Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling and other associated characters. I do not claim to own any of these characters, though the views expressed within my story are my own.

Warning: This story is intentionally silly, often ridiculous, and written on the premise that all characters have the right to be OOC in the bubble of my own head. Read at your own risk. Do not bug the author, for I have warned you!

A/N: This is a separate story from "Dracos Blue Hair", but seeing as it follows directly from the events in "Draco's Blue Hair", I think it best if you read that one first!

Chapter 1

Hermione Granger, partially omniscient and overly talented witch, was fuming. Actually, she wasn't simply fuming, she was downright livid, teeming with frustration. Her passionate anger was caused by the one thing that drove Hermione wild: not knowing everything that happened on Hogwart's grounds.

Several weeks ago, she had stalked down to the dungeons to discover exactly what Snape was going to do with the strawberries he was begging off of the House Elves. But Ginny, who she'd had to drag along with her, had collapsed half-way there, allowing Snape to escape with said morsels before Hermione had arrived. Since then, Snape had asked the House Elves for strawberries two separate times, and both times she hadn't been able to corner him before he left the grounds. And to make matters worse, her favourite lip balm from the small beauty boutique in Hogsmede was being discontinued, also for reasons unknown. She wanted to throttle someone.

Snape was too good at escaping from her grasp, she mused sourly, walking down the corridor to History of Magic. She supposed he had years of practice at evading Dumbledore, and although she readily admitted she was not yet at Dumbledore's snooping standard, she wished Snape wasn't quite so good at escaping.

She approached a corner and was almost at the History of Magic classroom when something made her pause. She strained her ears and realized that the faint noise she was hearing was actually whispering. That was hardly strange in itself, as there were numerous gossipmongers in Hogwarts. What was striking in this case was the producers of that whispering: Ginny was with Blaise, an overly charming Prefect, and a Slytherin to boot. Blaise was the one student that Hermione was actually wary about; he, like her, was an information collector, although he didn't have the advantage of being omniscient. As a matter of fact, one of Blaise's biggest puzzles was trying to discover exactly how Hermione knew nearly everything, as her superior ability was a bone of contention between the two of them. He was nowhere close to discovering the answer, much to Hermione's amusement. Ginny and Draco were the only ones to know, and Hermione took special note of their weaknesses for that very reason.

Hermione edged closer to the corner, staying out of sight. She closed her eyes and focused on the conversation.

"You took this long detour from your next class simply to tell me you're angry at Granger? Why are you wasting my time?"

"You said you'd reward me for information relating to Hermione," Ginny replied.

"Your feelings hardly count as information."

"But," Ginny insisted, trying to sound coy, "my feelings affect which information I feel inclined to relay." When Blaise did not reply, Ginny huffed angrily and continued. "Do you or do you not want to know how Hermione knows everything that goes on in Hogwarts?"

Hermione didn't way for Blaise to reply. She strode around the corner, a fake smile on her face. Ginny sprung away from Blaise as if she had been stung, and with a little 'eep', she turned and fled down the corridor.

Blaise looked disgruntled, and so Hermione graced him with a radiant smile, adding, "Flighty girl, isn't she?" Then she swept past him and into the classroom. The taste of victory was sweet.

She sat down at her desk and began pulling out her quill and ink whilst Blaise slouched in and took a seat at the back. She studiously ignored him, although her mind was already whirring. Blaise was like a dog with a bone: he would relentlessly track Ginny down and force her to tell him everything. The only way to waylay Blaise would be to somehow incapacitate Ginny.

Hermione took a quill and wrote How to incapacitate Ginny at the top of her parchment. She underlined it once and tapped her quill against her lips thoughtfully.

Harry and Ron chose that moment to come into the classroom. They took one look at her studious expression and immediately avoided her eyes, choosing to slump down in the seats next to her and prepare for a nap. She suppressed a smile. The two boys thought she diligently listened to Binns' monotonous voice, not realizing that she had acquired copies of all his lecture notes sometime in her first year. Hermione didn't want to dissuade Harry or Ron from their impression; it gave her, after all, time to make serious plans.

