Chapter 44: The Tactical Spandex and the Pheromone Fog part- 2
"Harry! Focus!" Hermione shouted, dodging a rock I had thrown (manually, for effect).
"Right! Sorry!" Harry shook his head, looking dazed. "It is just... the air. It smells... good."
"Keep moving!" I yelled.
Hermione reached the final obstacle: a dense patch of thorny blackberry bushes I had identified earlier. She had to squeeze through a narrow gap between them.
"I can make it!" she panted. "The suit is snag-proof!"
She dove for the gap.
(Poltergeist Proxy,) I whispered in my mind.
I reached out with invisible force. I grabbed a thick, thorny branch from the bush.
As Hermione slid past, I bent the branch down.
The thorn didn't just snag the fabric; it hooked it deep.
Hermione kept moving forward. The branch stayed put.
The Spandex stretched. And stretched. And stretched.
It pulled tight across her body, turning translucent under the strain.
"I am stuck!" Hermione yelped, trying to pull forward.
Harry, under the influence of the pheromones, didn't think. He reacted.
"I will help you!"
He ran forward. He grabbed her waist to pull her free.
He pulled. The bush pulled back.
The Spandex reached its breaking point.
SNAP.
The sound was like a whip crack.
The fabric didn't rip a little hole. The tension caused a cascading structural failure. The suit split from the neck down to the navel and then, because of the torque, the tear spiraled around her hip and down the thigh.
The black fabric instantly lost its elasticity. It peeled away from her body like the skin of a grape, bunching up around her ankles and wrists.
Hermione fell forward out of the bushes, propelled by Harry's pull.
She landed on top of Harry in the soft grass.
She was wearing her boots. She was wearing the tattered remains of the unitard around her wrists and ankles.
And underneath?
She had trusted the unitard completely. She wasn't wearing anything else.
Well, almost nothing. She was wearing a pair of incredibly small, sport-cut briefs that she had deemed "aerodynamic."
But from the waist up? Nothing.
(...cough...)
Harry lay on his back in the grass. Hermione was pressed against him. Her bare skin was flush against his robes.
The pheromones I had released were still hanging thick in the air.
Harry didn't panic. He didn't scream. He didn't cover his eyes.
He breathed in. The scent of her—mixed with the magical pheromones—overwhelmed his logic centers.
"Hermione," Harry whispered, his voice deep and rough.
"My suit," Hermione gasped, realizing she was feeling the evening breeze on ninety percent of her body. "It... it disintegrated."
"It did," Harry agreed. His hands were resting on her bare back. He didn't move them away. In fact, his fingers twitched, stroking the smooth skin.
Hermione froze. She looked down at him. She saw the look in his eyes. It was hunger.
"Harry," she whimpered. "You are... you are touching me."
"I am," Harry murmured. "You are soft."
"We are in the open," she panicked, trying to push herself up, but stopping when she realized that moving away would expose her completely to the setting sun (and me). "Ron is right there."
Harry looked over at me.
I stood leaning against a tree, arms crossed, looking entirely unbothered.
"Don't mind me," I called out cheerfully. "Just checking the perimeter for spiders. You two take a moment. Bond. It is good for team morale."
Harry looked back at Hermione.
"He doesn't care," Harry said, his eyes darkening.
"That is not the point!" Hermione hissed, her face burning so hot I could feel the heat radiation from ten feet away. "I am naked! In a field! Again!"
"Destiny," Harry whispered the word like a mantra.
He sat up slowly, bringing Hermione with him. He wrapped his arms around her, effectively shielding her from the world, but locking her against his body.
"I will protect you," Harry said intensely. "From the cold. From the wind. From the eyes."
"You are the one looking!" she accused, burying her face in his shoulder to hide.
"I am the exception," Harry declared with a newfound, terrifying confidence.
"System Alert," the voice intoned. "Incident recorded. Type: The 'Tactical Failure'. Total structural collapse of compression gear. Skin-to-skin contact under pheromone influence. Target: Hermione Granger. Participant: Harry Potter. Rating: SS-class. Reward: Skill 'Fabric Manipulation (Advanced)' and one hundred attribute points."
(Fabric Manipulation,) I thought. (Finally. I can now alter the properties of cloth at will. I can make wool as transparent as glass. I can make denim as fragile as tissue paper.)
I walked over to them, taking off my cloak.
"Alright, break it up," I said, tossing the cloak over Hermione's shivering back. "Before Filch sees you and thinks we are starting a nudist colony."
Harry blinked, the pheromone fog lifting slightly as I cut the supply. He shook his head, looking down at the bare shoulders protruding from the cloak.
"Oh blimey," Harry whispered, returning to his usual awkward self. "Did I just... did I just stroke your back?"
"Yes," Hermione said, clutching the cloak. "For about a minute."
"I am sorry!" Harry scrambled up, turning his back. "I don't know what came over me! It was the smell! The air smelled like... like Amortentia!"
"It smelled like vanilla," Hermione corrected, standing up and wrapping the cloak tight. She looked at the shredded remains of her black unitard on the ground.
"That suit cost fifty galleons," she mourned. "It was supposed to be indestructible."
"Thorns," I shrugged. "Nature's kryptonite. Come on. Let us get back."
We walked back to the castle. Hermione was once again doing the walk of shame, wrapped in a borrowed cloak. Harry was walking beside her, looking guilty but also strangely energized.
"So," I said quietly to Harry as we entered the Common Room. "How was the 'Tactical Gear'?"
Harry looked at me. He didn't blush this time. He just smirked.
"Aerodynamic," Harry said. "Very aerodynamic."
I laughed. The corruption was complete.
The Third Task was next week. The Maze.
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