Hermione dozes off and Harry is let out in the ...
Tiny Way to Die
chapter 23
by
copier
· original author:
wannnaone
(AN: This is a bit of a ode to one of my old favourite HP stories, ehich I think has been deleted now.)
The morning sunlight streamed into the room, casting a warm glow over the space. Hermione stretched languidly, her body relaxed and satisfied from the night before. She let out a soft yawn, then rose from bed, her mind already organizing the day's schedule. Padding to the bathroom, she felt an odd awareness of the fullness in her lower abdomen, and a small smile played on her lips.
Everything she'd done was for Harry's benefit—at least, that’s how she justified it to herself. Keeping him close, safe, and... well, exploring their connection in ways she'd never imagined before. It wasn’t guilt she felt; it was a sense of purpose, a belief that her actions were helping him adapt to his unique situation.
Meanwhile, Harry stirred awake, groggy and disoriented. For a moment, he couldn’t remember where he was, and then it hit him. His head still poked out into the cool morning air, but something felt different. His body, encased in a tight, warm layer, felt heavier. His skin was coated in a slick, unpleasant substance, and the faint but unmistakable stench surrounding him made his stomach churn.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. He tried to move, but the casing around his body resisted, sticky and solid. Panic started to set in as he realized where he still was and what was happening.
Hermione sat down on the toilet, her muscles instinctively flexing as she began to relieve herself. The movement pushed Harry further along, and he yelped in surprise as the tight ring of muscle around his neck began to push him out. With a steady, rhythmic contraction, Harry felt his body sliding free. The casing around him was the result of Hermione’s digestive processes—a natural product of her body's work.
With a soft plop, Harry landed in the toilet bowl along with everything else she’d eaten recently. He coughed and sputtered, the acrid smell overwhelming as he tried to shake the remnants of his nightmarish journey off his skin.
Hermione glanced down, her expression neutral. She reached for the flush handle, pausing when she saw Harry struggling to sit up. “Oh, there you are, Harry,” she said, her tone as casual as if she were greeting him at breakfast. “I told you this would be good for you. You’ve learned so much about trust and closeness. And look—safe and sound.”
“Safe and sound?” Harry spluttered, wiping his face with his hands and grimacing at the sticky residue left behind. “Hermione, I smell like—”
“Like my shit?” Hermione interrupted with a knowing smirk. “It’s perfectly natural, Harry, you are. Everyone poops, after all. You’re just part of the process now. And besides, you wanted to get out the ‘natural way.’ Mission accomplished, right?”
Harry groaned, his cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and frustration. He didn’t even have the energy to argue. “I need a bath,” he muttered, pinching his nose against the stench that clung to him.
Hermione stood, pulling the flush handle to clear the rest of her waste. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you cleaned up. You’ll feel better after a nice soak.” She turned to the sink and began filling it with warm water, grabbing a washcloth and a bar of soap.
Harry sighed as she carefully lifted him out of the toilet bowl, holding him at arm’s length like a soiled doll. He wanted to feel angry or humiliated, but mostly, he just wanted to be clean. As Hermione gently lowered him into the soapy water, Harry scrubbed at his skin furiously, lathering the soap over and over again, but no matter how much he scrubbed, the stench clung to him like a second skin. The acrid, musky scent of digestion, sweat, and waste refused to budge. His nose scrunched up in disgust as he dunked his head under the water again, furiously rubbing at his hair. When he resurfaced, gasping for breath, the scent was still there—embedded into his very being.
“For Merlin’s sake,” he groaned, scrubbing even harder until his skin turned red. “I still stink!”
Hermione, sitting beside the sink and watching his efforts with an amused smile, tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Well, Harry, it makes sense,” she mused. “You’ve been inside me for a long time. That kind of scent doesn’t just disappear with regular soap and water.”
Harry shot her a look of pure exasperation. “Then what the bloody hell am I supposed to do?” he demanded, holding his hands out and shaking them, splashing water everywhere. “I can’t go around smelling like—like this!”
Hermione’s eyes suddenly lit up, and she snapped her fingers. “Oh! I just remembered—there’s a lot of ammonia in urine.”
Harry blinked. “What.”
Hermione nodded enthusiastically, ignoring the horror spreading across his tiny face. “Ammonia is great for breaking down strong odors,” she explained matter-of-factly. “That’s why it’s used in cleaning solutions! And, well, urine naturally contains ammonia, so—”
“No,” Harry said firmly, backing up against the side of the sink. “Absolutely not.”
“Harry, be reasonable,” Hermione chided, rolling her eyes. “This is a practical solution. It’s not like I’m suggesting something ridiculous. We need to neutralize the odor, and this is a known method.”
Harry shook his head violently, gripping the edge of the sink as if his life depended on it. “You are not— I repeat— you are not going to piss on me.”
Hermione huffed, crossing her arms. “Well, do you have any better ideas?”
“I’d rather smell like this for the rest of my life,” Harry shot back, his tiny fists clenched.
Hermione sighed dramatically, standing up and stretching. “Alright, well, you think about it,” she said in an infuriatingly calm voice. “But don’t expect me to let you crawl into bed with me stinking like that. You have a few hours to decide before I enforce a solution.”
Harry groaned, flopping backward into the warm water, staring at the ceiling in despair. He had survived Voldemort, the Triwizard Tournament, and the countless dangers of Hogwarts—but this? This was his greatest trial yet.
