And it didn't seem to want to go away. It followed Hermione wherever she went, and to whomever she spoke. It prickled away inappropriately at her skin, out of sight of her guests, tickling her at maddeningly teasing points on her body ... on her chest, at the apex of her cleavage; in the crease at the back of her inner thigh, where her bum curved towards her hips; and at the dead centre of her perineum, frustratingly too far away from either of those most sensitive and private parts of her body, no matter how hard she yearned for the tickles to move an inch or two in either direction.