"I'm helping you out, you could help me...
Tiny Way to Die
chapter 17
by
copier
· original author:
wannnaone
Hermione’s voice broke the tense silence as she looked down at you, her expression calm but with an unmistakable air of authority.
"Honestly, Harry," she began, her tone shifting to that familiar lecturing cadence, "I’m helping you out here, trying to get you to adjust and keep you safe. The least you could do is help me out in return."
You looked up at her warily, already dreading whatever suggestion she was about to make.
"My feet have been in these shoes all day," she continued matter-of-factly, wriggling her toes slightly for emphasis. "They’re sore, and, well, not exactly fresh anymore. Why don’t you clean them for me? It’d save me the trouble, and you’d get a meal out of it too. It’s a win-win, really."
Your jaw dropped. "Hermione," you said slowly, "you can’t seriously be asking me to—"
"Why not?" she interrupted, tilting her head slightly as though she genuinely didn’t understand your objection. "You were just complaining about being hungry, and my feet could use a good cleaning. It’s practical, Harry. Efficient. And it’s not like you haven’t already… had a taste."
You felt your face flush with embarrassment and indignation. "That was—different," you stammered, trying to find the words to convey just how ridiculous this was.
"Was it?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow. "You’re overthinking this, Harry. It’s really not that big of a deal. Besides," she added, her tone softening slightly, "I trust you. And you trust me, don’t you?"
The weight of her gaze was almost unbearable. Hermione, your best friend, the person who had stood by your side through every danger and challenge, was now looking at you as if this absurd suggestion was the most natural thing in the world.
"I… I don’t know about this," you muttered, glancing away.
She sighed, setting her book aside and leaning forward slightly. "Harry," she said gently, "I know this is uncomfortable for you. But it’s not just about you. This is about teamwork, about helping each other. You’re going through something difficult, and I’m doing everything I can to make it easier for you. I just think it’s fair that you pitch in, too."
Her reasoning was infuriatingly sound, as always, but that didn’t make it any less humiliating. Still, you couldn’t deny the logic in her words—or the fact that she wasn’t going to let this go.
"I…" you began, hesitating.
Hermione’s expression softened further, and she smiled faintly. "Just try it, Harry. It’s not a big deal. And I promise, it’ll make us both feel better."
You sighed heavily, resigning yourself to yet another surreal and mortifying moment in this already bizarre day. Slowly, you reached out, your hands trembling slightly as you took hold of her foot. She watched you calmly, her gaze steady and reassuring.
"That’s it," she said softly. "Good boy."
You hesitated, staring at Hermione’s foot in your hands. Her skin was soft yet damp, carrying the faint tang of sweat from a long day in her shoes. You couldn’t believe this was your life now—Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, reduced to this.
Your stomach growled again, a traitorous reminder of your hunger. Hermione raised an eyebrow, her calm gaze unwavering. “Go on, Harry. It’s not as bad as you think. And you’re hungry, aren’t you?”
You swallowed hard, your pride battling against the gnawing emptiness in your stomach. Her words repeated in your head: It’s practical, Harry. Efficient. It’s not a big deal. You tried to convince yourself that she was right, that this was just another strange hurdle to overcome.
Taking a deep breath, you leaned in, your heart pounding in your chest. Tentatively, you pressed your tongue to the arch of her foot, the salty taste of sweat hitting your tongue immediately. It wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t unbearable either.
Hermione hummed softly, her voice calm and encouraging. “See? It’s not so bad. You’re doing fine, Harry.”
You glanced up at her briefly, her serene expression both comforting and frustrating. She genuinely believed she was helping, which somehow made the situation even more surreal.
You continued hesitantly, dragging your tongue along the contours of her foot. The taste was bitter and salty, the texture smooth and warm. It wasn’t exactly appetizing, but with every pass, you could feel your hunger begin to subside.
Hermione, for her part, remained utterly composed. She picked up her book again, her free foot propped up on a nearby cushion as she turned the pages. “You’re making good progress,” she said absently, her tone as casual as if you were doing homework together.
Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, but you kept going, determined to get through this ordeal as quickly as possible. The taste lingered on your tongue, but you found yourself growing numb to it, your focus shifting to the simple act of filling your stomach.
After what felt like an eternity, Hermione set her book down and looked at you with a small, satisfied smile. “There we go,” she said, her tone almost proud. “See, Harry? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
You sat back, wiping your mouth with the sleeve of your oversized robes. “Hermione, this is insane,” you muttered, your voice hoarse.
She shrugged lightly, her expression unbothered. “Insane or not, it worked. You’re not hungry anymore, are you?”
You didn’t respond, too mortified to admit that she was right. Instead, you stared at the floor, your thoughts swirling with a mix of anger, embarrassment, and confusion.
Hermione reached out, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “I know this is hard for you, Harry,” she said softly. “But I’m here to help you through it. You’ll see—it’ll get easier.”
You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you just nodded, avoiding her gaze. Deep down, you knew Hermione meant well, but that didn’t make this any less humiliating. As she picked up her book again, you couldn’t help but wonder just how much more of this “help” you were going to endure.
