239) Drama at the death party

Hermione desperately searched for an excuse to leave and put an end to her embarrassment, but at that moment, an excited voice broke the awkward silence.

"Harry!"

We all turned at once and saw the ghost of a young girl approaching with enthusiasm. It was Moaning Myrtle. She had been watching from a corner, eyeing Helena and me as we danced, a mixture of envy and longing on her face. Myrtle felt lonely and hesitated to approach, perhaps to ask me for a dance. However, Helena's presence, given her certain status among the ghosts of Hogwarts, made her hesitant; she didn't want to risk worsening her already fragile social standing.

"Hello, Myrtle," I greeted her with a smile. I hadn't noticed her before; my [Life Sense] ability didn't work on ghosts, and the number of silvery presences in the hall, combined with the dim lighting, made it difficult to perceive my surroundings properly.

"Hi, Red. Hi, Helena. You danced so beautifully… it was amazing," she said, bowing her head slightly toward both of us. Though she was usually more confident around me in private due to our shared eccentricities, in front of others, she reverted to a more reserved and timid demeanor. Then, she turned her attention to the three living people standing beside me, though her gaze fixed on one in particular.

"Hi, Harry. I'm Myrtle Warren. I usually stay in the girls' bathroom on the second floor," she introduced herself, lowering her head a little in shyness.

"Uh… hello," Harry responded, visibly uncomfortable with the unexpected appearance of a ghost who was clearly directing all her attention toward him.

"Well… I wanted to ask you something," Myrtle said, nervously playing with the sleeves of her robe. "It's such a lovely party, and after seeing Red and Helena dance, I thought maybe… would you like to dance with me?" She extended her hand toward him, though she couldn't quite meet his eyes out of embarrassment.

Harry's eyes widened, and he glanced at Ron and Hermione for help. However, they looked just as surprised as he was. They had never heard of ghosts inviting humans to dance before; they thought Red's situation was strange enough, but now they couldn't help but wonder if this was becoming some sort of new ghostly trend. Receiving no assistance, Harry took a deep breath and, after a moment of hesitation, extended his hand toward Myrtle's.

But his hand went straight through hers, and the icy chill of her ghostly touch made him instinctively pull back. Just that brief contact was enough to make him realize how bad of an idea it would be to accept her invitation, especially in a hall filled with expectant ghosts. Myrtle, however, continued to look at him with bright eyes, waiting for a response as Harry desperately tried to come up with something.

"I… I…" he stammered, searching for an excuse to escape the situation.

"Harry! We have to go. We're late for the Halloween feast, and we promised Neville we'd help him before he finishes with… that thing," Ron suddenly interjected, showing an impeccable survival instinct. His excuse wasn't exactly brilliant, but it served its purpose.

"Yes, right," Harry said quickly, clinging to the escape route Ron had offered, immensely grateful for it. "Sorry, Martha, but I have to go. I promised to help, and as Red said, a man must keep his promises."

The final detail—mixing up Myrtle's name—only made things worse, but Harry didn't wait to see her reaction. Without looking back, he and Ron hurried toward the exit of the dungeons, almost running. They only paused briefly to greet Nearly Headless Nick before vanishing entirely.

I remained in the hall, surrounded by Hermione, Helena, and Myrtle, with the atmosphere feeling rather odd around us.

We all watched as Myrtle seemed to deflate; her expression changed, and her eyes started to fill with tears. It was clear she was about to cry. She felt humiliated; the boy she had gathered the courage to invite to dance had left rather abruptly.

"Come on, Myrtle, don't get like that," I said, stepping closer to try and console her. "The night is still young, and there's plenty to enjoy."

"Easy for you to say," she replied bitterly. "You're a handsome guy who even danced with the most beautiful and noble ghost in Hogwarts." Her voice cracked as she continued, "I'm just trash. I can't even get a boy to agree to dance with me. Silly, stupid Myrtle! Why did you ever think you deserved anything more than insults?" Myrtle began berating herself with such intensity that it made everyone in the group feel uncomfortable.

