As the day wears on it starts to get a sweaty
Tiny Way to Die
chapter 10
by
copier
· original author:
wannnaone
The day wore on, and you quickly realized just how inconvenient Hermione’s “practical solution” could be. The snug, intimate placement beneath her robes became more uncomfortable as time passed, especially as the castle's lack of proper ventilation made the classrooms progressively warmer.
The first class had been tolerable. Hermione had been her usual composed self, jotting down notes with her pristine handwriting, occasionally murmuring to you, “Everything alright?” beneath her breath. You’d grunt in response, trying to adjust as subtly as possible without drawing attention.
But by the time Charms rolled around, it became evident that this arrangement had one glaring downside: heat.
Hermione’s natural warmth radiated against you, and you could feel the subtle shift of her muscles as she fidgeted slightly in her seat. The combination of her robes, the heavy castle air, and her focused concentration on class began to take its toll on her. A faint sheen of perspiration formed on her skin, making your already intimate predicament even more uncomfortable.
You shifted slightly, trying to find a position where you weren’t as tightly pressed against her dampening skin. "Hermione," you whispered as quietly as possible, your voice tinged with desperation, "it’s really hot in here."
She didn’t even glance down. "I know, Harry," she murmured back, her tone brisk. "Just hang in there. It’s not like I can take you out in the middle of class."
Her practicality was infuriating. The heat wasn’t just a mild inconvenience; it was becoming unbearable. You could feel beads of sweat trickling down her torso, some of which inevitably made their way onto you.
"Maybe after this class, we can—"
"No," she interrupted firmly, leaning slightly over her desk to write something down. The movement pressed you closer to her body, and you could feel her heartbeat against your back. "This is the safest place for you, Harry. You’ll be fine. It’s for your own good."
You sighed in frustration, resigning yourself to your fate. Hermione seemed completely unfazed by the situation. If anything, she was almost too calm, treating your presence as nothing more than a practical necessity.
As the day progressed, the discomfort only grew worse. Between her brisk walks to class and the increasingly humid atmosphere of the castle, her sweat began to soak into her clothes and your oversized robes. The damp fabric clung to your skin, making it impossible to find any semblance of comfort.
You tried to speak up once more as you arrived at Potions, but Hermione quickly hushed you, whispering, "Harry, please. I’m doing this for you. It’s not exactly comfortable for me either, but I’m managing."
Her words were dismissive, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang of annoyance. Sure, she was managing, but she wasn’t the one stuck under her own robes, practically plastered to someone else’s body.
By the time dinner approached, you were at your wit’s end. Hermione sat down at the long Gryffindor table, finally allowing herself to relax slightly. You could feel the warmth radiating off her skin, and the faint salty tang of sweat was unmistakable.
"Hermione," you muttered weakly, "I need some air."
She reached for her goblet, taking a sip of pumpkin juice before responding. "Harry," she said softly, "I know it’s not ideal, but this is the safest and most practical solution. I’m not risking your safety just because you’re a little uncomfortable."
Her words stung, but you knew better than to argue. Hermione was nothing if not determined when she set her mind to something, and she clearly believed she was doing what was best for you.
As she shifted slightly to grab a plate of food, you felt her thighs press against you once more, the damp fabric of her robes rubbing against your skin. You sighed, silently praying that this day would end soon—and that Hermione might come up with a less stifling "solution" for tomorrow.
The first class had been tolerable. Hermione had been her usual composed self, jotting down notes with her pristine handwriting, occasionally murmuring to you, “Everything alright?” beneath her breath. You’d grunt in response, trying to adjust as subtly as possible without drawing attention.
But by the time Charms rolled around, it became evident that this arrangement had one glaring downside: heat.
Hermione’s natural warmth radiated against you, and you could feel the subtle shift of her muscles as she fidgeted slightly in her seat. The combination of her robes, the heavy castle air, and her focused concentration on class began to take its toll on her. A faint sheen of perspiration formed on her skin, making your already intimate predicament even more uncomfortable.
You shifted slightly, trying to find a position where you weren’t as tightly pressed against her dampening skin. "Hermione," you whispered as quietly as possible, your voice tinged with desperation, "it’s really hot in here."
She didn’t even glance down. "I know, Harry," she murmured back, her tone brisk. "Just hang in there. It’s not like I can take you out in the middle of class."
Her practicality was infuriating. The heat wasn’t just a mild inconvenience; it was becoming unbearable. You could feel beads of sweat trickling down her torso, some of which inevitably made their way onto you.
"Maybe after this class, we can—"
"No," she interrupted firmly, leaning slightly over her desk to write something down. The movement pressed you closer to her body, and you could feel her heartbeat against your back. "This is the safest place for you, Harry. You’ll be fine. It’s for your own good."
You sighed in frustration, resigning yourself to your fate. Hermione seemed completely unfazed by the situation. If anything, she was almost too calm, treating your presence as nothing more than a practical necessity.
As the day progressed, the discomfort only grew worse. Between her brisk walks to class and the increasingly humid atmosphere of the castle, her sweat began to soak into her clothes and your oversized robes. The damp fabric clung to your skin, making it impossible to find any semblance of comfort.
You tried to speak up once more as you arrived at Potions, but Hermione quickly hushed you, whispering, "Harry, please. I’m doing this for you. It’s not exactly comfortable for me either, but I’m managing."
Her words were dismissive, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang of annoyance. Sure, she was managing, but she wasn’t the one stuck under her own robes, practically plastered to someone else’s body.
By the time dinner approached, you were at your wit’s end. Hermione sat down at the long Gryffindor table, finally allowing herself to relax slightly. You could feel the warmth radiating off her skin, and the faint salty tang of sweat was unmistakable.
"Hermione," you muttered weakly, "I need some air."
She reached for her goblet, taking a sip of pumpkin juice before responding. "Harry," she said softly, "I know it’s not ideal, but this is the safest and most practical solution. I’m not risking your safety just because you’re a little uncomfortable."
Her words stung, but you knew better than to argue. Hermione was nothing if not determined when she set her mind to something, and she clearly believed she was doing what was best for you.
As she shifted slightly to grab a plate of food, you felt her thighs press against you once more, the damp fabric of her robes rubbing against your skin. You sighed, silently praying that this day would end soon—and that Hermione might come up with a less stifling "solution" for tomorrow.
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June 1
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