Hello, AMagicWriter here. I'm happy to publish a new Chapter of Hermione Granger and the Potion of Perilous Pleasure
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The following 8 chapters are already available to Patrons.
Chapter 3 (Luna's Help), Chapter 4 (Luna is Weird), Chapter 5 (Girls are Driving me Mad!), Chapter 6 (A Party for a Bad Girl), Chapter 7 (Confrontation), Chapter 8 (A Shower with Ginny), Chapter 9 (Does every problem need a Solution?), and Chapter 10 (Luna is a good friend) are already available for Patrons.
Hermione had never been this aware of her body before. Each step felt heavy, each movement accentuated by the awkward, unwelcome weight between her legs. As she walked through the corridors of Hogwarts, her heart raced, a constant drumbeat of anxiety. The bulge in her skirt was tucked awkwardly beneath her waistband, hidden—barely. She had spent what felt like an eternity in the girls' bathroom earlier, adjusting, readjusting, hoping no one would walk in as she tried to press the thing down, flattening it as much as she could, wrapping her robe tighter around her waist.
It was exhausting.
Her eyes darted to the students walking around her. Nobody seemed to be looking directly at her, but her paranoia gnawed at her constantly. What if someone did notice? What would she even say? That it was a charm gone wrong? That someone had hexed her? Would anyone even believe her?
She couldn't help but glance down as she passed by a group of giggling third-years. Their eyes weren't on her, but she still felt naked under their laughter, exposed in ways she'd never felt before. Her face burned with humiliation as she quickened her pace, turning a corner to get away.
The Great Hall was already bustling with activity, students chatting about whatever.. Hermione hesitated at the entrance, feeling her stomach twist. She hadn't eaten since breakfast, her nerves making it impossible to think about food, but she had to keep up appearances. Ron and Harry were already seated at the Gryffindor table, waving her over.
Deep breaths, she told herself, forcing her legs to move. Her heart pounded in her throat as she crossed the hall, every step making her hyperaware of the friction, of the awkward bulge tucked awkwardly between her thighs. She gripped her robe tighter, praying that no one would notice. She could not understand how the boys could walk around with that thing all the time their whole life.
"Hermione! Over here!" Ron called, his mouth full of food, oblivious to her discomfort as always. She gave him a tight-lipped smile and slid onto the bench across from them, making sure her legs were squeezed tightly together under the table. She felt a cold bead of sweat trickle down the back of her neck, and she hurriedly adjusted her skirt again, tugging it down as discreetly as she could.
"Are you alright?" Harry asked, his green eyes scanning her face with concern. "You look... I don't know, kind of pale."
"Yeah, I'm fine," she lied, reaching for a piece of bread to keep her hands busy. Her stomach churned at the thought of eating, but she had to act normal. She couldn't let them suspect anything. "Just... a bit tired. Been studying all day."
"Classic Hermione," Ron chuckled, taking another huge bite of chicken. "Always overdoing it. You really need to relax sometimes, you know?"
She forced a laugh, but it came out strained. Every noise in the hall seemed magnified, every pair of eyes felt like they were burning holes into her. She could feel the pressure between her legs, the constant reminder of the nightmare she couldn't escape. Her hand twitched under the table, wanting to reach down and adjust herself, but she clenched her fist instead, biting her lip.
"So, what's on your mind?" Harry asked, cutting into his roast with a frown. "You've been quiet all day."
"Nothing. Just thinking about some... extra research I've been doing," she muttered, staring intently at her plate. It wasn't a complete lie. She had spent the rest of the afternoon in the library, rifling through every book she could think of to find a solution, but there was nothing—nothing about spontaneously growing male anatomy overnight, no spells or charms that could cause something like this. Her frustration had only grown with each passing hour, her desperation mounting. She felt trapped, like she was living in a nightmare she couldn't wake up from.
"Extra research? Hermione, you already do enough work," Harry said with a small smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "You don't need to add more."
"I like to be prepared," she replied automatically, pushing the food around on her plate, her mind elsewhere. How am I going to fix this? Her thoughts spiraled, anxiety clawing at her chest. Was this permanent? Would she have to live like this forever? The thought made her throat tighten, panic rising up like bile.