"Myrtle, don't say that," I said firmly. "You're amazing in your own way. Of course, you deserve more." I looked at Hermione and Helena, who shared my concern for Myrtle's state and nodded as if understanding my thoughts. "How about I take you for a dance?"

"No sniff, it's fine," she replied through her tears, then added with a sharp tone, "I don't want your crazy girlfriend coming to my bathroom to smash my toilet." The jab at Hermione wasn't accidental; Myrtle was hurt by Harry's rejection and was projecting her frustration onto those around him. She knew Hermione was my girlfriend but also knew about my infidelities, which diminished her value as my partner in Myrtle's eyes, giving her some license to throw that comment.

"I…" Hermione opened her mouth to respond but, seeing Myrtle crying, chose to hold back. Instead, she sighed and spoke calmly, "I have no problem with you two dancing, Myrtle. In fact, I think Harry was quite rude. He's too immature for things like this." Hermione seized the opportunity to point out Harry's flaws, especially since he wasn't there to defend himself. Additionally, it was her way of making it clear that she wasn't a toxic girlfriend… right? The thought briefly made her question whether she'd ever done anything that could make her seem like one.

"Hermione's right," I added, nodding. "It wasn't your fault, Myrtle. Now I see that."

"Really?" Myrtle asked, with a faint glimmer of hope in her teary eyes, though it was fragile.

"Of course. The one to blame here is Harry. Think about it: you're a very pretty girl. Right, girls?"

Both Hermione and Helena hesitated for a moment but eventually backed up my statement with compliments toward Myrtle. She wasn't exactly a beauty, but at that moment, she needed any words of encouragement she could get.

"Do they really think I'm beautiful? Then why does Harry hate me?" Myrtle asked, wiping her tears as she replayed the rejection in her mind.

"He doesn't hate you," I replied gently. "He's just... immature, as Hermione said. In fact, I'm sure he likes you."

"He likes me?!"

"He likes her?!" Helena and Hermione exclaimed in unison, incredulous.

"Yes," I insisted, nodding with as much seriousness as I could muster. "He just doesn't know it yet. Sometimes boys don't realize what they feel until someone shows them. Myrtle, I'm convinced Harry is the love of your life. He just hasn't figured it out yet."

Myrtle let out a shaky laugh while Helena and Hermione rolled their eyes in resignation.

"In situations like this, it's best to take the initiative. He loves you, Myrtle, but he needs your help to see it. Don't let this get you down. Harry will mature and realize you're his destiny. You just need to show him."

Hermione discreetly elbowed me, looking at me disapprovingly. She knew I was feeding Myrtle's delusions so she'd chase Harry, but even she had to admit my tactic was working. Myrtle seemed to have gained an unexpected dose of determination.

"You're right," Myrtle declared, a renewed expression of resolve on her face. "I can't trust Harry to make the first move. I know exactly what I need to do." Her eyes sparkled with a mix of excitement and purpose, though her smile made Hermione and Helena shiver. To me, oddly enough, it reminded me of Lavender.

"Thank you, Red, for everything. You've given me the courage to pursue true love." She clenched her fist in triumph and floated toward the floor. "Goodbye, Hermione. Helena."

And with that, Myrtle disappeared through the floor, leaving the three of us in tense silence as the ballroom's music continued playing.

"I have a feeling something bad is going to happen," murmured Hermione, crossing her arms.

"Me too," Helena added, her expression worried.

"Bah, leave that for later," I said, trying to lighten the mood. I turned to Hermione and extended my hand with a smile. "Hermione, would you like to dance? I suppose I was rude not to ask you first. Yes, I'm a terrible boyfriend, but let me make it up to you."

"No, it's fine," she replied, sighing. "I'd rather head back. This place feels uncomfortable, and honestly, I'm exhausted. I only came out of curiosity to see what the party was like."

