Title: S is for Spectrophilia, or Morbid Curiosity
Author: Anj (anjenue)
Pairing: Remus/Moaning Myrtle, hints of Sirius/James if you squint
Word Count: 3100
Items used: empty bottles, phonograph and records, table, fireplace, couch/daybed
A/N: Part S of the Lusty Alphabet of May.
The idea was originally for this community, but it turned into something a bit...more, and ended up over on pervy_werewolf as well. No apologies.
Ever since Remus was a little boy, he’d been fascinated with ghosts.
When he’d been six, and had gone to stay with his grandfather at an ancient mansion in the Welsh countryside, he’d been accosted by a crotchety old spirit with one eye his first night there. Instead of behaving as most normal children might have and hiding under his covers or some such, he’d smiled politely at the ghost and murmured, “How do you do?” The ghost had been so startled by this, he hadn’t seen it again for three full days.
His first day at Hogwarts, instead of shrinking back as the ghosts came whizzing through the walls, he stared at them, wide-eyed and excited. When Sir Nicholas had pulled off his head, as was customary at every Welcoming Feast, Remus had not screamed, or covered his eyes, or spit out his food. No, he’d merely blinked, golden eyes filled with curiosity and admiration, and had asked quietly, “What happened?”
Some of the students had found it weird that this boy, small and slight and very young-looking for his age, would wander around the castle late at night seeking out ghosts to talk to them. Many of the professors were worried that he had an unhealthy preoccupation with death. His friends were affectionately irritated that they couldn’t come up with a way to scare him, because sneaking up on him and yelling “Boo!” certainly didn’t do any good.
After awhile, though, people started to get used to the idea of this quiet, often shy child who wandered around chatting amiably with dead beings. The Hogwarts ghosts all took a very strong liking to him, especially Sir Nicholas and, to everyone’s surprise, the Bloody Baron. Peeves didn’t quite trust him, but he respected him, and that made for a great reprieve for the Marauders and their little illicit expeditions. After all, with Peeves staying out of their way thanks to Remus, they really only had to worry about Filch and his blasted cat.
This night was one of those illicit expeditions. The four Marauders had snuck out to the Shrieking Shack, poked at the secret knot, crept down the tunnel and up into the big room, thrown off the invisibility cloak, and were crowded around the low, wooden table, a merry fire roaring in the fireplace behind them, eating ice cream, drinking butterbeer, listening to one of Remus’ jazz records, and laughing delightedly at the parchment in front of them. Off to the side sat a vial of clear liquid that sparkled in the dim torchlight.
“Right,” Sirius said, leaning forward and resting on his elbows as he regarded his three best mates. “It’s Prongs’ turn. Truth or dare?”
James grinned hugely, taking a swig of butterbeer and wiping the foam from his upper lip before answering. “Dare,” he challenged.
Sirius waggled his eyebrows and swallowed a gulp of his own drink before eyeing James slyly. “I dare you to grab Evans’ arse after class tomorrow,” he snickered.
Peter let out a high, hysterical giggle, eyes sparkling madly as he covered his mouth with his hand. James smirked, making it quite clear that he was going to enjoy this dare very much. Sirius looked very pleased with himself as he slid a huge spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. Remus, however, just rolled his eyes.
“Oh, like he wouldn’t do that on his own!” he protested, curling one knee up to his chest.
“Oi!” James protested good-naturedly just as Sirius said, “I don’t see you volunteering for any dares, Mr. I’d-Like-Another-Truth-Please, so shut your gob!”
“Just seems like a silly dare,” Remus said mildly, taking up his drink and taking a big sip.
“Well, it’s done now,” James said gleefully, pointing at their charmed parchment which now read ‘James: grab Lily Evans’ arse tomorrow,’ and shrugged his shoulders helplessly. “Binding magical contract and all.”
Remus snorted. “Very well,” he muttered. He was very not impressed with his friends’ attempts at sneakiness. His truth challenges had been ridiculously banal, and the dares had all been equally pathetic. Sirius and James, however, looked very pleased with themselves, and Peter was enormously entertained, so it was up to Remus to make things more interesting.
“Right. Padfoot. Truth or dare?”
