Just as Dracula and Dumbledore shared a look of mutual understanding, ready to investigate the scene, a translucent figure suddenly drifted out of a toilet stall.
She was the ghost of a short, plump girl with a blotchy face and thick, pearly glasses. Her expression was sullen and deeply unhappy.
"This is a girls' lavatory," she announced in a shrill, suspicious voice, her eyes narrowing at the two professors. "What sort of sneaky business are you two up to in here? It doesn't matter if no one uses it! Male professors can't just come and go as they please! I'm going to tell everyone!"
Dracula and Dumbledore's composed expressions faltered. They had successfully avoided the eyes of the entire living population of the castle, only to be caught by the lavatory's resident ghost.
"Moaning Myrtle," Dumbledore said gently, his tone placating. He clearly recognized her. "We are simply here to investigate a strange occurrence."
Myrtle looked entirely unconvinced. "I'm always here," she retorted, her voice rising in pitch. "And I can guarantee there is nothing strange about this lavatory! You're just making up excuses for your sordid behavior!"
With a huff, she made to drift up through the ceiling, no doubt to spread the scandalous news all over the castle.
"How can you say there's nothing strange?" Dracula called after her, his voice cutting through her tirade. "You were here this morning, were you not? When Professor Quirrell snuck in?"
"I said there's nothing, and that's final! If you don't believe me—" Myrtle whirled around, her face a mask of indignation as she glared at Dracula.
And then, she froze.
Her entire demeanor shifted. Her ghostly eyes seemed to sparkle, and her voice, when she finally spoke, was breathy and affected. "Are you… a new professor?" she cooed. "Oh, wow. I've never seen such a handsome professor before. Can I come and sit in on your classes?"
The corner of Dracula's mouth twitched in annoyance.
"Indeed, Myrtle," Dumbledore chimed in, a smile playing on his lips as he shot a mischievous wink at Dracula. "This is our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. If you'd like to attend his class, you'll find his classroom on the second floor. It's not far from here."
"Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Hearing his position, Myrtle's eyes filled with a morbid sort of delight. "Oh, then you'll definitely run into trouble this year, won't you? When you die, you simply must come find me. I'd be more than happy to share my toilet with you."
She blushed a pearly white, her eyes darting about as she became completely lost in visions of a wonderful, shared, spectral future.
Dracula turned a very unfriendly gaze on Dumbledore.
"Don't tell me," he said, his voice laced with ice, "that as Headmaster, you were unaware that this place was haunted by a ghost who is clearly unhinged?"
"This is a girls' lavatory, after all. I don't make a habit of visiting," Dumbledore replied serenely. "I do recall Myrtle passed away decades ago. I never expected she would choose to linger in this very spot."
"This is where she died?" Dracula's brow furrowed. This was a secret. He could feel it. "How? Was her death connected to this lavatory?"
"That story is tied to events from fifty years ago," Dumbledore said, his expression growing somber. "A series of attacks occurred at Hogwarts that year. Myrtle was the only student who died. To this day, the truth of what happened remains a mystery."
Dracula's attention snapped back to the lovesick ghost. He softened his expression, letting a glimmer of enchanting light flicker in his pupils.
"Myrtle," he began, his voice a captivating murmur. "Could you tell me what happened here, all those years ago?"
But his legendary charm, a power that had bent wills for centuries, failed spectacularly.
Upon seeing his smile, Myrtle didn't answer. Instead, she dissolved into a fresh wave of hysterics.
"Professor… oh, Professor… waaah!"
An awkward silence fell.
"…So she is completely unstable, isn't she?" Dracula's smile vanished, his face a mask of stone as he looked back at Dumbledore, who was watching the entire exchange with unconcealed amusement. "Do you have any way to make her coherent?"
"Oh, I think it's quite obvious, Professor, that Myrtle's current state is entirely because of you," Dumbledore shrugged, a cheerful laugh in his voice. "Therefore, it seems only right that you should be the one to calm her down."
Dracula shot another look at Myrtle, who was now sobbing and swooning in equal measure, and fell into deep thought.
"You will watch her," he commanded Dumbledore abruptly. "Keep her here and do not let her leave and spread nonsense. I am going to find outside help."
Before Dumbledore could even respond, Dracula dissolved into a flurry of bat-like shadows and vanished.
The Headmaster was taken aback for only a moment. Then, with a casual shrug, he took a bag of Fizzing Whizbees from his pocket and began to enjoy them with relish.
A short while later, Dracula materialized back in the gloomy lavatory.
He returned to the sight of Myrtle wailing dramatically in mid-air while Dumbledore, still munching on his sweets, offered vague words of comfort.
"Do you think I don't know what they call me behind my back?" she sobbed. "Fat Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle! Poor, moping, moaning Myrtle! And now even the handsome professor thinks I'm horrid! I don't want to live anymore!"
Convinced Dracula had fled out of disgust—which was, in fact, true—she made a great show of trying to drown herself in the toilet.
"Now, now, don't be sad, Myrtle," Dumbledore said kindly. "Professor Dracula certainly didn't leave because he disliked you. See? He has returned."
He gestured to the newly arrived Dracula. Myrtle's mood brightened instantly, and she floated up out of the toilet bowl.
"Yes, there's no need for such theatrics," Dracula added, nodding curtly. "And do try to remember that you are already dead. You can't drown."
At his words, Myrtle's brief happiness shattered. With a fresh wail of despair, she plunged back into the toilet.
"Professor Dracula, I rather thought you would say something comforting," Dumbledore said with a helpless sigh.
"Comfort is pointless. I do not engage in meaningless endeavors," Dracula stated calmly. "Besides, watching a ghost thrash about in a toilet is not without its own unique charm. Relax, Headmaster. She can't drown."
Dumbledore looked utterly exasperated. It seemed that for Dracula, anything that wasn't interesting was, by definition, meaningless.
"Very well," Dumbledore said, changing the subject. "Where is this 'outside help' you went to find?"
Dracula simply nodded his chin toward the back wall of the lavatory.
A moment later, a slender, mournful ghost with waist-length hair drifted silently through the stone and floated towards them.
***********
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