Non Omnis Moriar

16: Myrtle

I said I had the next chapter ready, didn't I?

This is an important chapter for me lol. We're out of October now and you can tell that stuff's...stirring!

Hehehehe

***

As October faded away, so did my painfully embarrassing sniffles.

Madam Blishen's face lightened each day that I had shown up for pepper-up, and by the time I stopped going to the hospital wing, she'd taken me aside and told me quite kindly that she'd keep a stock of pepper-up potion for the sick and allergic under a desk in the common rooms come the fall.

It made me a little sick to realize that the stock my friends used to raid for me was something caused by me myself 50 years before.

The nervous energy that had vibrated within each student in Hogwarts about the Hogsmeade trip had dissipated by the following week. Most of the older students were already retreating back to their hide-outs in the library or the small nooks where quiet studying was possible. Even Fawley was bringing books down to the common room.

"My father would skin me like one of his prized animals and hang me outside the manor if I bring home anything less than an Acceptable." He told me nervously, hair already ruffled beyond recognition.

Even though the thrill of a Hogsmeade visit had faded away by the time I was in my fifth year, this particular visit had struck in me an uneasiness that lodged in my throat and refused to budge no matter how much I swallowed. I knew it was due to the familiar but younger face I'd spotted. An old...acquaintance, someone who had once saved my life possibly, who had helped feed me and my friends, who I had fought alongside of...it was bound to bring back troublesome issues.

I was silly to think I could only cross paths with people I knew with no consequence.

I wondered if perhaps asking Dumbledore about his brother would help ease some of the tension in my chest. After all, it was his brother – he would know him best.

But then again –

"Don't suppose my brother spoke of me."

I didn't know much about Aberforth's relationship with Dumbledore. He never used to speak about him, only his sister. Ariana's story still haunted me. Despite Aberforth's description of her and the serene girl who resided in the portrait in the room of requirement, I could never quite forget the jeers of the Death Eaters I eavesdropped on – mocking the Dumbledore family and what had happened to them...all because of Rita Skeeter.

Harry had seemed to know something about Aberforth, but then again...I could never ask him.

In the end, I decided to let the matter rest. It was one thing to pester Dumbledore about it if there was an emergency. There was none in the moment. I may have asked him about it in the strange limbo we had been stuck in, but the man and I were both dead. What would it have mattered then?

No, for the moment there was no emergency.

Even Tom wasn't Voldemort yet.

I stopped dead at that thought.

Even Tom wasn't Voldemort yet? What was wrong with me? Since when did I start calling him Tom?

I knew the answer of course. I had seen the dark haired wizard around a lot since the Hogsmeade trip. He seemed to be somehow too close for comfort all the time, and yet just circling me, never coming close enough to garner any attention from his peers.