Chapter 31: The Sympathetic Vibration and the Waltz of Wardrobe Failure part- 1
"Twelve inches," Harry repeated. "Right. Safety buffer."
"Exactly," Hermione nodded. "Now, we just have to survive the practical lesson today. McGonagall is clearing the Great Hall."
We headed down to the Great Hall. The long tables had been vanished, leaving a vast, empty expanse of flagstone floor. Professor McGonagall stood at the front, next to a large, ancient phonograph.
"The Yule Ball," McGonagall announced, her voice echoing off the stone walls, "is a chance for us to let our hair down. But that does not mean we will relax our standards of conduct."
She looked sternly at the gathered Gryffindors.
"Dancing," she continued, "is about elegance. Grace. And rhythm. It is letting the body breathe."
(Oh, I will let the body breathe alright,) I thought, checking my new skill.
Active Skill: Sympathetic Vibration.Description: Identify the natural resonant frequency of an object and project a matching sound wave to shatter it. Range: Visual line of sight.
"Now," McGonagall clapped her hands. "Boys on one side, girls on the other."
The students separated. The tension was thick.
"Mr. Weasley," McGonagall called out, her eyes landing on me. "Come here, please."
My heart skipped a beat. Was I the victim this time?
"Place your hand on my waist," she instructed.
"Where?" I squeaked, playing the part of the embarrassed teenager perfectly.
"My waist, Mr. Weasley," she said firmly.
I did as told. We demonstrated the waltz. I moved stiffly, making sure to step on her toe once for realism.
"Thank you, Mr. Weasley," she said, releasing me. "Now, everyone partner up! Mr. Potter, take Miss Granger."
Harry and Hermione froze. They looked at each other from across the room. The "Red String of Fate" wasn't active, but the trauma bond was strong.
"Go on!" McGonagall urged. "Music!"
The phonograph began to play a slow, lilting waltz.
Harry walked over to Hermione. He held out his hand as if he were offering it to a blast-ended skrewt.
"Twelve inches," Hermione whispered, placing her hand on his shoulder.
"Twelve inches," Harry agreed, placing his hand on her waist.
They began to move. It was stiff. It was awkward. It was perfect.
Hermione was wearing her standard school uniform: grey pleated skirt, white shirt, tie. No survival suits today. She had clearly thought a dance lesson would be safe.
(Structure Analysis,) I commanded.
Blue lines overlaid my vision. I focused on Hermione's skirt.
It was a standard Hogwarts uniform skirt. The stitching along the side seam was cotton. The zipper was brass.
(Sympathetic Vibration: Scan for Brass Resonance.)
A low hum started in my mind. The system analyzed the zipper.
Frequency identified: 440 Hertz.
I stood on the sidelines, pretending to practice with Parvati Patil.
"You are leading well, Ron," Parvati noted.
"Thanks," I muttered. "Just feel the rhythm."
I looked at Harry and Hermione. They were spinning slowly. Harry was counting under his breath. "One, two, three. One, two, three."
"You are doing it!" Hermione smiled, relaxing slightly. "We haven't crashed yet!"
"Don't jinx it," Harry warned.
(Now,) I decided.
I focused my will on the small brass zipper holding Hermione's skirt together at her hip.
(Sympathetic Vibration: Project 440 Hertz.)
I didn't make a sound with my mouth. The sound was projected telepathically and physically by the system, focused solely on that one zipper.
Hmmmmmm.
The zipper began to vibrate.
Hermione frowned. She felt a tickle at her hip.
"Harry, stop shaking," she whispered.
"I am not shaking!" Harry replied.
"Something is buzzing," she insisted.
Then, McGonagall shouted, "And dip!"
Harry, trying to be a good student, followed the instruction. He stepped forward and dipped Hermione backward.
This put maximum strain on the waistband of her skirt.
At that exact moment of tension, I amplified the vibration.
Snap.
The brass zipper didn't just slide down; it shattered. The metal teeth disintegrated under the sonic pressure.
The skirt, suddenly losing all structural integrity on the left side, reacted to gravity and the centrifugal force of the dip.
It fell.
Because Hermione was tilted backward in the dip, the skirt didn't just fall down her legs; it slid completely off her hips and pooled on the floor beneath her.
"And up!" McGonagall shouted.
Harry pulled Hermione back up to a standing position.
Hermione stood up. She smiled, relieved that the dip had gone well.
Then she felt the draft.
She looked down.
She was standing in the middle of the Great Hall, hand-in-hand with Harry Potter, wearing her white shirt, her tie, her socks, her shoes... and a pair of white knickers with a pattern of little blue clouds on them.
Her skirt was lying in a heap on the floor behind her.
(...cough...)
The music stopped. The phonograph scratched to a halt.
Silence descended on the hall. It was the kind of silence usually reserved for funerals or the arrival of Dementors.
Harry was looking at her face. He saw her expression morph from relief to confusion to absolute horror.
He slowly lowered his gaze.
He saw the legs. He saw the clouds.
"Clouds," Harry whispered, his brain short-circuiting again. "It is clouds today."
"Harry," Hermione said, her voice trembling. "Tell me I am wearing a skirt. Lie to me."
"I cannot," Harry choked out. "It is... on the floor."
"Miss Granger!" McGonagall gasped, rushing forward.
Hermione looked at the skirt on the floor. She looked at the hundred students staring at her.
"My zipper," she squeaked. "It... it exploded."
She didn't try to run this time. The shock was too great. She simply covered her face with her hands and stood there, swaying in her underwear.
"Potter! Cover her!" McGonagall barked.
Harry, reacting on instinct, ripped off his dress robes. But in his haste and panic, he tripped over the pile of Hermione's skirt.
He fell forward.
Hermione, eyes covered, didn't see him coming.
Harry tackled her.
They went down. Harry landed on top of her. But because he was holding his open robe in front of him like a net, he effectively trapped her underneath him inside the robe.
.....
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