And worst of all, deep down, a part of him knew that Hermione always got her way.
The morning sunlight streamed into the room, casting a warm glow over the space. Hermione stretched languidly, her body relaxed and satisfied from the night before. She let out a soft yawn, then rose from bed, her mind already organizing the day's schedule. Padding to the bathroom, she felt an odd awareness of the fullness in her lower abdomen, and a small smile played on her lips.
Everything she'd done was for Harry's benefit—at least, that’s how she justified it to herself. Keeping him close, safe, and... well, exploring their connection in ways she'd never imagined before. It wasn’t guilt she felt; it was a sense of purpose, a belief that her actions were helping him adapt to his unique situation.
Meanwhile, Harry stirred awake, groggy and disoriented. For a moment, he couldn’t remember where he was, and then it hit him. His head still poked out into the cool morning air, but something felt different. His body, encased in a tight, warm layer, felt heavier. His skin was coated in a slick, unpleasant substance, and the faint but unmistakable stench surrounding him made his stomach churn.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. He tried to move, but the casing around his body resisted, sticky and solid. Panic started to set in as he realized where he still was and what was happening.
Hermione sat down on the toilet, her muscles instinctively flexing as she began to relieve herself. The movement pushed Harry further along, and he yelped in surprise as the tight ring of muscle around his neck began to push him out. With a steady, rhythmic contraction, Harry felt his body sliding free. The casing around him was the result of Hermione’s digestive processes—a natural product of her body's work.
With a soft plop, Harry landed in the toilet bowl along with everything else she’d eaten recently. He coughed and sputtered, the acrid smell overwhelming as he tried to shake the remnants of his nightmarish journey off his skin.
Hermione glanced down, her expression neutral. She reached for the flush handle, pausing when she saw Harry struggling to sit up. “Oh, there you are, Harry,” she said, her tone as casual as if she were greeting him at breakfast. “I told you this would be good for you. You’ve learned so much about trust and closeness. And look—safe and sound.”
“Safe and sound?” Harry spluttered, wiping his face with his hands and grimacing at the sticky residue left behind. “Hermione, I smell like—”
“Like my shit?” Hermione interrupted with a knowing smirk. “It’s perfectly natural, Harry, you are. Everyone poops, after all. You’re just part of the process now. And besides, you wanted to get out the ‘natural way.’ Mission accomplished, right?”
Harry groaned, his cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and frustration. He didn’t even have the energy to argue. “I need a bath,” he muttered, pinching his nose against the stench that clung to him.
Hermione stood, pulling the flush handle to clear the rest of her waste. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you cleaned up. You’ll feel better after a nice soak.” She turned to the sink and began filling it with warm water, grabbing a washcloth and a bar of soap.
Harry sighed as she carefully lifted him out of the toilet bowl, holding him at arm’s length like a soiled doll. He wanted to feel angry or humiliated, but mostly, he just wanted to be clean. As Hermione gently lowered him into the soapy water, Harry scrubbed at his skin furiously, lathering the soap over and over again, but no matter how much he scrubbed, the stench clung to him like a second skin. The acrid, musky scent of digestion, sweat, and waste refused to budge. His nose scrunched up in disgust as he dunked his head under the water again, furiously rubbing at his hair. When he resurfaced, gasping for breath, the scent was still there—embedded into his very being.
“For Merlin’s sake,” he groaned, scrubbing even harder until his skin turned red. “I still stink!”
Hermione, sitting beside the sink and watching his efforts with an amused smile, tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Well, Harry, it makes sense,” she mused. “You’ve been inside me for a long time. That kind of scent doesn’t just disappear with regular soap and water.”
Harry shot her a look of pure exasperation. “Then what the bloody hell am I supposed to do?” he demanded, holding his hands out and shaking them, splashing water everywhere. “I can’t go around smelling like—like this!”
Hermione’s eyes suddenly lit up, and she snapped her fingers. “Oh! I just remembered—there’s a lot of ammonia in urine.”
Harry blinked. “What.”
Hermione nodded enthusiastically, ignoring the horror spreading across his tiny face. “Ammonia is great for breaking down strong odors,” she explained matter-of-factly. “That’s why it’s used in cleaning solutions! And, well, urine naturally contains ammonia, so—”
“No,” Harry said firmly, backing up against the side of the sink. “Absolutely not.”
“Harry, be reasonable,” Hermione chided, rolling her eyes. “This is a practical solution. It’s not like I’m suggesting something ridiculous. We need to neutralize the odor, and this is a known method.”
Harry shook his head violently, gripping the edge of the sink as if his life depended on it. “You are not— I repeat— you are not going to piss on me.”
Hermione huffed, crossing her arms. “Well, do you have any better ideas?”
“I’d rather smell like this for the rest of my life,” Harry shot back, his tiny fists clenched.
Hermione sighed dramatically, standing up and stretching. “Alright, well, you think about it,” she said in an infuriatingly calm voice. “But don’t expect me to let you crawl into bed with me stinking like that. You have a few hours to decide before I enforce a solution.”
Harry groaned, flopping backward into the warm water, staring at the ceiling in despair. He had survived Voldemort, the Triwizard Tournament, and the countless dangers of Hogwarts—but this? This was his greatest trial yet.
And worst of all, deep down, a part of him knew that Hermione always got her way.
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June 1
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