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It has always been a place for resting and reflection.
Perhaps more about reflection as every surface seems to sheen with them. Puddles of water that snake their way across tiles. The gleam of the water faucets that stand ready to deliver scented water, bubbles, and oil. There are twinkles of light that cascade down the walls from the steam, and flashes of bright sparkles that rise from the surface of the pool.
With a twist of her flukes, the Mermaid begins the long process of brushing her hair. She was lucky, she thought fondly, that the artist that had brought her to life to watch over the ancient spring had remembered to place some Venus comb shells along the bottom of her portrait. Without them she would have perished from despair centuries earlier.
There is a long and magically binding agreement between the Mermaid and the hot spring that Helga Hufflepuff had bent to her will in the bedrock of Hogwarts. Hufflepuffs had always appreciated creature comforts, though it hadn’t taken long for the other three founders to wheedle her around until the bathroom became reserved for professors, head students, and prefects.
But the shadows always come calling.
This year the shadows are longer than they’ve ever been. Almost no students come to visit these days.
For the dark, slim shape of Death Eaters mark the halls and foul the water with their poison.
It was only after Amycus Carrow’s last, disastrous, heartwrenching visit that the Mermaid became so terrified for the one person in the castle who meant more to her than anyone else.
The girl who had never left.
It takes only a quick creak of a pipe to let her know that Myrtle is on her way.
Touching her long, luxurious tresses, the Mermaid sat herself on her rock, catching the glimmer of the artificial sun that fell upon her. Adjusting her scales to show them off to their best advantage, she arranged a blinding smile onto her face, waiting for the love of her life to splash into her life again.
Myrtle’s lithe body slipped noiselessly into the water before spouting her way into the air, giggling as she sat on the tiled edge and dangled her feet into the warm water.
The Mermaid started to call out, but stilled as she realized that her voice had been silenced.
Panic set in as Myrtle crooned softly to herself.
How could she get the ghost’s attention? The last time had been so beautifully romantic. So few who visited could be expected to float up and meet the Mermaid where she lived within the leaded glass panes of her portrait. The Mermaid pounded her fists fruitlessly on the edge of her frame, desperate to get Myrtle’s attention.
But it was of no use.
Myrtle just stared at the tiles and the Mermaid watched tears slip down her long nose and disappear as they dripped off - melding back into her body as though her sadness were never allowed to leave. A sadness that the Mermaid remembered wiping off her features with kisses.
Eventually, as the Mermaid lost her fire to the cool sea around her and sat, weeping on her rock as Myrtle quietly sobbed her way back up the drainpipe. She hardly noticed the crisp vowels that echoed off the tiles in shattered syllables.
obliviate
Myrtle twirled her plaits and spun around the girls’ bathroom until she felt as though she’d have been sick if she still had a stomach to feel sick. Her nose wrinkled and she plopped herself down heavily against the radiant cold of the toilet.
This had always been her sanctuary.
One that she’d kept close forever.
Now, on occasion, she specifically did not see some of the Gryffindors hike their way through the secret passages and along the corridors. The Carrows had called the ghosts together to say that there would be consequences for disloyalty to them, but Myrtle hadn’t paid them much mind. Teachers - even Headmasters - had been trying to impose themselves on the ghosts since the Founders had begun the school.
The Grey Lady had told her so.
So there was very little to worry about. Peeves was still throwing chalk at walls whilst the Bloody Baron clanked his chains against the walls and wailed to keep the students up at night. If they were content with the other ghosts Myrtle’s quiet resistance wouldn’t even hit their radar.
Her bathroom, since her time as a first year, before - and at this her chest warmed, remembering how important it had been to Harry Potter himself - her tragic, untimely death. A death that had, eventually, brought vengeance against the beast that had ripped her soul from her body and left her discarded in a puddle of toilet water. It had become her refuge in almost every aspect of her life and afterlife.
Sure, the girls who had teased her to her death hadn’t been punished.
But she’d gotten to see the great Hermione Granger turn into a cat - tail included - ears poking out of her curls and crying as she tried to figure out a way not to share her shame with her friends.
Myrtle giggled a little, remembering the horror on the faces of the boys once they’d returned. Borrowed robes hanging off of them. Without answers, Hermione's mistake without any sort of upside.
She peered deep into her toilet, whispering predigitations that let her watch back her greatest triumphs. A click of a door made her turn towards the noise, brows crinkling behind her glasses as a man opened the door, and she opened her mouth to scream.
vis memoria
Her vision clouded and then sharped to match the grin of the man who stood, wand held loosely in his grip. He turned in a cloud of robes that would make even Professor Snape jealous.
The Mermaid.
That was where she should be tonight.
They’d been together nearly since she’d been turned into a ghost.
Myrtle remembered the first time that she’d gone down the pipes into the Prefect’s Bathroom. She’d never been invited in during her first life. Never being popular enough, swottish enough, or old enough to be granted access. It had seemed so naughty at the time.
But then her attention had been grabbed by the graceful strokes of the Mermaid.
Portraits had personalities. Likes. Dislikes.
And got just as lonely as people did.
The Mermaid had become her first true friend. Teaching her the ins and outs of the castle, the other ghosts, and where to find help from the painted friends along her way. The Mermaid had never teased her about her reluctance to leave the bathrooms of Hogwarts. Just smiled and patted her hand through the edge of the frame. Supportive and kind.
Romance had come later.
But now something inside her drew her down the u-bend and towards her love.
Amycus Carrow chuckled as he slipped into the sitting room he shared with his sister.
Snape hadn’t been able to force the Headmaster’s Office to accept him, so the Carrows were stuck in the Dark Arts Offices off the classroom whenever they wanted to get together. Alecto had been certain that there was a teacher’s lounge somewhere in the building - but Hogwarts itself was resisting their efforts to rebuild magical might and had hidden it away in the stones.
The other teachers hadn’t been any help whatsoever.
He would’ve spared a thought for them, if they’d helped as Snape put the Dark Lord’s plan into action. Traitors. All of them. All save his sister. He put his feet up on the loveseat and chuckled to himself as he thought about explaining what he’d been up to today.
That there was no way for them to ever know which way their memories went, and that he planned to continue modifying their memories. Perhaps, Amycus thought idly, he could convince one that they were enemies and the other that she was in love. Watching that would be amusing.
Truly, this was all Snape’s fault for restricting them from torturing the younger years after parent complaints. Old droopy-eyes, low voice, and piercing stare had reassured the twins that he could take care of the parent complaints and clear the way for their continued play with the students - but as the Dark Lord was consolidating power it would need to be taken cautiously.
But one didn’t have to physically harm to harm.
Torturing a portrait and a ghost could happen now.
He settled back into the cushions and closed his eyes, eager to hear Myrtle's wailing cries before he reversed their memories again.