"Honestly, Harry," she began, her tone shifting to that familiar lecturing cadence, "I’m helping you out here, trying to get you to adjust and keep you safe. The least you could do is help me out in return."
You looked up at her warily, already dreading whatever suggestion she was about to make.
"My feet have been in these shoes all day," she continued matter-of-factly, wriggling her toes slightly for emphasis. "They’re sore, and, well, not exactly fresh anymore. Why don’t you clean them for me? It’d save me the trouble, and you’d get a meal out of it too. It’s a win-win, really."
Your jaw dropped. "Hermione," you said slowly, "you can’t seriously be asking me to—"
"Why not?" she interrupted, tilting her head slightly as though she genuinely didn’t understand your objection. "You were just complaining about being hungry, and my feet could use a good cleaning. It’s practical, Harry. Efficient. And it’s not like you haven’t already… had a taste."
You felt your face flush with embarrassment and indignation. "That was—different," you stammered, trying to find the words to convey just how ridiculous this was.
"Was it?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow. "You’re overthinking this, Harry. It’s really not that big of a deal. Besides," she added, her tone softening slightly, "I trust you. And you trust me, don’t you?"
The weight of her gaze was almost unbearable. Hermione, your best friend, the person who had stood by your side through every danger and challenge, was now looking at you as if this absurd suggestion was the most natural thing in the world.
"I… I don’t know about this," you muttered, glancing away.
She sighed, setting her book aside and leaning forward slightly. "Harry," she said gently, "I know this is uncomfortable for you. But it’s not just about you. This is about teamwork, about helping each other. You’re going through something difficult, and I’m doing everything I can to make it easier for you. I just think it’s fair that you pitch in, too."
Her reasoning was infuriatingly sound, as always, but that didn’t make it any less humiliating. Still, you couldn’t deny the logic in her words—or the fact that she wasn’t going to let this go.
"I…" you began, hesitating.
Hermione’s expression softened further, and she smiled faintly. "Just try it, Harry. It’s not a big deal. And I promise, it’ll make us both feel better."
You sighed heavily, resigning yourself to yet another surreal and mortifying moment in this already bizarre day. Slowly, you reached out, your hands trembling slightly as you took hold of her foot. She watched you calmly, her gaze steady and reassuring.
"That’s it," she said softly. "Good boy."
You hesitated, staring at Hermione’s foot in your hands. Her skin was soft yet damp, carrying the faint tang of sweat from a long day in her shoes. You couldn’t believe this was your life now—Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, reduced to this.
Your stomach growled again, a traitorous reminder of your hunger. Hermione raised an eyebrow, her calm gaze unwavering. “Go on, Harry. It’s not as bad as you think. And you’re hungry, aren’t you?”
You swallowed hard, your pride battling against the gnawing emptiness in your stomach. Her words repeated in your head: It’s practical, Harry. Efficient. It’s not a big deal. You tried to convince yourself that she was right, that this was just another strange hurdle to overcome.
Taking a deep breath, you leaned in, your heart pounding in your chest. Tentatively, you pressed your tongue to the arch of her foot, the salty taste of sweat hitting your tongue immediately. It wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t unbearable either.
Hermione hummed softly, her voice calm and encouraging. “See? It’s not so bad. You’re doing fine, Harry.”
You glanced up at her briefly, her serene expression both comforting and frustrating. She genuinely believed she was helping, which somehow made the situation even more surreal.
You continued hesitantly, dragging your tongue along the contours of her foot. The taste was bitter and salty, the texture smooth and warm. It wasn’t exactly appetizing, but with every pass, you could feel your hunger begin to subside.
Hermione, for her part, remained utterly composed. She picked up her book again, her free foot propped up on a nearby cushion as she turned the pages. “You’re making good progress,” she said absently, her tone as casual as if you were doing homework together.
Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, but you kept going, determined to get through this ordeal as quickly as possible. The taste lingered on your tongue, but you found yourself growing numb to it, your focus shifting to the simple act of filling your stomach.
After what felt like an eternity, Hermione set her book down and looked at you with a small, satisfied smile. “There we go,” she said, her tone almost proud. “See, Harry? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
You sat back, wiping your mouth with the sleeve of your oversized robes. “Hermione, this is insane,” you muttered, your voice hoarse.
She shrugged lightly, her expression unbothered. “Insane or not, it worked. You’re not hungry anymore, are you?”
You didn’t respond, too mortified to admit that she was right. Instead, you stared at the floor, your thoughts swirling with a mix of anger, embarrassment, and confusion.
Hermione reached out, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “I know this is hard for you, Harry,” she said softly. “But I’m here to help you through it. You’ll see—it’ll get easier.”
You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you just nodded, avoiding her gaze. Deep down, you knew Hermione meant well, but that didn’t make this any less humiliating. As she picked up her book again, you couldn’t help but wonder just how much more of this “help” you were going to endure.
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June 1
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