You skitter under the table, still in shock at the vast size of this giantess girl.
You hope she can reverse your magical blunder somehow, and start sprinting towards the sneakers.
You stop in your tracks as one of them flips over with a thump in front of you. Hermione has them off, and you soon notice something more.
Hermione's bare toes grip the sneaker and roll it, running the ball of her foot down the worn treads. Her opposite, unpainted toes grip the toe of the same sneaker with surpising dexterity.
You plug your nose as the recently worn shoe wafts its content's towards you, washing over like a wave.
The bare, somewhat sweaty feet of the Gryffindor genius might be unpleasant from your stance (several dozen feet away from their playful wriggling and stretching), but they were your only hope.
Hermioe rubbed her feet back and forth on the grimy, stony library floor, school robes swaying. You gulped.
You decide to:
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