Myrtle had been a good girl, curled up quietly in the cauldron while the professorman carried her to the Headmaster.

And then he had to go and SHAKE her bloody pot, for Merlin's sake!

"Ow ouch owwwwie," Myrtle moaned, imagining how it must have hurt to bounce against the sides of cauldron were she able to actually feel things. "I'm a sensitive ghostie, you know!" she squeaked, deciding that she'd had enough of the cauldron.

Myrtle zoomed up out of the cauldron and went right through the headmaster's head since he chose that instant to peer inside it. She made a sharp floaty turn to double back and ogle at him.

"Oooh, you don't look like Dumbledore," Myrtle murmured, twirling one of her pigtails with a pale finger. She batted her eyelashes at the young Headmaster, thinking that any man with spectacles like that would have be sensitive to her cause.

"I like your glasses," she said in her sweetest, most innocent tone, floating up to his face for a closer look.