“Dare!” Sirius answered promptly. “Come on, Lupin, give me your best!”
Remus cleared his throat. “Right. I dare you to go an entire week without playing a single prank on Severus Snape.”
Silence fell over the table. Peter looked shocked, his hand still firmly over his mouth, and James and Sirius both looked like they were going to be sick.
“You…what?” Sirius finally said, his voice hoarse. “Why?”
Remus shrugged and studied his fingernails. “You wanted a dare. So I dared you to do something you would never come up with on your own.”
“Moony, that’s…that’s inhumane!” James protested, hands clutching the bottle of butterbeer so tightly that Remus was surprised the bottle didn’t shatter.
“On the contrary,” Remus returned calmly, “I think it’s perfectly humane. It’ll be good for both of them. Besides,” and his face took on a slightly sly smirk, “binding magical contract and all. Unless you want to spit out some horribly embarrassing fact every time you open your mouth.”
James and Sirius sighed in unison and took perfectly synchronized gulps of butterbeer. Peter still looked like he was in shock, and didn’t move until Sirius nudged him. “It’s Moony’s turn now,” Sirius muttered.
“Um, um…truth or dare?” Peter squeaked, his eyes bulging.
James reached over and wordlessly picked up the vial of Veritaserum, but Remus merely shook his head, smirking. “I’ll take a dare this time,” he informed them, folding his arms and arching a golden brow.
Sirius and James stared at each other, and then simultaneously leaned toward Peter and started whispering in his ear. Remus watched them for a moment, both amused and a bit disgusted at how completely coordinated the pair of them were.
When they leaned back, they were both grinning, and Peter looked equal parts horrified and awed. “I d-dare you to ask…Moaning Myrtle why she’s called Moaning Myrtle,” he offered shrilly, and Remus’ mouth fell open.
“Not fair, giving him ideas!” he objected, but Sirius and James just smirked at him and pointed at the parchment, where ‘Remus: find out origin of Moaning Myrtle’s name’ had appeared in loopy, scrawly handwriting.
“Sorry, Remus,” Peter chuckled hysterically, rocking back and forth a bit. “Contract!”
Remus sighed and downed the rest of his butterbeer. “Of course,” he muttered to himself. “Magically binding and all.” Louder, he said, “This isn’t really fair to her, you realize.”
James shrugged, grinning unabashedly. “Sirius and I have been wondering about that for a bit,” he said gleefully. “And who better to ask her than you, the resident ghost-lover?”
“Impossibly pervy gits,” Remus snarled under his breath, just loud enough for them to hear, but they just laughed at him.
“We try,” they uttered in unison, and Remus rolled his eyes.
Later that night, after the four of them had made their way back to the castle, Remus lay in bed, staring up at his canopy and wondering how exactly he would go about posing that sort of question. It most certainly wasn’t a polite question to ask, and Myrtle was notoriously sensitive about any sort of personal question, so he really didn’t have all that many options. He had, in fact, avoided her most of his school career. This was most definitely a challenge. But he certainly did not wish to share any of his embarrassing facts with the greater public, and so he had to go through with it. Mercifully, his friends had granted him a week in which to do it.
With his mind full of troubled thoughts, it took him a long time before he finally fell asleep.
The next few days, every time he passed Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, or even spoke to a ghost in general, he felt his stomach twist with dread. He was an extremely nice person by nature, and the idea of asking such a humiliating question made him feel cold and clammy all over. James had carried through with all his dares, including grabbing Lily’s arse, which had earned him a scarlet handprint, and even Sirius had managed to refrain from attacking Snape, although Remus had caught him attempting to disembowel the Slytherin with his eyes. He imagined that Sirius and James would plan some huge prank on the unfortunate boy as soon as the week was up, which was the day after tomorrow, and he certainly wouldn’t be able to convince them otherwise, especially if he didn’t uphold his dare.
He would have to do it tonight.
That evening, as soon as his roommates had all fallen asleep, he snuck quietly out of bed and slid his feet into his slippers. It was, thankfully, warm enough now so he did not require his loud, swishy robes for warmth, but the slippers were very helpful in keeping his steps silent.
