-Yes, yet another Bakura Myrtle story by Anei Aikouka and I.

Blubbering Baby

The tears ran freely down her already sodden face; bits of soaked tissue looking like white freckles sprinkled across her cheeks. Why did her life have to be so hard? No matter what she did, people were always making fun of her, everyone made fun of her.

"Look, Pryor is crying again!" Olive's squeal of glee struck Myrtle like lighting; she whirled around to face this new adversary.

"Go away Hornby." Myrtle managed to mumble out past her tears.

"Tell me Pryor, how can your parents afford to keep you that fat and pay for all those tissues you blubbering baby?" Olive Hornby began to giggle, hardly able to work the last few words out past her bubbling laughter; leaning forward in mirth and flicking back her long sleek black hair, out of her face.

"Go away!" Myrtle's eyes flashed with tears and anger. "I am not a blubbering baby!"

"Oh yes you are, you pimple faced little four eyes." Olive replied scathingly; sticking out her tongue shamelessly. "Your face looks like it's about to pop, your eyes are so swollen." As Olive drew her wand, her face covered in a malicious smile, Myrtle reached for her own wand too late.

The painful swelling began almost immediately, and Myrtle had the uncomfortable sensation of being inflated like a balloon. Her fingers pressed into one shapeless mass, as her belly and shoulders swelled to fill her robes to ripping; she uselessly flailed at Olive, trying to hit her enemy with her huge mitts of hands.

"What is happening here?" Another female voice broke harshly into Myrtle's humiliation. "Let me through!" The voice rose several octaves as the person it belonged to pushed her way through the tight ring of students that had formed around the pair; by this time Myrtle could only see the ceiling as she had begun to float up, her arms forced out like branches on a tree and still growing.

"Myrtle spontaneously began to inflate McGonagall!" Hornby squealed out the lie most convincingly, but a loud humph from the head girl declared her disbelief.

"You may all disperse!" McGonagall declared firmly, grabbing painfully onto Myrtle's swollen ankle. "I'll be taking you to the infirmary." She added, not quite so harshly, at Myrtle's back, and began to walk down the hall.

"Not this!" Myrtle wailed, but all that came out was a single long breath, screeching out of her wind pipe like helium out of a balloon. Now, everyone in the entire castle would see her looking like a blimp! A set of tears fought their way past her swollen eyes too roll out over her, now pudgy, cheeks.

"Madame Brandon will have you back to rights in no time; there's no use crying over spilled milk." This only worked to set Myrtle off on another spat of crying, the tears rolling down her cheeks and dripping down on the seventeen-year-old's head. Myrtle's sobs continued to grow in volume; soon were accompanied by muffled sniffs.

With each tear Myrtle envisioned a different kind of torture her classmate would come up with. She would be called balloon Myrtle. The blimp; her head was filled with hot air rather then brains. The poking that would ensue, 'don't let me burst your bubble' and maybe they'd even try to roll her down the stairs or something. With a snap her glasses splayed out across her face, unable anymore to go around it by any stretch of the imagination.

"Madame Brandon, Myrtle's been inflated." McGonagall called, as they entered the infirmary.

An older woman, very much looking like an old crone, shuffled stoop shoulderedly out from behind a curtain that had already been erected around one of the beds. "Oh, the poor dear," taking the young girl's ankle from the much taller girl, Madame Brandon walked her over to the next empty bed; muttering something Myrtle immediately fell softly to the bed, the oddest feeling of escaping air creeping over her skin as she began, slowly, to deflate. "That'll only take a few minutes." She finished comfortingly, turning back to McGonagall.

Myrtle lay back on the many pillows that adorned the bed, her tears slowly stopping as she was able to relax; her limbs shrinking back to their normal size, and becoming more flexible.

"Olive Hornby." Parts of McGonagall's and Brandon's conversation whiffed across to her on a late summer breeze that also carried the sounds of youths enjoying themselves on the front lawn. Why was she always the one picked on? What had she ever done to deserve this?

"I'm very busy at the moment, could you go and tell the Head of Slytherin? The Ministry just sent us a boy. Where they found him, I don't know, but he's not in very good-" Brandon's voice was little more then a whispering in her ear, and she was distracted by her glasses slowly sliding down her face.

Catching them in her, now normal sized, hands; she held them awkwardly to her face. Turning her head to the side, she watched as the breeze continued on, ruffling the curtains that obscured the next bed. A boy?

"Myrtle will be back to normal in no time; I'm sure you have more important things to attend to." The conversation ended; Myrtle heard the pair's retreating footsteps, and Madame Brandon going into the medicine room.

Flexing her fingers one by one, Myrtle felt almost normal, and the feeling of losing air was fading; who was this boy? Sliding off her bed, she reached forward, with the hand that was not clutching her glasses to her face, and pulled back the curtain that obscured her view; there he lay.

He was sleeping, his short white hair was splayed across his pillow; bruises blooming royal blacks and blues across his entire visible body, everywhere not covered by the thin infirmary robe someone had dressed him in. He was shivering…

"Myrtle," Madame Brandon called, and Myrtle dropped the sheet and turned. "You should be finished deflating now." She continued as she shuffled around from behind the medicine room door. "Let me fix your glasses."

Myrtle obediently walked over, handing the witch the two halves that had once been her glasses.

"Reparo. You'd better be getting along dear." Madame Brandon finished cheerfully, glancing at the hidden bed.

Myrtle took back her glasses, and obediently walked out of the infirmary; barely contemplating the teasing to come, as her thoughts were all consumed by the strange boy in the infirmary.

A/N: Thought I might mention, since it has been a recurring theme through all the rest of my M/B fanfiction, this story will not be ending with their first kiss.
So, yeah, those of you who hate the pairing will be forced, if you make yourself read this fanfiction, I guess, to endure much more romance...?
Yeah, anyway, please read on.
Don't forget to review!