arousal pressed into her
abdomen. So many contradictions.

�You�re
never getting away Myrtle.� She felt him slide her robes up her legs, the
fabric scratching against her sensitive skin. �So repugnant, so hideous.� He
buried his face in her neck and, as if she couldn�t help herself, she opened to
him. �And yet so� passionate.�

When
he grabbed her wrists off his shoulders and slammed them to her sides, she
finally moaned. He responded by kissing her again, groaning into her mouth.

Why
was she letting him do this to her? Because he felt so nice. There was so much
darkness, so much pain, all of the time. It came at her, hit after hit, like
she was a massive black hole sucking it all in. But she couldn�t be filled
anymore. And he was taking it from her. Sharing it with her. He was everything
she was not.

And
she was so lonely.

�I�m
going to tell the professors. I�m going to scream.� She said, giggling madly
when his hair tickled her ear. He slammed her back, knocking her head into the
wood. His body pressed so hard into hers, she felt his skin melded, sewn,
attached to her own flesh.

�Yes,
scream for me.� He ferociously ripped her shirt off of her shoulder and sucked
harshly on the skin there. The tightening from the suction of his mouth spread
across her entire body, making her weak and strained. �I want to hear it.�

Her
body wasn�t sure how to respond to his attentions. It recognized danger when it
encountered it. Her heart beat wildly, her breath came rapidly, her palms were
sweating profusely. But those were also signs of arousal. She was nervous, she
was frightened, she was filled with desire.

He
palmed her breasts, squeezed and rolled them in his perfectly manicured hands.
Her nipples were sharp and the sensations that shot through her were completely
new and mysterious. She tried to touch him again but he forced her arms above
her head and held onto them with one hand. When he kissed her once more, all
she could do was whimper and cry and grind her pelvis against his. Her hands balled
into tight little fists, her knuckles going stark white.

�You
want this, don�t you?� He asked as he tore open the rest of her shirt. �I have
power over you, control, and you want this because I want you to want it.�

She
tossed her head from side to side and when his hot mouth closed over her
breast, she screeched. His sucking was just as harsh as it had been on her
shoulder. His teeth closed in around her nipple and he laughed at her
struggling, wordless pleas.

The
next breast go the same attention and again, she gave a shriek. There was
delight and pain and curiosity and fear. She should call for help. She should
let him continue.

She
wasn�t sure what she should do.

Finally,
he let her hands fall and she placed them on his arms, her fingers digging into
his robes.

�Why
are you doing this?� Her voice was scratchy like she was sick.

�Because
it�s what you deserve.�

His
words only confused her more. What part did she deserve? There were so many
emotions flowing through her, she couldn�t pick out his exact meaning. Maybe
all of it.

His
stood back from her and she tensed against the wall. Without him there to hold
her up, she felt like someone had cast a weight charm on her to make her body
feel like it was filled with lead.

There
still wasn�t a hair out of place. The only sign of his stimulated state was
slightly pink cheeks and tented trousers. Her eyes were glued to his bottom
half. She knew what was hiding beneath the fabric, straining to get out. She�d
studied the human body and the sexual organs. But she had never seen one in
real life. Not a man�s, anyway. When she was ten, she walked in on her cousin
using the loo once. She remembered it clearly. Small, squishy, deep in color.

She
hadn�t been too impressed with it.

But
his was going to be far more than that, she could tell. It made her gut clench.

He
said something and she had no idea what but it commanded her attention and she
raised her eyes. He smiled sinisterly at her and slowly opened his robes. He
did not remove them, just opened them. Tom Riddle was a god standing before
her; terrifying and glorious. His fingers found his zipper and like the hiss
from a snake, he undid his pants.

Before
she could catch a glimpse, he was on her again. She felt him stroke her fleshy thigh,
felt him push her skirt up farther.

�No�
yes��

Tears
leaked from her eyes, her body�s way of dealing with the conflictions. When his
fingers delved into her private area, her true core, they came out soaking wet.

He
pushed them in again. And she shuddered.

�See?
You couldn�t wait for this, could you? You are so filthy.� His whispering words
stayed low, easy, and his fingers teased her with a steady pace, in and out, in
and out. �But don�t worry Myrtle. You aren�t going to have to live like this
much longer. No, no,� he cooed in her ear as he fucked her with his hand, �you
are meant for something very special.�

His
thumb briefly brushed her clit and when she came, she saw the stars, saw the
colors, saw the mystical universe flashing before her very eyes. And she did
moan. Screamed in fact. He liked it, she knew. And the irony of it was, even if
her screams had been from pain and torment and fear, no one would know. And no
one would come. She was Moaning Myrtle. She could wail all day long and they
wouldn�t bat an eye.

It
was just who she was.

He
pulled down her knickers and tossed them to the side. Then he hoisted her up.
His fingers gripped her waist and she wrapped her arms around his neck. It was
the closest thing to a hug she could ever remember having�

And
then he slid inside of her. Her barrier screamed at him to stop but he joyfully
tore through, causing another scream to rip through her throat. He thrust into
her quickly, each stroke more forceful than the next. Reaching between them, he
let his fingers dance across her nether lips. Her body ached for something.
Something in the distance but it was getting closer. The light�

When
he brought his fingers up, they were dripping with her juices and streaked with
blood. Not much. But it was there. Red, shiny, and so very real.

He
wiped it on her neck. And then he growled at her right before he bent to lick
it off. His cringing didn�t seem to be from pleasure but she must have been
wrong because he only pounded inside of her harder.

The
stall of the toilet was creaking from their movements and she knew it wasn�t
very sturdy anymore. He moved them then, placing her on the toilet, never
separating from her body.