He crept down the stairs and out through the portrait (without waking the Fat Lady), and made his way directly (although slowly) to the girls’ bathroom on the second floor. The school was almost eerily quiet, and neither Filch nor Mrs. Norris were anywhere to be seen. Even Peeves seemed to have taken the night off.
Quietly, he pushed the door open, and crept into the bathroom before letting the door click gently shut behind him.
Of course, all of his efforts at being silent were completely wasted when he heard a high-pitched voice screech, “What are you doing here?”
“I…I just want to talk!” he murmured, raising both his hands in the age-old expression of surrender.
“Talk?” the voice repeated, sounding less screechy but no less loud. “Nobody ever comes here to talk to me!”
“Well…well I do,” he answered, taking a cautious step forward.
A pregnant pause followed, and then one of the stall doors quietly creaked open, revealing a youthful, suspicious face dwarfed by enormous glasses. “What do you want to talk to me about?” the girl asked, peering at him.
“I just…wanted to get to know you,” Remus offered lamely, slowly lowering his hands, making no further move forward.
Another pause, and then the door swung all the way open and a girl dressed in the old Hogwarts uniforms (the ones that had been discontinued a few years before Remus began) swooped out of the stall, pausing a few feet away from Remus and folding her arms. “Get to know me,” she repeated, narrowing her eyes.
“Yes,” Remus reassured her. “I…I like ghosts.”
She looked, for a moment, as if she were about to throw a tantrum at his statement, but instead, she moved quietly closer, examining him. “You’re that boy,” she said thoughtfully. “That boy who likes to talk to ghosts. People talk about you. They say you’re really strange.”
Remus shrugged slightly, looking up into her face without the slightest hint of hesitance. “Perhaps,” he answered. “But I don’t mind. I am what I am, after all.”
Myrtle let out a quiet sob. “People said I was strange too,” she murmured sadly, great tears starting to form in her eyes. “Olive Hornby, especially. She used to tease me about my skin and my glasses and she would make me cry and then I’d run in here until she went away again and nobody ever noticed I was gone!” Her voice raised in pitch and volume as she spoke until she was almost howling, wetness dripping from her eyes and splashing on the floor, forming huge, ghostly puddles that rippled like clouds of steam as Remus breathed.
“Don’t cry!” he protested helplessly, watching her face twist as she continued to sob. “Please don’t cry!”
“Nobody loves stupid, fat, ugly old Myrtle!” she wailed, wringing her hands.
“Stop!” Remus cried. “That’s not true, it can’t be true!” He reached out his hands, uselessly, knowing he couldn’t possibly do anything to help but feeling the overwhelming need to wipe away her tears…
…and gasped as his hands seemed to touch something solid, but not quite solid, like condensation of spirit and thought that had some give and yet enveloped his hands lovingly, drawing them into cool dryness.
They both froze, staring wide-eyed at each other, Remus up to his wrists in Myrtle’s cheeks. Inexplicably, his cock started to stir as arousal began singing through his veins. This feeling, like being accepted into another being, was undeniably erotic, and, judging by the expression on Myrtle’s face, she felt the same way.
“N—nobody’s ever tried to…to touch me before,” she gasped, her chest heaving.
“I’ve never felt…anything like this before,” Remus breathed, almost in perfect synch with her.
They stayed like that for an indeterminate amount of time, breaths quickening, pale faces becoming flushed (or, in Myrtle’s case, less transparent), the tension between them thick and tangible in the quickly warming air. Remus could feel his cock tenting the front of his pajamas, precome already dripping wetly from the head, and his muscles felt equal parts soupy and rigid, unable to hold him up but unable to let him go at the same time.
Finally, whether by accident or deliberately, Myrtle shifted, floating upward by about a foot, and Remus found his hands embedded deeply in her chest, one going straight through the center of each breast.
Remus moaned, feeling his cock jerk and spill more precome, and Myrtle let out a high-pitched, gasping sigh, her body beginning to rock slowly in the air, sending Remus’ hands in and out and in and out again in a steady, torturous rhythm.
Remus tried to hold back for as long as he could, but, after a few more thrusts, he couldn’t resist anymore, and clenched his hands into fists inside her body.