"Prepared for what?" Ron asked, his brow furrowing as he tore into another roll. "It's not like we've got any exams soon."
"I just..." Hermione trailed off, feeling her face flush. She couldn't tell them the truth, but the weight of her secret was suffocating. Her hand trembled slightly as she picked up her goblet, taking a sip of pumpkin juice to steady herself. "There's just a lot on my mind."
"You're acting really weird, Hermione," Ron said, his mouth half-full as usual. He was looking at her more closely now, frowning. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine!" she snapped, louder than she intended. The words echoed in her own ears, drawing the attention of some of the nearby students. She felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment, her stomach twisting as she tried to calm herself. "I'm sorry, I just... I didn't sleep well."
Harry exchanged a glance with Ron, both of them clearly unconvinced, but thankfully, neither pressed her any further. Hermione took a deep breath, trying to compose herself, though her heart was still racing. She could feel her cock shifting uncomfortably beneath her skirt, the fabric rubbing against it in a way that made her want to scream. The constant presence of it was unbearable—an incessant reminder that she was no longer herself.
The rest of dinner passed in a blur. She barely touched her food, her mind spinning with questions she couldn't answer. Every time someone's gaze passed over her, she flinched internally, convinced they could somehow see through her, see what she was hiding.
As the hall began to empty and students trickled out, Hermione stood abruptly, eager to escape the suffocating atmosphere. "I think I'm going to head back to the common room," she said, not waiting for Harry or Ron to respond as she gathered her things and hurried out of the Great Hall. She could hear them calling after her, but she didn't stop, her pulse pounding in her ears as she walked as quickly as she could without drawing attention.
The corridor felt too bright, too exposed. She kept her eyes down, avoiding eye contact with anyone she passed, her legs squeezing together with each step. The pressure between her thighs was maddening, her cock pressing awkwardly against the waistband of her knickers, growing more uncomfortable with every movement. She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to ignore it, but her thoughts kept drifting back to the nightmare of it all—the memory of that dream, the raw heat, the pleasure she had felt as she—
No. She couldn't think about it. Not now.
Finally, she reached the empty common room and practically collapsed onto one of the armchairs, her body tense with frustration and fear. Her legs spread out in front of her, and she winced as her cock shifted again, straining against the tightness of her knickers. She pressed her hand against it instinctively, trying to adjust it, her breath catching as her palm brushed over the sensitive head. A rush of heat shot through her, and she jerked her hand away.
She was trapped. Trapped in this body that didn't feel like hers, trapped with this thing between her legs that she didn't know how to get rid of. Her mind raced, panic and shame twisting inside her like a knot she couldn't untangle. She had to fix this. She had to. But how?
With a groan, she buried her face in her hands, her fingers trembling. She couldn't go on like this. Every second was torture, the constant reminder of what she had become gnawing at her, driving her closer to the edge. There had to be an answer, some way to reverse this—she just hadn't found it yet. But what if... what if there wasn't a solution? What if this was permanent?
The thought made her stomach churn, and she bit down hard on her lip, willing herself not to cry. She was Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her age. She had to figure this out. There had to be something she was missing. There was always an answer, always a solution, she just had to keep looking.
But deep down, a small, terrified voice whispered that maybe this time, she was wrong.
Later
Hermione had buried herself deep within the quietest corner of the library, the towering shelves of texts and dusty tomes surrounding her like a protective barrier. She had been there for hours, her fingers skimming through countless books, eyes darting desperately over pages filled with complex magical theory. Yet, no matter how hard she searched, there was no mention of anything that could explain her problem. Every spell, every curse, every potion she read about seemed unrelated, useless.
Her frustration grew with each passing minute, her heart sinking lower and lower as the sun outside dipped below the horizon. She slammed another book shut, the sharp sound echoing through the empty aisles, and leaned back in her chair, running both hands through her hair.