"Well, if that's the case..." Helena said, turning to Hermione with a slight smile. "Would you mind if I steal your boyfriend for a bit longer? Miss Granger, would you grant me the favor of letting him be unfaithful tonight? I promise to return him intact."

"Sure, have fun," Hermione replied with some reluctance, though she didn't seem worried at all. While she didn't love Helena's phrasing, she saw no problem with Red dancing with her. After all, it wasn't real infidelity... or was it?

Helena and I watched Hermione leave before heading back to the dance floor. As we walked, I couldn't help but smile.

"Thanks. I didn't know you could act like that," I said with a conspiratorial tone. The little act, which ended up casting Hermione as the bad guy, had been completely improvised and only worked thanks to Helena's cooperation.

"Don't mention it," she replied with a small smile. "I don't know if it will help, but I hope it allows her to slowly accept that she won't be the only one in your life. It's the least I can do to help you now. As I said, I'll support whatever you decide, even if that means deceiving young witches..." Her voice softened, and she added in a whisper, "My mother must be rolling in her grave."

"Your mother would be proud," I replied with firmness and affection. "Yes, you made mistakes, but you've come so far. Look at you—you've surpassed all your ghostly peers and become something unique."

"Along with being paired with the man who made all this possible and who will be the greatest wizard in history," she retorted, returning the compliment with a smile. We both laughed.

Back on the dance floor, we resumed our rhythm, moving with an unusual synchronization between a human and a ghost. We caught the attention of all the deceased present, who murmured with astonishment, curiosity, and, in some cases, envy.

"Helena?!"

The voice echoed like a sharp blade, making us both stop dancing. Turning around, we found the Bloody Baron, staring at us with a mix of disbelief and fury.

"What are you doing...?" His voice trembled as his eyes shifted from Helena to me.

"Dancing with my partner," Helena replied calmly, intertwining her arm with mine.

"But... he's... alive!" he exclaimed, as if the word itself were an insult.

"So what?" Helena replied indifferently. "He's noble, kind, helpful, and a very good dancer. He's the perfect partner."

"He's twelve!" the Baron protested, though it was clear his problem wasn't the age.

"That's not what really bothers you, is it?" Helena sighed, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Helena, I..." he began, as if I weren't even there.

"Shut up, Waldo!" she exclaimed sharply, cutting him off. "I made it clear to you in life, and that caused me to lose everything. I don't want to repeat it in death, but it seems that even after all these years, you still don't understand. I don't like you. I never liked you, and I never will. If today I came with my friend or if it were something more, it's none of your business. You don't own me. In fact, the only thing you are is my murderer."

Her declaration echoed throughout the hall, leaving a deathly silence. Helena continued, her voice charged with emotion and fury:

"Do I like the living people? Maybe I do—maybe I love them. And if I want to dance with a twelve-year-old boy, I will. What do you care? Let it be clear to everyone: I am this perverted boy's 'little whore' and I am at his disposal, not available to anyone else. I'm not the unreachable noblewoman everyone thinks I am. I'm simply the daughter of the great Rowena Ravenclaw, but not her shadow. I am Helena Ravenclaw—just a girl who's tired of this existence... And if anyone has a problem with that, they can go to hell, because I'm already tired of this miserable existence. Everyone can die again for all I care, because I'm going to enjoy the little I have left!"

The air in the room was heavy. Helena had exploded, and though her words were drastic, they seemed to have brought her a desperately needed catharsis.

Without waiting for a response, she grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the ballroom, though it only worsened the wound on my arm that hadn't fully healed.

We walked through the castle in silence at first, but I couldn't help joking about what she had said.

"I can't believe you said all that..." I laughed.

Helena covered her face, embarrassed. "Don't mention it! I was furious. I don't know what came over me."

"Well, I think it was perfect. Even if it caused a scene, you needed to let it out."

We ended the night wandering the castle, chatting and laughing. When we parted ways, we were teasing each other about how difficult relationships were, referring to Hermione and the Bloody Baron.

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2nd Additional Chapter

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