Written for a challenge on Fnet:

"Write an odd ship. 'Odd' does not mean HG/SS, DM/HP, etc. It means Goyle/Herm, Pansy/Seamus, Draco/Giant Squid. Something rare, or something gross, or something impossible. One-shot preferred, multi-chaptered accepted. Songfic if you want. Can be humorous or completely serious. Have fun."

This fic is Myrtle/Hermione/Ron. While the outcome is typical I added Myrtle to cover the "odd" base lol. What can I say I loff Hr/R; old habits die hard no?

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters blah blah…

Myrtle's Misfortune.

She was sniffling again, and it annoyed her. It was the only thing she ever seemed to do anymore. She was so lonely, why couldn't she have passed on like normal people, why did she have to linger; she couldn't even pick up a tissue. It was rather embarrassing to say the least.

Myrtle hadn't had any visitors for what seemed like forever that was until Harry, Ron and Hermione had started using the girl's bathroom as their base. It was much more interesting since they'd arrived. She never actually joined in their conversations or plans; she just sat in her stall and listened. Which, boring as it may sound, brightened her day immensely.

And, although she would never admit it to anyone, she did have a soft spot for the three of them. She had always made it obvious that Harry was her favourite…or so she made out.

Although completely oblivious, Hermione had stolen her heart. No one had ever asked why she was being teased the day she died. No one had ever found out…apart from Olive. Olive was the only one Myrtle had ever trusted and she had shunned her in her time of need. Treating her as bad as the rest of her classmates, but it hurt even more as she loved her.

Hermione reminded her so much of Olive…except, she was different. She had never turned on Myrtle, sometimes even kept her company if she was feeling particularly down about the normal things. Being a teenager all the time was hard enough without being dead as well.

But Myrtle knew that she didn't have a chance with her beloved. She might not be the most intellectual book on the shelf but she did notice things; particularly the way a certain redhead looked at Hermione, and the way she smiled back at him. Had she not already died, Myrtle had decided she might have had suicidal thoughts.

Myrtle had taken a dislike to Ronald Weasley the first time she had met him: His eyes were too close together and his flaming red hair was clearly the mark of Satan. Okay so she was being paranoid, but he was definitely not good enough for Hermione.

She had heard their arguments. They seemed to argue everywhere; all the time. Even in the prefects bathroom, Myrtle, of course, would have a front row seat, and always side with Hermione. While she didn't like to see her friend upset over Ron, she was always secretly elated when she came to her for comforting.

"I can always talk to you Myrtle," she had said on one occasion. "None of my other friends understand me like you do."

Myrtle was secretly thrilled; she longed for closeness that she had never felt; even when alive, and truly believed that Hermione could give it to her.

Sadly, she couldn't.

One day, patrolling the U-bends, Myrtle heard shouting coming from the prefects' bathroom. She knew who it was straight away. Hermione and Ron were having another of their slanging matches. This time it was over prefect duty: Ron was tired of patrolling the halls but Hermione, being overly conscientious, wanted them to do it more.

Ron wore a clearly exasperated look while Hermione remained defiant.

"Like you would really want to spend more time with me!" He challenged.

"Well I wouldn't mind it okay!" she retorted without thinking.

Myrtle's smug grin was wiped off her face and was replaced by a look of pure shock… as was Ron's for that matter.

"What?" he asked meekly.

"I…I…you heard." She blushed and turned away. A small smile began to creep onto Ron's face and he swept Hermione into his arms. Myrtle couldn't bare their closeness, knowing she could never have it, and drifted back to the girls bathroom; moaning all the way.