There's nothing. There's absolutely nothing. She closed her eyes, rubbing her temples in a vain attempt to ward off the pounding headache that had been steadily building all day. The pressure between her legs was still there, constant and unrelenting, and her every movement reminded her of the thing she couldn't escape. The tightness of her knickers, the strange, unfamiliar weight that made her feel like she didn't belong in her own skin—it was maddening.
Her mind raced, filled with all the worst-case scenarios she had been trying to push away since the moment she woke up with... that. What if this was permanent? What if she was stuck like this forever, constantly on edge, constantly having to hide?
She groaned, slumping forward onto the desk, her forehead resting on the cool wood. Think, Hermione, think. There had to be something she hadn't considered yet, something she had overlooked. But after hours of searching and finding nothing, her hope was slipping away, replaced by a cold sense of dread that twisted uncomfortably in her gut.
And then, from behind her, came a voice. Soft, airy, like a breeze that had somehow wandered into the library.
"Where are you?"
Hermione froze, her breath catching in her throat. She hadn't heard anyone approach. Slowly, she lifted her head, turning to look behind her, and there, standing a few feet away, was Luna Lovegood. Luna was gazing at the walls of the library with wide, unblinking eyes, her pale blonde hair falling messily over her shoulders. She was wearing her usual odd assortment of clothes—a bright yellow cardigan over a wrinkled Ravenclaw uniform—and she appeared to be following something along the wall, her fingers fluttering in the air as if trying to catch it.
Hermione blinked, not quite sure what to say. Of all people to run into right now, Luna was perhaps the last she wanted. The girl had a knack for seeing things others couldn't, for saying things that hit too close to home without even realizing it. Hermione's instinct was to ignore her, to keep her head down and hope Luna would simply wander off in her strange, dreamlike way.
But Luna's attention shifted, her wide, silvery eyes locking onto Hermione with a sudden, almost unsettling focus. A bright smile lit up her face.
"Oh! It's you!" Luna said, her voice light and melodic as she glided closer. "I thought I might find a friend in here. You looked like you were in need of company."
Hermione forced a weak smile, her heart pounding a little faster. "I'm... I'm fine, Luna. Just doing some research."
Luna cocked her head to the side, her gaze lingering on Hermione for a moment too long. "You don't look fine."
Hermione stiffened, a wave of anxiety crashing over her. "I... I've just been busy, that's all," she said quickly, turning her attention back to the book in front of her, even though the words on the page now blurred together in her mind. She didn't have time for this. The last thing she needed was Luna's whimsical theories or cryptic comments.
But Luna, as usual, wasn't deterred. She moved closer, peering over Hermione's shoulder at the open book. "What are you looking for? Something interesting?"
Hermione's throat tightened. She wanted to brush Luna off, tell her it was none of her business, but there was something about Luna—her calm, unruffled presence—that made it difficult to lie. No, I can't tell her. She'll think I've gone mad. Or worse—she'll know.
"I'm just... working on something personal," Hermione said carefully, closing the book and stacking it on top of the growing pile next to her. "Nothing important."
Luna's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Personal?" she repeated, as if tasting the word. "That sounds like something worth sharing."
Hermione tensed, feeling her pulse quicken. "It's not," she said a little too sharply, and immediately regretted it. "I mean, it's nothing anyone can help with. I just... I'm trying to figure it out on my own."
For a moment, Luna was quiet, simply watching her, her head tilted slightly as if she were listening to something only she could hear. Hermione could feel the weight of Luna's gaze, and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat, crossing her legs tightly under the table.
"You know," Luna said eventually, her voice soft but strangely knowing, "sometimes the things we think we can only solve alone are exactly the things we need help with." She gave a small, almost wistful smile. "You never know when someone else might see something you don't."
Hermione's chest tightened at the words. Luna couldn't know. She couldn't. And yet, the way she spoke... it felt like she was pulling the thoughts right out of Hermione's head, seeing through the fragile mask of composure she'd been desperately trying to hold together all day.
"I—" Hermione's voice faltered. She didn't know what to say. Couldn't admit the truth. Her fingers curled into the edge of the desk, her mind racing.
