Hermione decides Harry could do with some... co...
Tiny Way to Die
chapter 12
by
copier
· original author:
wannnaone
Hermione’s logical yet unsettling shift in demeanor continued as the day wound down. After dinner, she led you back to the common room with an air of authority, her robes billowing slightly as she walked. You followed silently, your head buzzing with the absurdity of your situation.
Once inside, Hermione settled herself in one of the plush armchairs by the fire, a thick tome already in her lap. She adjusted her position, tucking her legs beneath her slightly, and then looked down at you with an expression you could only describe as calculating.
"Harry," she said in a tone that brooked no argument, "I’ve been thinking about this, and I believe some conditioning would help you adapt to your situation better."
You frowned, unsure what she meant but already wary. "Conditioning?" you echoed.
"Yes," she said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You’re struggling with the discomfort of your size and the inevitable realities of close quarters. I think it would be beneficial for you to become more accustomed to them—particularly things like my sweat, which seem to bother you so much."
Your jaw dropped. "Hermione, I—"
She held up a hand to silence you. "No arguments, Harry. It’s for your own good. If you can acclimate to these minor inconveniences, you’ll be much more comfortable in the long run."
"I don’t see how—" you began, but she cut you off again.
"Why don’t you sit at my feet while I read?" she suggested—or rather, commanded. "You can get used to the smell and taste of my sweat in a controlled environment. It’ll help you build tolerance."
Your face burned with embarrassment and disbelief. "Hermione, that’s ridiculous! I’m not doing that!"
Her brows furrowed, and she leaned forward slightly, her tone taking on a stern edge. "Harry, you’ve been complaining all day about discomfort. I’m trying to help you. This is a logical solution, and if you stop being so stubborn, you’ll see that I’m right."
You stared at her, torn between frustration and humiliation. This couldn’t be real. Hermione, your best friend, was sitting there calmly suggesting that you should subject yourself to such an absurd and demeaning exercise—and for what? To "adapt"?
"Come on," she coaxed, patting the floor beside her chair. "It’s not a big deal. And it’ll help you in the long run, I promise."
Her tone was so patronizing that it made your blood boil, but you also knew that arguing with Hermione when she was in one of her determined moods was futile. With a heavy sigh, you slumped down onto the floor, feeling utterly defeated.
"There we go," Hermione said with a small smile, her demeanor softening as she returned to her book. "See? It’s not so bad."
You gritted your teeth as she kicked off her shoes, the faint scent of sweat and leather immediately wafting up to you. The situation was mortifying, and you couldn’t believe you were actually going along with it.
Hermione, meanwhile, seemed completely unbothered. She shifted her feet slightly, letting one rest near your lap while the other was just inches from your face. "Just take your time," she said absently, her eyes scanning the pages of her book. "The more exposure you get, the easier it’ll be for you to handle things."
You clenched your fists, forcing yourself to breathe deeply and ignore the awkwardness of the moment. If Hermione thought this would help, then maybe—just maybe—it was worth enduring. But as you sat there, the faint sheen of her sweat glistening in the firelight, you couldn’t shake the feeling that your life had taken a turn for the bizarre.
Once inside, Hermione settled herself in one of the plush armchairs by the fire, a thick tome already in her lap. She adjusted her position, tucking her legs beneath her slightly, and then looked down at you with an expression you could only describe as calculating.
"Harry," she said in a tone that brooked no argument, "I’ve been thinking about this, and I believe some conditioning would help you adapt to your situation better."
You frowned, unsure what she meant but already wary. "Conditioning?" you echoed.
"Yes," she said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You’re struggling with the discomfort of your size and the inevitable realities of close quarters. I think it would be beneficial for you to become more accustomed to them—particularly things like my sweat, which seem to bother you so much."
Your jaw dropped. "Hermione, I—"
She held up a hand to silence you. "No arguments, Harry. It’s for your own good. If you can acclimate to these minor inconveniences, you’ll be much more comfortable in the long run."
"I don’t see how—" you began, but she cut you off again.
"Why don’t you sit at my feet while I read?" she suggested—or rather, commanded. "You can get used to the smell and taste of my sweat in a controlled environment. It’ll help you build tolerance."
Your face burned with embarrassment and disbelief. "Hermione, that’s ridiculous! I’m not doing that!"
Her brows furrowed, and she leaned forward slightly, her tone taking on a stern edge. "Harry, you’ve been complaining all day about discomfort. I’m trying to help you. This is a logical solution, and if you stop being so stubborn, you’ll see that I’m right."
You stared at her, torn between frustration and humiliation. This couldn’t be real. Hermione, your best friend, was sitting there calmly suggesting that you should subject yourself to such an absurd and demeaning exercise—and for what? To "adapt"?
"Come on," she coaxed, patting the floor beside her chair. "It’s not a big deal. And it’ll help you in the long run, I promise."
Her tone was so patronizing that it made your blood boil, but you also knew that arguing with Hermione when she was in one of her determined moods was futile. With a heavy sigh, you slumped down onto the floor, feeling utterly defeated.
"There we go," Hermione said with a small smile, her demeanor softening as she returned to her book. "See? It’s not so bad."
You gritted your teeth as she kicked off her shoes, the faint scent of sweat and leather immediately wafting up to you. The situation was mortifying, and you couldn’t believe you were actually going along with it.
Hermione, meanwhile, seemed completely unbothered. She shifted her feet slightly, letting one rest near your lap while the other was just inches from your face. "Just take your time," she said absently, her eyes scanning the pages of her book. "The more exposure you get, the easier it’ll be for you to handle things."
You clenched your fists, forcing yourself to breathe deeply and ignore the awkwardness of the moment. If Hermione thought this would help, then maybe—just maybe—it was worth enduring. But as you sat there, the faint sheen of her sweat glistening in the firelight, you couldn’t shake the feeling that your life had taken a turn for the bizarre.
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June 1
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