|New fic... Tom Riddle/Moaning Myrtle
||[Dec. 3rd, 2008|12:27 pm]
- SLYTHERIN HAUS -
Hey there! This is a new fic I wrote for the tnl_first_time Fest! :D It was great fun and I definitely tried something new. I hope you enjoy it!
Title: Story of Her Life
Summary: In the year 1943 Tom Riddle committed his first murder. She wasn‘t yet sixteen years old. “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.”
Characters: Tom Riddle, Moaning Myrtle
Warnings/Author's note: Hey all! 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.
Prompter's name and original prompt:
Prompt by: softobsidian74
Ships: Fred/Angelina; Crabbe/Goyle/Draco; Draco/Ginny; Harry/Cho; Tom/Moaning Myrtle (pre-death); Dean/Ginny
Scenario: First time exploration, first time sex (Genre: first time)
Things wanted: First time sex; bonus for bdsm especially bondage and dirty talking
Things NOT wanted: no kids, no OOC characters, everyone should be in character
Length: drabble, one shot long or short, or a chaptered fic
Rating: R or NC-17
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?”
“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.
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.”
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.
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-
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?!”
“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.”
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.
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.
“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.”
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.
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 got he 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.
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.”
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.
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.
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.
“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?”
“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