Luna's eyes softened, her expression gentle as she stepped closer, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. "It's alright, you know. Whatever it is, it's not as scary as you think."
Hermione's heart skipped a beat, and she stared at Luna, wide-eyed, her breath catching in her throat. For a moment, it felt like the world had stopped around her, the noise of the library fading into the background as Luna's words hung in the air.
How did she know?
"I..." Hermione began, her voice trembling, but she couldn't find the words. Her throat was tight, her thoughts jumbled in a whirlwind of fear and confusion.
Luna smiled again, soft and serene, as if she could see right through Hermione's hesitation. "You don't have to tell me," she said, her voice like a warm breeze. "But sometimes, facing the thing we're afraid of is the first step to making it go away."
Hermione felt a lump rise in her throat. She wanted to believe that—wanted to believe that there was an answer, that she wasn't going to be stuck in this nightmare forever. But the fear of the unknown, of what she had become, was too overwhelming.
Luna stood there for another moment, her gaze still locked on Hermione, and then, without another word, she turned and drifted away, her attention once again caught by something unseen, her hands fluttering in the air as she walked along the shelves.
Hermione watched her go, her heart still racing. Luna's words echoed in her mind, over and over, and she swallowed hard, her hands trembling as they rested on the book in front of her.
Hermione's eyes trailed after Luna as she drifted further down the library aisle, her blonde hair swaying lightly with each step, her hips moving in a languid, almost ethereal rhythm. Without thinking, Hermione's gaze slipped lower, to the subtle curve of Luna's bum beneath her wrinkled Ravenclaw skirt. There was something about the way Luna moved, her steps soft, that made Hermione—
Her eyes went wide. What the hell am I thinking?
She jerked her gaze away, her heart hammering in her chest, her cheeks flushing hot with embarrassment. No, no, no. I don't think like that. She wasn't attracted to girls. She wasn't. Especially not Luna, of all people—Luna, with her strange, otherworldly ways and constant talk of invisible creatures. She wasn't Hermione's type, not remotely.
Yet, the image of Luna's swaying hips stuck in her mind.
Hermione swallowed hard, forcing herself to look down at the book in front of her, though the words might as well have been written in Gobbledegook for all the sense they made to her in that moment. She clenched her jaw, trying to push the unwelcome thoughts from her mind. You're just tired, she told herself. Your mind is playing tricks on you because of everything that's happening. That's all it is.
But deep down, Hermione knew something had shifted. Ever since that cursed morning, her body didn't feel like her own anymore—everything felt off, wrong in ways she couldn't explain. She wasn't just dealing with the horror of what had happened between her legs, but now, her thoughts, too, were veering into strange, confusing territory.
She shook her head sharply, trying to banish it all. Focus, she told herself, flipping through the pages with a kind of desperation. She had to find something—anything—that would explain this mess. But with each new page she scanned, her hope dwindled further. No mention of anything like this. No spells, no curses, no bizarre magical conditions that matched what she was going through. It was as if her problem didn't even exist in the world of magic.
Hours slipped by, and by the time Hermione left the library, her head was pounding and her frustration had reached a boiling point. But worse than the frustration was the gnawing fear that she would never find an answer. She would be stuck like this forever.
Tomorrow
The next morning, Hermione woke up with a headache that felt like it was hammering against her skull. She groaned, rolling over in bed, the soft warmth of the covers doing nothing to soothe her growing sense of dread. She still felt it between her legs—hard and aching beneath the fabric of her knickers—and her stomach turned as she pressed a hand to her face, groaning in frustration.
She had to find a solution. Soon. She couldn't keep living like this.
Dragging herself out of bed, she got dressed as quickly as she could, making sure to wear her baggiest robe, the one that would best hide the bulge she was still so horribly aware of. She checked herself in the mirror, running her hands down her sides to smooth out any creases. The last thing she needed was someone noticing.
But as she headed down to the common room, something strange began to happen. Her mind, once so preoccupied with her own problem, started to wander.
As she passed by a group of seventh year girls in the hallway, chatting near the entrance to the Great Hall, Hermione found herself staring. She couldn't help it—her eyes traced the curve of one girl's hips, the way her skirt hugged her waist, the smooth skin of her legs as she shifted her weight.