She threw her head back and howled, a long, raw sound filled with passion and sex and sensuality, the moan to end all moans, and Remus whimpered as the last of the blood in his body immediately joined the rest of the blood pulsing in his cock. This was undoubtedly the most arousing thing he had ever felt, and he did not want it to end.
Myrtle, however, didn’t seem to care, continuing to rock back and forth, sending his fists twisting through her body, and Remus groaned again, the tension in his body mounting with every thready moan that passed her ethereal lips. Her face was almost completely opaque now, glowing blue in the moonlight, and Remus thought he’d never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life.
Just when Remus thought he couldn’t bear it anymore, his cock straining at his trousers, his toes beginning to curl against the fur of his slippers, Myrtle’s head snapped down and she fixed him with eyes dilated with lust, a strange smile on her face, and, in one swift motion, she plunged forward, embedding herself entirely in his body, or his into hers, and they both howled at the sudden, shocking sensation of being completely surrounded and possessed and then he was coming with long, hot pulses and she was shuddering and moaning and wailing and coming as well and the bathroom was filled with the echoing sounds of their combined passion.
When it was over, Myrtle carefully eased her way out of his body, panting, her skin beginning to turn translucent again, and he collapsed bonelessly onto the floor, his breaths rasping through his lungs.
“So…” she gasped after a long pause, fixing him with a much more friendly look, “did that count as ‘getting to know me’?”
Remus laughed, a short, sharp sound, and raised his head from the floor. “Yes,” he murmured, smiling at her, “I believe it did.”
The next night, Remus made his way to the Shack before nightfall, wanting to beat his friends there, and stretched out on the low couch, a huge, silly grin on his face. He knew they’d look at him suspiciously as soon as they arrived with their stash of food and drinks, but he didn’t care one jot.
Predictably, the first thing that James and Sirius said as soon as they threw off the cloak was, “What’s got you so chuffed, eh?”
You’re not the only pair who speaks in unison now, Remus thought to himself cheerfully as he pushed himself off the couch and sauntered over to the table, lowering himself onto the floor. “Nothing,” he smiled, taking a bottle of butterbeer and popping the top before taking a long, healthy swig.
James and Sirius exchanged suspicious looks before sitting down next to him, one on either side. “Come on, Moony,” James wheedled, his eyes huge and pleading behind his spectacles. “You can tell us!” Sirius added hopefully.
Remus laughed. “I told you blokes, it’s nothing,” he insisted. “Now, come on, we’re wasting time. Bring out the parchment.”
Peter fumbled in his bag and pulled the contract out, tapping it with his wand to activate it. “Right,” he squeaked, dragging his finger down the list. “Looks like…oh, looks like everyone did their bit! Well done!” He tapped the parchment again, twice, and the script began to fade, preparing it for another round of the game.
Sirius looked at Remus with one eyebrow raised. “You asked Moaning Myrtle why she was called Moaning Myrtle?” he asked.
Remus smirked and took another swig of butterbeer. “Nope,” he answered.
James blinked. “Then how…”
Remus grinned. “The parchment only said find out where she got her name, not ask her.”
Sirius’ and James’ jaws dropped.
“Y-you didn’t,” James gasped as soon as he’d managed to pick his jaw up off the floor.
“Didn’t what?” Peter asked, confused.
“You did!” Sirius roared, catching the expression on Remus’ face.
Remus rolled his eyes. “Padfoot, you and your dirty mind,” he chuckled, although both James and Sirius noticed he didn’t deny it.
“Tell!” James cried, leaning forward.
“There’s nothing to tell!” Remus protested, reaching for a Sugar Quill.
“Right,” Sirius snorted, shaking his head. “Come on, Moony. You’re full of it.”
When Remus didn’t budge, James poked his arm. “Fine then, tell us why Moaning Myrtle is named Moaning Myrtle.”
“Nope,” Remus answered cheerfully.
“But…” Sirius looked desperate. “But you have to!”
“Don’t,” Remus replied. “That was never part of the deal.”
James coughed and pointed discreetly at the parchment, and Sirius stared at him for a moment before grinning in understanding and pulling out the vial of Veritaserum. “Moony,” he said slyly. “Truth or Dare?”
Remus raised a cheeky eyebrow. “Dare.”
James and Sirius groaned in unison.