She underlined the title on her parchment a second time, chewing her lip thoughtfully. She frowned and touched her lips, taking her lip balm from her pocket and applying some while she continued to think. Perhaps Myrtle could be convinced to flood a toilet or two, Hermione mused, jotting the thought down and planning how to manoeuvre Ginny into being inside said toilet. But Ginny was already on her guard, and furthermore a toilet or two wasn't enough; it would take at least several days of incoherent Ginny babbling before Blaise would give up.

Hermione was about to cross the idea off of her list when a thought struck her. If flooding one toilet wasn't enough, the obvious solution would be to flood more. A continuous assault over several days would shock Ginny into absolute incoherency. But how to convince Ginny to enter said toilets? Hermione looked down at her parchment and began to write furiously, tuning out Binns' fascinating lecture on, yet again, the Goblin Wars.

Manipulating Ginny is too difficult, she wrote, therefore the situation must be tackled from the other end. Moaning Myrtle must be convinced to launch said attacks. Important: attacks mustn't be traced back to self!

She continued to write, outlining possible pros and cons, as well as different methods for approaching and convincing Moaning Myrtle. By the time the class drew to a close, her plans were finalized. When Blaise paused at the door to sneer in her direction, she simply raised an eyebrow in reply, smirking. By the time he found Ginny, there would be no way he'd get the information he wanted.

Harry and Ron were too hungry to protest when she declared she'd joined them at lunch in a little while. Hermione smiled as she watched them stumble off in the direction of the Great Hall, and then turned around, heading to the seventh floor. Within minutes, she was outside the girl's bathroom.

Hermione pulled out her plan from her pocket for a final review. At the bottom, in capital letters, she had written: DO NOT INSULT: MUST KEEP M.M. ON MY SIDE. That would be the most difficult part; Myrtle was vain, self-centred, and incredibly whiny. Hermione frowned, and concentrated on the girl's bathroom, wanting to make sure that Moaning Myrtle was alone. Unsurprisingly, she was, but there was something odd about what she was doing. Hermione frowned and concentrated harder, forming an image in her mind.

Moaning Myrtle was preening in the mirror, if that was even possible, sighing to herself with lust-filled emotion. Not wishing to embarrass the ghost—Hermione needed her help, after all—she knocked on the bathroom door briskly, waiting a few seconds before stepping in.

Myrtle was perched on the bathroom counter, trying in vain to look like she was bone idle. She looked up with exaggerated surprise when Hermione walked in, her eyes blinking furiously behind her over-large spectacles. "Hermione? What are you doing here?"

"Hello Myrtle, how are you?"

Myrtle narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "You've never asked that before, not even when you were in here every day brewing that smelly potion. What do you want?"

Damn it. Too nice, too soon. She would have to either backtrack, or appeal to the ghost's innate self-importance. Hermione decided on the latter, and put on a sheepish expression. "I'd hoped you would've forgotten that by now. I was really immature several years ago, and didn't really appreciate what it must be like to be you. I'm actually really embarrassed about it now. Can you forgive me?"

Myrtle looked appeased, although still slightly suspicious. "So you don't want me to do anything?"

"Well, there is one thing I'd like you to do—" Hermione paused, banking on Myrtle's interruption.

Myrtle didn't disappoint, crowing, "Aha! I knew it! What do you want from me?"

"You see, Harry told me all about how you died. But I didn't feel his retelling quite captured it all, and I was wondering if you could tell me firsthand."

Myrtle simply blinked owlishly at her for a few moments, stunned. Hermione found herself holding her breath. This was a crucial part of her plan, the only way she could think of getting Myrtle to open up.

After a few seconds, the ghost quickly pulled herself back together, suddenly looking quite cocky. "Of course it's very difficult to convey the right emotion if you haven't personally experienced an event, although,"—and here Myrtle giggled— "I'm sure Harry did a very good job. He tries so hard at everything, doesn't he?"

Myrtle's lewd tone of voice was conjuring rather disturbing images in Hermione's head. Not trusting herself to speak, Hermione simply nodded.