Hermione blinked, tearing her gaze away in horror. What am I doing?
Her heart raced as she continued walking, trying to shake off the creeping realization that she had been... checking them out. She wasn't like that. She wasn't interested in other girls. She liked boys—she had always liked boys. Her crush on Viktor Krum had been proof enough of that, hadn't it?
But no matter how much she tried to convince herself, the images wouldn't leave her mind. The girl's hips. The smooth, bare legs. The way her breasts had pressed softly against the fabric of her blouse.
Hermione felt sick. What's happening to me?
It wasn't just the physical changes—this was something else entirely. It was as if her very desires, the things that made her who she was, were shifting right along with her body. And no matter how much she tried to deny it, she couldn't escape the truth that was clawing its way to the surface.
She hurried through the halls, keeping her eyes focused on the ground, not daring to look at anyone for too long. But even with her gaze downcast, her mind was betraying her. She remembered the way Ginny had looked last night at dinner, the soft glow of the candlelight catching her fiery red hair. How she had laughed at something Ron said, the sound warm and inviting, her lips curving into a smile that made Hermione's stomach flip.
Hermione swallowed hard. The memory of Ginny's lips, her soft laugh, and the way her body had looked in her Quidditch uniform yesterday flashed unbidden through her mind, and it sent a surge of heat coursing through her. She had lusted after her. Ginny Weasley, her best friend's sister. Hermione had fantasized about her.
She wanted to scream.
The Great Hall loomed ahead, and as Hermione stepped inside, the noise of breakfast hit her like a wave. Students were milling about, chatting, laughing, their carefree conversations a stark contrast to the storm of panic swirling inside her. She made her way toward the Gryffindor table, trying to move quickly, hoping to sit down before she drew any attention.
But her eyes betrayed her once again. She couldn't stop herself from glancing at the girls scattered around the room—the way their skirts shifted as they sat, the way some of them leaned forward, exposing the delicate curves of their necks, their lips parting as they talked. Hermione's breath caught in her throat as her gaze lingered too long on one girl adjusting her blouse, revealing just the faintest hint of cleavage.
Stop it, Hermione thought desperately, shaking her head as if that could clear her mind of the unwanted thoughts. But the harder she tried to ignore it, the stronger the pull became.
She sat down at the Gryffindor table, her hands trembling slightly as she reached for some toast, doing everything she could to keep her mind off what she had just been thinking. But Ginny was already walking towards her, her bright hair a cascade of red down her back, and Hermione could feel her presence like a magnet.
Her body felt tense, coiled, as if every nerve was on high alert. The noise of the Great Hall buzzed around her, the chatter and clatter of breakfast filling the air, but all she could focus on was trying to act normal. She hadn't eaten much since yesterday, her stomach a knot of anxiety, but she forced herself to take small bites, hoping it would calm her racing mind.
Ginny sat beside her, smiling as she buttered her toast. Across from them, Lavender was chatting animatedly with Parvati, her blouse unbuttoned just enough to reveal the top swell of her breasts, as she often did, showing off her assets without a care in the world. Normally, Hermione would have rolled her eyes at how deliberately Lavender flaunted her chest. But today, something was different.
Today, Hermione couldn't stop staring.
She tried to focus on her toast, forcing herself to keep her eyes down, but the pull was there, an insistent urge that made her glance up every few seconds. Ginny was talking to her, saying something about Quidditch practice, but Hermione couldn't concentrate. Her eyes kept drifting to the curve of Ginny's lips as she spoke, soft and pink, the way they moved, the way her tongue peeked out for just a second to lick them between words.
"...and then Ron completely missed the Quaffle," Ginny was saying, laughing softly, her eyes shining with amusement.
Hermione swallowed, her throat dry. "Oh, um, that's... that's funny," she muttered, barely processing what Ginny had said. She took a sip of pumpkin juice, hoping it would cool the sudden heat rising in her cheeks.
Ginny tilted her head, frowning slightly. "Are you alright, Hermione? You seem a bit off."
