Chapter 18: The Invisible Puddle and the Professor's Assessment part-1
"It is not a belief, Professor," Hermione Granger said, her voice trembling slightly. She was clutching the parchment tightly around her waist. "It is statistical fact. In the last forty-eight hours, I have experienced seven distinct wardrobe malfunctions, each more improbable than the last. The probability of this happening naturally is astronomically low."
Harry Potter nodded vigorously beside her. "She is right, Professor. I have seen... well, I have been there for all of them. Gravity seems to hate her."
"I see," Lupin mused, tapping his wand against his chin. "And you want me to check for hexes?"
"Please," Hermione pleaded.
At that moment, I burst into the office, panting theatrically. I held Hermione's grey pleated skirt in my hand like a trophy.
"I found it!" I announced, closing the door behind me. "Madam Pince was using it to dust the encyclopedias, but I wrestled it back. I even cast a Reparo on the seam."
(Lie number one,) I thought, suppressing a smirk. (I did cast a Reparo, but I intentionally left the stitching on the zipper mechanism at ten percent integrity. One sneeze and that zipper is history.)
"Oh, thank goodness!" Hermione cried. "Professor, may I use your screen to change? I cannot concentrate while wearing a scroll on the Goblin Rebellions."
"Of course," Lupin said, gesturing to a folding screen in the corner of the room. "Go ahead, Hermione."
Hermione grabbed the skirt from me, shooting me a grateful look and ducked behind the screen. We heard the rustling of fabric, the crinkle of parchment being discarded and the sound of a zipper going up.
(Structure Analysis,) I commanded silently.
Through the screen, I could see the faint outline of the zipper. It was holding, but barely. The stress on the metal teeth was critical.
"Better?" Lupin asked as Hermione emerged. She looked relieved, smoothing down the front of her skirt. She was wearing her white button-down shirt (untucked, to hide the waistband) and the reclaimed skirt.
"Much better," she sighed. "Now, please, Professor. Check me."
"Very well," Lupin said, drawing his wand. "Stand still. Specialis Revelio."
A golden light washed over Hermione. It hummed and buzzed, analyzing her magical signature.
"Hmm," Lupin frowned. "Nothing. No jinxes. No hexes. Your aura is clean, albeit a bit stressed."
"Try a deeper scan!" Hermione insisted. "Maybe it is a blood curse?"
While they were distracted, I surveyed the room. It was filled with magical creatures in cages and tanks. In the corner, a large glass tank stood on a wobbly wooden stand. Inside, a Grindylow—a pale green water demon with long, spindly fingers—floated menacingly, pressing its face against the glass.
The tank was filled with murky, green swamp water.
(Target acquired,) I thought.
I looked at my skills list. Telekinesis. Liquids Manipulation. Illusion.
(Let us combine them for a symphony of chaos.)
First, Telekinesis. I focused on the rear leg of the wooden stand holding the heavy tank.
(Push.)
The leg cracked silently. The stand tilted forward ever so slightly.
Next, Liquids Manipulation. I focused on the water inside the tank. I agitated it, making the Grindylow thrash about, creating waves that splashed over the rim.
A significant amount of slimy, green water sloshed over the edge and pooled on the stone floor directly between Hermione and Lupin.
Now, for the masterstroke: Illusion.
(Mask the liquid,) I commanded.
Using my new skill, I wove a layer of light over the puddle on the floor. To the naked eye, the wet, slippery stone now looked perfectly dry and dusty. It was an invisible trap.
"I will try a charm detection spell," Lupin said, stepping forward. "Harry, Ron, step back a bit."
Lupin moved toward Hermione. He stepped right into the invisible puddle.
His foot hit the slime. Friction left the chat.
"Whoa!" Lupin yelped, uncharacteristically losing his cool.
His legs flew out from under him. He flailed wildly, his arms seeking purchase. He grabbed the nearest object: the edge of the Grindylow tank's stand.
The stand, already weakened by my telekinetic nudge, collapsed instantly.
The tank—containing twenty gallons of swamp water and an angry demon—tipped over.
"Look out!" Harry screamed.
Harry, reacting on instinct, dove forward to push Hermione out of the path of the falling tank.
He hit her waist, tackling her away from the glass.
They both fell.
But they fell directly into the splash zone. The tank shattered on the floor, unleashing a tidal wave of green water.
Hermione and Harry hit the ground, sliding across the room on the sudden flood.
The water soaked everything instantly. Hermione's shirt, which had dried from the soup incident earlier, was now drenched in cold, green swamp water. Once again, white cotton proved to be the enemy of modesty. It clung to her skin, turning translucent instantly.
But that wasn't the worst part.
As Harry tackled her, his hand had snagged on the waistband of her skirt.
Remember the zipper I had "repaired" with ten percent integrity?
RIIIIP.
The zipper disintegrated. The skirt, heavy with water and pulled by Harry's grip, slid down her legs as they slid across the floor.
They came to a stop against Lupin's desk.
The scene was a tableau of disaster.
Lupin was on his back, covered in glass shards and water, with a Grindylow flopping on his chest, snapping its fingers at his nose.
Harry was lying on his stomach. Hermione was lying on her back, underneath him (yet again).
Hermione was wearing a completely see-through wet shirt. Her skirt was around her ankles. She was, for all intents and purposes, lying there in her underwear, soaked to the bone, with the Boy Who Lived pressed firmly against her.
(...cough...)
The silence was broken only by the wet flop of the Grindylow.
Harry pushed himself up on his hands, blinking water out of his eyes. He looked down.
He saw the translucent shirt. He saw the pale skin underneath. He saw the lace of her bra. He saw the curve of her waist leading down to the panties that were now on full display.
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