“I wish you looked like Emma Watson.”

So I was just hanging out in the backyard when my boyfriend busted out the door and shouted those words at me. 

I turned around with a bemused grin on my face and offered with the only reasonable response: “What?”

Right then I knew something was wrong. My voice sounded different — it sounded British.

Looking down, I didn’t notice anything different. I was still wearing my usual yoga pants and sweatshirt. But… did my ass look perkier? And was I thinner?

The real answer to my questions, however, was the slackjawed stare on my boyfriend’s face. So I ran inside to look at myself in the mirror, and while rushing through the door I heard him yelling after me: “I just wish you you’d think this is as hot as I do.”

Boy was he right.

I couldn’t believe how sexy I looked. My tits were perfectly perky and my lips had that Hollywood famous grin and… and… unf. All I wanted to do was strip off my clothes and check myself out in the mirror.

Sure, seeing Emma Watson herself instead of my own reflection was a bit disconcerting. But it also had my pussy — her pussy? — dripping with excitement. Once I was able to get a hold of myself, I rushed to my closet and rummaged through the back until I finally found an old lingerie set that my boyfriend had once bought me years ago.

I don’t know what it was, but something about the image of Hermione wearing that lingerie in his room was one of my personal top fantasies. Or at least it was in that moment.

It wasn’t too long before my boyfriend finally walked in.

“It’s me, Hermione,” I said, leering at his crotch. “I’m supposed to help Harry but Voldemort cast a slut spell on me and… and…”

I fell to my knees.

“I need the antidote.”

My boyfriend chuckled, and unzipped his pants.

Who says magic isn’t real?