She
could feel her skirt getting soaked in the water, the metal pipes digging into
her back. But she didn�t quite care much. His thrusting was getting better and
better. He pulled and pushed at her, his words flowing like a river. She was
adjusted on the porcelain seat, just for a split second, before he went at her
again, the new angle making them both groan.

Her
eyes had been closed but when she did finally opened them, he was looking
straight at her. His smile was sick, a twisted sneer of the lips, and she
wanted to flinch away. But she couldn�t. He had her pinned down, had her whirling
with sensations.

Wasn�t
it funny that there was no more pain? No more, no more. Only intense pressure
building and forming into a pleasurable climax just waiting to burst. She could
feel it in her abdomen.

She
reached up, almost unconscious of her own actions, and she stroked his hair,
down to his jaw. He grinned like a mad man. Grinned, kissed her, and yelled in
her face. Maybe it was a laugh.

�When
this is over, you�ll not think of anything but me. Me and my power. My
command.�

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

That
was how many more strokes it took. And then she toppled. Over the very pretty
edge into the very pretty water. Except the water was jelly and she could
breathe just fine. And she was comfortable. It was like she was in a bed; warm,
safe, and too content to wiggle her way out.

His
body stiffened above her and his breath came fast in her ear. She couldn�t feel
it but she knew he had come.

They
eased themselves out of oblivion in seconds. And then he stood. She finally caught
a glimpse of his cock. It was softening, dark purple with smears of her blood
decorating the base. He adjusted his clothing, put himself away.

He
looked beautiful.

She
herself looked horrible, she knew. Her glasses were askew, her hair was a mess.
He�d torn out her ribbon, she could see it on the floor. Slowly, she got up as
well.

He
stood there in front of her, his body easily in reach.

And
then he placed his hand on her cheek. The stroke was gentle, smooth, and his
fingers trailed downward. Then he cupped her throat.

�Good
day Myrtle.�

That
was it. He was gone.

She
sat on the toilet in her stall, crying crystal tears. There were only sniffles
now, though.

That
Olive Hornby girl had been teasing her again.

It
was nothing new but it still hurt. She�d hoped that pain would be like
everything else. Over time, it would just dull. That wasn�t the case.

She
supposed she shouldn�t complain, though. The past few weeks had been� quiet.
Unusually quiet. People had started ignoring her and she wasn�t certain why
but, whatever the reason, she was grateful. So the slight teasing from Hornby
about her weight was nothing.

With
that realization, she suddenly felt� lighter.

Then�

Her
head snapped.

There
was a sound. A voice. Someone was talking. It sounded like a boy. In the girls
lavatory? Well that wasn�t right.

Standing
up, Myrtle reached for the stall door. She froze when her fingers touched the
handle. There was something warm and tingly making its way up her spine,
telling her not to go. Warning her, almost.

She
ignored it.

Opening
the door, she opened her mouth to tell the boy to leave the girl�s bathroom but
the words caught in her throat. There was no boy. There was no sound.

There
was no feeling.

There
was only her and the creature.

It
looked like a snake, but far bigger. And its eyes were glowing. That was her
last thought before she fell to the ground.

There
was pain and cold. The tile was solid beneath her but she couldn�t feel it. She
worried the snake would try to eat her but it wasn�t there anymore. Not that
she could tell, though she was having trouble moving her head to look and see.

The
creaking of the door caught her attention. Footsteps fell on the ground. And
then he was there, kneeling beside her, looking as perfect as ever.

Tom.

Myrtle
wanted to say something but she couldn�t speak. Her throat was thick and she
attempted to swallow but it was so difficult, she simply gave up. She couldn�t
move her arms or legs, couldn�t ask for help.

�Myrtle.�
He cooed as he leaned over her body. �You are being bestowed a great honor.
Death. It will mean so much. More than your life ever would have.�

She
was an image, laying there on the ground. Her skin was pasty white and
glistening with sweat. Her eyes were wide, frightened, and tears leaked out of
them. And she fought to breathe, though it was getting harder.

�With
your death, your dirty blood, salvation will come.� She met his gaze and her
entire body convulsed. This was wrong. So very wrong. She didn�t understand
what was happening or why but he was telling her she was dying.

Dying.

�You
are the start of my greatest work.�

Things
were getting faint. Dark shadows slowly began to creep along the corner of her sight
like a fog rolling onto land. But she still saw his hand move. He reached into
his robes, slowly, deliberately. It was like he wanted her to see. And then he
pulled out a book. A small, leather-bound book.

�Don�t
worry, it will all be over very soon. The pain has already started to ease,
hasn�t it Myrtle?�

It
had.

�I
am going to save you. I am going to make your existence mean something.� He
spoke so sweetly that it made her sick. Her stomach became heavy and the vomit
tried to come up. But it couldn�t. Her body had stopped.

This
was it. She just knew it.

Darkness
covered her like a blanket. And it was warm. So very warm. There was a humming
inside of her, a weak vibration traveling through her veins. Suddenly, she was
tired. More tired than she�d ever been in her entire life. Tom�s outline became
too blurry to make out and she was too exhausted to try. And then just black.
She wasn�t sure if her eyes had closed or not but she wanted them to.

The
fear clawed at the back of her mind but it wasn�t long before it faded. Just
like she was doing.

Her
body was numb, from her toes to her head. There were no more tears, no more
screams. Just no more.

And
then she was gone.

"You
will hear many of his Death Eaters claiming that they are in his confidence,
that they alone are close to him, even understand him. They are deluded. Lord
Voldemort has never had a friend, nor do I believe that he has ever wanted
one."

--
Albus Dumbledore
- 1
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Story of Her Life