The Spiteful Sorting Hat

Halloween, again

Weeks after that fateful Saturday, Harry was still bitter about Draco's hostile takeover of the Quidditch team. His friends did their best to cheer him up. They pointed out the size of Hagrid's pumpkins, now swelled to the size of Hagrid himself, and talked with enthusiasm about the live bats that were sure to be fluttering around the Great Hall during the Halloween feast. Perhaps their efforts would have worked, had not Harry been forced to live in close quarters with his most hated rival.

Draco seemed to think that the envy of Harry Potter was something to be valued, and he took every opportunity to rub his victory in Harry's face. He loudly discussed his practices with Crabbe and Goyle every time Harry was within earshot, and more than once Harry walked into the dormitory to see Malfoy seated cross-legged on his bed, polishing the handle of his Nimbus 2001 as if he were posing for Quidditch Quarterly. Harry often considered hexing the broom, but his string of petty pranks on Malfoy always stopped just short of doing any real harm. He contented himself with substituting Draco's broom polish with a sticking concoction developed by Blaise. While it was amusing to watch Draco walk to the hospital wing, his hands stubbornly fixed to his broom, it did nothing to make up for the fact that Harry would have to sit out of playing for the team at least another year.

"It'll be fine," Blaise told Harry as they waited near the entrance of the Great Hall for Millie to arrive, "Flint's bound to see how awful Draco is when they face Gryffindor. I'll bet Slytherin won't win a single match, and it'll probably cost us the House Cup, too. This time next year, Flint will be begging you to join the team. Draco can't buy his way on two years in a row."

Harry wasn't convinced. All Draco needed was the release of the Nimbus 2002, or something like it, and Harry had no doubt that Lucius Malfoy could afford another set of brand new racing brooms. If it meant making his family look good, he was sure there was no low to which Malfoy Sr. would not stoop.

As Harry pondered this depressing thought, Millie finally appeared. She had a sour look on her face to match Harry's own spoiled mood, and Harry could soon see why. The hem of her robes was completely soaked, and as she drew closer, he could hear her socks squelching in her shoes.

"What happened to you?" Harry asked, secretly thankful that the misfortune of someone else could momentarily distract him from his own problems.

"Moaning Myrtle," Millie replied darkly.

"Who?" asked Blaise.

Millie jerked her head toward the doors, signaling for them to proceed to their usual spot at the dining table while she explained, "Moaning Myrtle is the ghost that haunts the girls lavatory on the first floor. I try to avoid it when I can, but I thought it would be safe today. It being Halloween and all, a lot of ghosts are headed to the dungeons for some sort of party."

"So what happened?" Harry asked. He'd never heard of Moaning Myrtle, and was curious about what sort of ghost she was. Their own house ghost, the Bloody Baron, was a quiet, eerie sort of specter that even the Peeves the Poltergiest seemed to fear, and Harry had never dared attempt a chat with him. Based on the epithet given to Myrtle, Harry assumed she had more in common with the Baron than a more cheerful ghost, like the friar of Hufflepuff house.

"She flooded the place," Millie remarked in exasperation. "She's always doing it. Things were fine for a moment, then I suddenly hear her swooping up one of the pipes in another stall, wailing like the world is coming to an end, and suddenly all the faucets are running full blast, and the toilets are spilling over, and I barely made it out with my bum dry."

Blaise gave a mock shudder, "Some haunting. Lucky she didn't appear in your toilet, eh?"

Millie rolled her eyes in response. "Can we talk about something else? Myrtle's temper tantrums aren't something that are particularly pleasant to revisit."