Emma dresses up for you...

You still can’t quite believe your week is turning out like this.

Yesterday, you fucked Emma Watson in the back seat of your car. And today…

Today, you’re lounging on her queen-size bed, half-watching a comedy show on the frankly gigantic flatscreen hanging over her bed, one eye firmly fixed on the door to her en-suite.

Because Emma’s getting changed.

‘Okay, I’m ready!’ she calls out, and you scramble to flip off the TV just as the door cracks open.

A figure emerges from behind the door, and you have to blink twice, because it’s Hermione.

Well, it’s not, obviously – it’s Emma, of course it is, but…

She’s dressed in her Gryffindor robes, one hand clutching her wand. Her lovely, long legs look amazing in black tights and a demure, knee-length skirt. Even her hair is down around her shoulders, and curled ever so slightly, exactly how you remember it from the last movie.

‘Wow,’ you breathe, and only then realise that you’re saying it out loud.

Emma smiles, a little self-consciously – then shakes herself slightly, and a new expression comes over her face. ‘And what, exactly, are you looking at?’ she says huffily, folding her arms, and you realise she’s not just wearing the outfit.

She’s doing the voice, and the character, and part of you starts to think she might just be as into this as you are.

‘Oh, nothing,’ you tell her lazily, stretching out on her bed. ‘You’re the one who begged me to come up here. What did you want, anyway?’

Emma’s – no, Hermione’s – mouth opens slightly, and you can tell she’s getting into this. ‘I did not beg,’ she fires back, hotly. ‘I asked politely. Typical boy, too arrogant to know the difference.’

‘Don’t change the subject,’ you say, unable to stop yourself from smiling. ‘You asked me to come up here. Why?’

Hermione bites her lip. ‘Well…’ she begins, then trails off. ‘It’s just – I’ve seen you looking at me, in the corridors and in classes – don’t deny it, you know it’s true! And –’ she draws herself up, ‘well, it’s making me uncomfortable, to be honest with you, and I’d like to ask you to stop.’

‘What could I possibly be doing that makes you uncomfortable?’ you ask her, loving this. Hermione sniffs.

‘Well, you’re always staring at me – at my legs, and my chest, and my… other places. It’s revolting, honestly. You should treat girls with more respect, and not as if they’re objects for you to drool over.’