"Well," Myrtle began, looking more serious, "I was in the bathroom. This very bathroom, never mind why. And then I heard a boy's voice, speaking a strange language. I went out of the stall to tell him that he was in a girl's bathroom, and that it wasn't allowed. But when I came out I saw these big, luminous eyes, and then that was it. When I woke up again, I was dead." Myrtle gave a dramatic sigh and closed her eyes, as if relishing the memory.

After several moments of silence, Hermione dared to ask a question. "So you didn't see who that boy was?"

"No. It's a shame, really. I wasn't really going to tell him off, I was mostly just curious to see what he looked like, as I'd heard that some sexy Slytherins had taken to visiting the girl's toilets." Myrtle winked.

"Like Draco a few weeks ago?" Hermione asked slyly.

Myrtle went into a fit of giggles. When she calmed down, she edged closer to Hermione. "I rather liked him with blue hair," she whispered, looking coy. "It made his skin look pale and waxy, almost like a ghost."

"My thoughts exactly," Hermione replied dryly. Myrtle looked more relaxed now; it was time to put her plan into action. Hermione leaned forward, lowering her voice. "Speaking of Draco, did you hear the latest rumours?"

"Rumours? Nobody tells me anything! What rumours?"

"Remember that girl Ginny, the one who was with me when I came to help Draco?"

Myrtle nodded, adding: "Red hair? Ugly freckles?"

"Exactly. Well let's just say she's not been extremely nice to Draco, and has been saying some very rude things about him."

Myrtle looked scandalized. "Who would dare do that?!"

"Who indeed!" Hermione agreed, suppressing a smirk. "Someone should really teach that girl a lesson. The only problem is, how?" Hermione gave Myrtle a few moments to stew in her own juices before continuing. "Ginny does spend a lot of time in bathrooms, staring at her reflection and so on. If there was a way to stop her from using bathrooms, maybe by flooding the toilets…." Hermione gave a dramatic sigh. "It's useless, I wouldn't be able to do any of these things anyway."

"Well," Myrtle began hesitantly, "I do have some experience flooding toilets."

Hermione didn't have to try too hard to look excited. "Really?" Then she turned away from Myrtle, shaking her head. "I can't ask you to do something like that, you could get into trouble. We'll just have to hope Draco doesn't feel too hurt by the things she's saying."

"Nonsense!" Myrtle declared stubbornly. "You're not asking me to do anything, I want to do it. And if anyone tries to get me into trouble, I'll just blame Peeves, he does those kinds of things anyway!"

"Oh please, Myrtle, forget I ever said anything!" Hermione said, looking worried. "I can't let you do this! Draco will be fine!"

Myrtle just raised her nose in the air snootily. "You just try and stop me!" Then she swooped once around the room before plunging into a toilet and disappearing.

Hermione smiled. Stop Myrtle? As if!

It took another two times of Snape escaping her grasp before Hermione went into utterly serious planning mode. She sat in History of Magic, scowling at the piece of parchment before her, which was covered with an extremely long list enumerating ways to discover what Snape was doing. Every single method had been crossed out except one, and it was with dread in her heart that she read the last option left: follow S.S..

She would have to do the unthinkable. She would have to leave Hogwarts, trail Snape to his lair. Leave Hogwarts! The thought made her shudder. Besides the death-threats on her head courtesy of Voldemort—and worse, the risk of expulsion!—her omniscience only extended as far as the Hogwarts wards. Off-grounds she was much too human for her liking.

On the plus side, it would mean having a break from Draco's constant excursions with random Hogwarts girls, which often ended in disturbing role-plays. It was a form of petty revenge, she knew, as he seemed to reason that if she was going to know everything, she might as well suffer for it. Hermione also knew that by simply whispering the words 'lollipop' or 'blue hair' in Draco's direction, she could put a stop to said excursions. But where was the fun in that? She didn't want him to think he had won, because Hermione always won.

She almost snorted derisively, angry at herself. She was stalling, thinking about Draco when she needed to be planning her mission out of Hogwarts. She pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and wrote: H.E.M.P. In smaller letters, underneath, she added: Hogwarts-External Mission Plan. She stared at the title for several moments, chewing her lip anxiously.

Hermione pulled out her lip balm, spreading some on her over-abused lips. Then, slowly, she began to list everything that needed to be done.