A Smudge in the Mirror Closed

She had heard rumors of the ghost in the girl's lavatory. Unfortunately for the curious Slytherin, Moaning Myrtle seemed to be absent during Syrah's search. Although disappointed, she figured if the ghost really did exist, the girl had plenty of time to find her. She was going to be at the school for many years to come, and she would certainly be visiting the bathroom again at some point. Her mother, Siliana, swore to the phantoms existence, yet her mother tended to be a little ditsy sometimes, perhaps she simply gave in to common myth.

Shrugging her shoulders, giving up, Syrah exited the last stall in her search and headed toward the sinks to wash up. Careful not to look in the second stall where someone 'forgot' to flush, and remembering to step over that one loose cobblestone in the floor, she approached the sinks, where a large mirror hung above on the grey walls. She stood and stared at the large mirror in front of her as she washed her hands in the cracked sinks. The water was cold and shocking and so her washing as quick. The mirror itself was huge - took over almost the entire wall - very suitable for young women to check themselves out in. Yet, just like the rest of the bathroom, it was cracked, dusty and old. 

Syrah understood that the castle was old. Super old. She had no idea how old.  - That reminded her she should probably start reading her Hogwarts, A History textbook. - But the castle was obviously still in extreme use. The school had to have a janitor of some kind to clean the lavatory on a regular basis. Or at least, this was a magic school after all, surely there exist a ton of cleaning spells some witch or wizard could cast in a jiff to clean and fix this place up a bit. She wondered if the boys bathroom looked anything like this. She sure hoped so or else there would be some questions to ask. 

Leaning in, resting her abdomen on the sink edge, she peered into the ancient glass trying to see her own reflection. She could see it, of course, the mirror wasn't that dirty. At the very least she could see hand marks where previous girls had wiped away grime to get a better view of themselves. But still the glass was covered in tiny puncture marks that had yet to split and dirt to stuck even her small fingernail couldn't scratch it off. She wiped her hands on her robes, uncomfortable with the dusty texture. 

Higher up on the mirror and in some more reasonable corners and edges, some girls chose to write messages in the dust. Most were stupid jokes, some were Myrtle sightings and others were mean messages about others. Syrah didn't recognize any names though. Continued to stretch her neck to read all the writings, Syrah tried to think of something she could write. She didn't have much of a sense of humor and hadn't seen anything of Moaning Myrtle and didn't really know anyone well enough to write anything bad - or good. So, instead she was left staring deeply into an old mirror on the wall.