Disclaimer: All characters and events are based on the Harry Potter series owned by J.. I do not make any money by writing this story.

So Tom never liked Myrtle at all, he had feelings for only Druella. Mesmer was acting suspicious because he wanted to rape Myrtle - that's why he stole Tom's hat and was browsing through books from the Restricted Section. I think that Tom would have been able to convince Myrtle to have sex with him easily without having to rape her, as he is so persuasive and charming, but he had no intention to touch her. I can't even picture Tom having sex, to tell you the truth, especially with a Mudblood - even if it is rape.

Just for some extra information, I borrowed Mesmer's name from Anton Mesmer, who was a physician who used hypnosis and animal magnetism to cure patients and whose name is the root of the word "mesmerize". I used his name because he is associated with the theme of illusion, and Mesmer in my story brewed an illusion potion to deceive Myrtle (the polyjuice). I took the name "Pollux" from the Odysessy, mainly because I thought the name sounded more magical. Also, I named the chapter in which Mesmer rapes Myrtle "Mesmerized" as a hint, but I guess nobody caught on.

Anyway, thanks to the few people who reviewed regularly. This was indeed a fun story to write and I'm sorry that it's over now. I hope you have enjoyed it. Everybody knows what will happen in this chapter, so there isn't much else to say.

Enjoy the final chapter and please leave me a review.

P.S: In this chapter, Myrtle thinks at first that Mesmer is in the bathroom because she doesn't know what has happened to him, as she has been in the bathroom for nearly the entire day. Just thought I would clear that up.

Twenty: The Perilous Eyes Meet Her Demise

Once again, she was locked in the abandoned loo bawling uncontrollably. Though she had been feeling numb when the incident had first occurred, it seemed as if all her emotions and feelings had returned together and were flooding her all at once. She did not know how she could possibly cope with these overwhelming emotions.

This was the final straw. Ever since Myrtle had arrived at Hogwarts, she had continuously been the victim of countless teasing and pranks, and she had endured every single one of them with copious amount of tears. But this was something different. It was much bigger than mere taunting and bullying. Yet what could she do?

If Fiona hadn't been petrified, she would have comforted her. But then again, Myrtle had always had doubts that even Fiona didn't care about her. Fiona didn't have many friends either but she was relatively well-liked. She didn't always tolerate Myrtle's wailing, and they often fought a lot. Fiona was just like Cynthia; she was better than Myrtle in every way and was probably only kind to her because nobody else was. Myrtle wondered if there was anybody who did like her, and not simply felt sorry for her. She decided that there really wasn't anyone; after all, Myrtle was just a pathetic charity case.

She sobbed, wiping off her tears on her filthy robes. She hadn't changed since yesterday and her clothes were giving off a rather nasty stench, but she did not care about anything anymore. This was it, she had decided. No longer would she bear any more of their cruelty. She would leave Hogwarts first thing in the morning and never come back. Myrtle couldn't even bear the thought of leaving her cubicle; she never again wanted to face any of her classmates for the rest of her life.

She wailed loudly as she thought about Tom. Beautiful, wonderful, brilliant Tom – could he really be so cruel? How was it possible for such a wonderful boy to trample on her heart as he had done? She had really, truly believed that he had liked her. He was the only one who had been so warm and gentle to her. Why had he kept her around even though he hadn't liked her? Had he merely wanted to get her hopes up just to torture her? Just to watch her suffer?

It was too awful! Myrtle let out another high pitched wail. And he had called her – he had called her a Mudblood! She had thought that Tom didn't care whether or not she was Muggle-born. After all, wasn't he a Half-blood himself? No, Myrtle had thought that Tom was different. There had been something special about him. But he was no longer hers, and Myrtle realized with another wail that he never had been.

Myrtle couldn't even bear to think about what had taken place in that cubicle the night before. Of course she hadn't been pleased about it when it had happened, but this was much, much worse. She would've accepted it eventually if it was Tom who had done that to her, but this was absolutely intolerable.

She had been raped by Pollux Mesmer; that hideous, awful, disgusting boy who had always made her shudder! How could anyone possibly be so terrible? What had Myrtle ever done to him to deserve this fate? She had felt so exposed and humiliated...Myrtle felt as if she would throw up merely thinking about it. She was trembling now as she recalled his body – which she had mistaken for Tom's – on her, forcing himself inside her own body and taking away the only piece of herself that she had left. She had been so foolish. Of course it couldn't have been Tom. Tom Riddle would never care about a hideous girl such as herself, and now she knew that the others had been right all along.

Myrtle sobbed as she recalled more of the previous night. She had always known that it wasn't him, she suddenly realized. The moment he had walked in the bathroom, she had noticed that he was walking differently. His speech had also seemed slurred, as if he was trying to conceal his accent, but Myrtle had been too naive and preoccupied with his charming looks to pay attention. Besides, Tom never talked to her the way that boy had – Pollux's speech was crude and dirty, whereas Tom's words were always polite and refined.

Myrtle's teeth chattered. "He was in me!" she suddenly cried aloud. "That nasty boy was actually in me!"

She hugged her knees as she swung back and forth on the floor of the cubicle. She did not care that the floor was filthy and that she was a mess to look at – after all, why would any of this even matter? Nobody loved her, everybody treated her abysmally, and she had been abused and humiliated regularly for as long as she could remember. Tom Riddle hated her and always had; she had been an utter fool to think that someone like him would ever be interested in her.

She heard the door open but she paid no attention. She heard footsteps approach her cubicle, but she did not stir. They quietly walked past her and continued walking.

Myrtle suddenly grew terrified. What if it was Pollux? What if he had come to rape her again? She burst into tears and shouted, "go away! Leave me alone, Pollux!"

Whoever it was, they paid her no attention. Myrtle wondered if it was actually another student who had come to use the loo, but she knew that it was highly unlikely that anybody would use this particular bathroom at this time of the night.

She grew still as she heard the person mutter something. It was a strange sort of language with hissing noises – the same one Myrtle had heard on the first night Tom had come into the loo. "Tom? Is that you?" she called, wiping off her tears. "If it is, you should leave! I'm not talking to you ever again!"

He continued ignoring her. To her alarm, she heard a loud rumble coming from where he was standing. It sounded as if something was breaking apart – as if someone was pushing aside a large toilet or a sink. "Who's there?" she called more firmly. "What are you doing?"

The rumbling suddenly stopped, and for a minute everything was still. She could hear nothing, until the figure began to speak again in that queer language. She knew at once that this was indeed Tom Riddle; his voice was indistinguishable. It was Tom's own polished words, and not the base slurs of Pollux's accent.

Finally fed up with it all, Myrtle angrily unlocked the cubicle door. "This is a girl's bathroom! You're not allowed to be in here! If you've come to apologize, I don't ca –"

Myrtle gasped when she swung open the cubicle door. She distinctly made out Tom's dark figure standing over the sinks, but her eyes were fixed upon something else.

"I was expecting you here," she faintly heard him drawl. "It's quite late in the night. If you scream, nobody will hear you. I've locked the doors so don't try to run. They'll find your body in the morning."

The last thing she saw were those two bulbous eyes, as large as golf balls and bright as flames. In less than a minute, she found her body helplessly descend to the floor and felt herself drift upward, higher and higher until she had passed through the ceiling and the sloped roof of the castle. And then she was gone.