I wrote this thanks to a prompt I saw on FB, given by the very disturbing admin PhoenixFire. So now I'm scarred before bed time. Anyway...
I am so, so, sorry everyone.
People avoided Moaning Myrtle, and she liked it that way. She liked that people didn't want to see her. She liked that they never entered her bathrooms. She liked being alone. She liked it a lot.
Because, the moaning...well...let's just say she was glad that nobody ever investigated why she seemed to be doing it.
Until Hermione Granger came along.
Until then, Myrtle had been by herself that night, a perfect time to fantasize - about what it was not known, for Hermione chose that exact moment to blast apart the wisps of Myrtle's daydreams. The fifth-year prefect had been doing her rounds with Ron as usual, and after hearing the noises from the bathroom had decided to double-back and check them out, while Ron had headed back to the Gryffindor common room and his warm comfortable bed...
Dreaming a little about a bed which certainly saw more Ron than she did, Hermione pushed the door to the bathroom open. "Sorry Myrtle, but you seemed to be more upset than usual and I was just wondering if anything was wrong-" Hermione's voice cut off in a yelp as she finally beheld the ghost, in a most compromising position.
Myrtle whipped around. "What are you doing here?" she practically shrieked. The door slammed shut behind Hermione, and when the startled girl tried the handle, she found the door locked. She took a step back, pressing her back against the wood as Myrtle advanced on her. "Do you know what you interrupted?" Myrtle purred. "I'm just going to have to...punish you."
"You can't punish me. I'm a Prefe-Oh!" Hermione gasped as Myrtle's fingers - cold, clammy...yet some how...hot - made contact with her.
Myrtle had been a ghost for a long time - and thus she'd had plenty of time to practice certain...skills. Hermione could feel the cold clamminess of Myrtle's touch, even through her clothes, and the iciness seemed to heat her up.
"You...will...be...punished..." Myrtle whispered, as her hands slid over Hermione's shirt, and her breasts underneath. The girl let out a whimper. Her knees buckled, and she staggered forward, through the ghost. The icy coldness seemed to wake her, and she dashed into a cubicle, slamming and locking the door behind her. Slamming the lid down, she sat on the toilet, shaking and taking deep gasping breaths-
Myrtle's face appeared before her and the ghost zoomed forward again. "Running? You can't run from me! How dare you even try. You will be further punished for that." The iciness attacked Hermione through the living girl's clothes with a frenzy, and Hermione was unable to resist as Myrtle began to strip her, slowly, deliciously. "Merlin," she hissed.
"I always preferred Morgana," Myrtle purred in reply. Hermione shuddered, feeling a burning run through her from top to toe, as Myrtle's touch began to slide lower and lower..."Please, oh Morgana," she cried as Myrtle began to exact her "extra punishment".
It wasn't Myrtle's moans that came from the bathroom that night. But then again, nobody was awake to notice, or tell the difference. Nobody except a certain blonde-haired boy, who happened to be also finishing up his rounds...
Draco frowned in confusion. The ghost Mudblood seemed to be extraordinarily loud tonight, not only moaning, but gasping and crying out as well. With a shrug the boy turned away and continued down the hall. The activities of a Mudblood, especially that of a ghost, didn't really affect him anyway.