"Not forest green like hers, but chocolate brown like hers"

Chapter 4

Harry burst into the room like a tempest, his usually untamed hair seemed even wilder, a disarray of ebony strands around his distressed face. His eyes, wide and pleading, darted around the room before landing on Hermione, who was engrossed in a thick book. Without a moment's hesitation, Harry dramatically collapsed into a nearby chair, his body seemingly unable to bear the weight of an invisible burden. The chair groaned in protest as he slumped over the cushions, an exaggerated display of despair that bordered on theatrical.

"Hermione! Oh, Merlin's beard, I can't take it anymore! I'm dying here!" he moaned, the words escaping his lips with a melodramatic flair that echoed through the room. His hands grasped at the armrests as if desperately clinging to reality. "It's too much!"

Startled, Hermione snapped her book shut, concern etched across her face. "Harry, what on earth is going on? Why are you—"

Before she could finish her sentence, Harry emitted a dramatic whine, propelling himself from the chair and onto Hermione's lap. The sudden weight caused her to momentarily lose her balance, and she looked down at him with a mixture of confusion and genuine worry. His wide, pleading eyes met hers, as if the fate of the wizarding world depended on her immediate understanding.

"It's my dad, Hermione! He's gone completely mental!" Harry's voice reached a near-wail as he clutched at Hermione's shoulders, his desperation palpable. "I can't let him walk around like this, Hermione! I just can't!"

Hermione blinked, trying to extract herself from Harry's grip. "Your dad? James? What's wrong with his—Harry, calm down!"

"Calm down? How can I calm down, Hermione?" Harry let out a dramatic sigh, his body slumping against her, hand clutching his forehead as if plagued by a terrible headache. "He's... he's wearing crop tops!"

"Crop tops?" Hermione repeated, her initial confusion giving way to a small, amused smile. "What's wrong with crop tops?"

"What's wrong? Everything's wrong! My dad is walking around Grimmauld Place, flaunting his midriff," Harry gasped dramatically, his voice reaching a feverish pitch. He sat up, looking at Hermione with an expression of sheer horror, clutching his chest as if experiencing a wizarding ailment. "Hermione, you don't understand. He was wearing one that said 'World's sluttiest dad'. I can't unsee it! It's burned into my retinas. I'm blind! I am unwell."

Unable to contain herself, Hermione burst into laughter, covering her mouth with her hand. "I'm not exaggerating, Hermione! I wish I were. I saw it with my own eyes." Harry's voice cracked, and he clung to Hermione's shoulders as if he might collapse at any moment. "The mental image is haunting me. You have to help me!"

Hermione, still chuckling, tried to suppress her amusement. "Okay, okay, I get it. We'll do something about it. But you really need to calm down."

"Calm down? Hermione, my father is strutting around like he's auditioning for a Quidditch calendar! I can't handle it." Harry, on the verge of tears, took a deep breath. "Please, you have to help me. You have to take him shopping. Change his entire wardrobe. Please. Save me from the trauma."

Hermione couldn't help but burst into laughter at the absurdity of the situation. "Harry, you're being a bit dramatic, don't you think?"

"I'm not!" Harry insisted, his voice filled with desperation. "I can't live in a world where my dad thinks it's okay to wear a crop top that calls him the 'world's sluttiest dad. It's embarrassing! He's going to ruin my reputation.'"

"All right, all right. I'll help you with your 'fashion emergency.' I'll take James shopping and make sure he never wears a crop top again."

Harry nodded vigorously, wiping tears from his eyes. "Thank you, Hermione. You're a lifesaver!"