"I'm fine," Hermione lied, plastering on a smile that felt far too forced. "Just... tired, that's all."
Ginny's gaze lingered on her for a moment, but she didn't push. She simply smiled and went back to her toast, taking a bite and chewing thoughtfully. Hermione's eyes flicked down again—just for a second—to the way Ginny's lips parted around the bite of food, the way her throat moved as she swallowed.
Hermione bit her lip, mentally scolding herself. Stop it. This isn't you.
She tore her gaze away from Ginny, but it didn't help. Lavender was sitting right across from her, leaning forward slightly as she laughed at something Parvati said, her breasts pushed together by the position, the soft mounds exposed through the slight gap in her blouse. Lavender always wore her uniform like this, practically flaunting her cleavage, and usually, Hermione didn't care. But now... now her eyes were drawn to that exposed skin, to the soft, smooth curve of it, and Hermione couldn't stop herself from staring.
"Are you coming to the party, Hermione?" Lavender's voice broke through her trance, and Hermione's head snapped up, heart pounding. Lavender was looking right at her, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "It's going to be fun—Seamus said he's bringing some Firewhisky."
Hermione blinked, trying to focus. "Oh, um, I'm not sure," she mumbled, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. She tried to keep her gaze fixed on Lavender's face, but her eyes kept flicking downward, drawn to the way her blouse clung to her chest, the way her breasts pressed against the fabric with every breath. Lavender seemed to sense Hermione's distracted state, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.
"Maybe you should come," Lavender said, her voice teasing, playful. "You look like you could use a break. Relax a little, you know?"
Hermione felt a blush creeping up her neck. "I'm fine," she said quickly, her voice tight. "Just... a lot on my mind."
Lavender's smirk deepened, and she exchanged a glance with Parvati, who giggled softly. "Alright, if you say so," Lavender replied, her tone light but laced with amusement. "But I think you'd enjoy it. Maybe we can loosen you up a bit."
Hermione's heart skipped a beat, her mind conjuring images she desperately wanted to push away—images of Lavender leaning closer, her cleavage even more exposed, of Ginny's lips brushing against hers, soft and warm. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to focus, trying to stop the onslaught of confusing, unwelcome thoughts that flooded her brain.
"I'll... think about it," Hermione muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. She could feel Ginny's eyes on her, concerned, but she couldn't bring herself to meet her gaze.
"Good," Lavender said with a wink, before turning back to Parvati and launching into a new story, her laughter ringing through the air.
Hermione stared down at her plate, her appetite long gone. Her hands trembled slightly as she gripped the edge of the table, trying to steady herself. What was happening to her? Why couldn't she stop thinking like this, stop looking at her friends in ways she never had before?
She stole another glance at Ginny out of the corner of her eye. Ginny was leaning back in her chair, relaxed, her legs crossed casually under the table. Hermione's gaze drifted, lingering on the smooth skin of Ginny's thighs where her skirt had ridden up just slightly.
Hermione bit the inside of her cheek, hard, trying to snap herself out of it, but the heat in her belly only grew, twisting into something needy. She remembered last night—lying awake in bed, her mind swirling with images of Ginny, her body reacting in ways that terrified her. The feel of her own hand as it slipped under the sheets, her fingers brushing against the hard length between her legs, the way her hips had bucked involuntarily as she imagined Ginny beneath her, moaning softly as she—
No. She couldn't think about that. Not here. Not now.
Hermione stood abruptly, the legs of her chair scraping against the stone floor. Ginny looked up, startled. "Hermione, are you sure you're okay?" she asked, her brow furrowing in concern. "You've been acting really strange lately."
"I'm fine," Hermione said quickly, avoiding her gaze. "I just... I need to get some fresh air. I'll see you later."
Without waiting for a response, she turned and hurried out of the Great Hall, her heart pounding in her chest. The cool air of the corridor hit her like a shock, but it did nothing to clear her head. Her mind was still a tangled mess of confusion and lust, her body reacting in ways she didn't understand—didn't want to understand.
As she walked, she could still feel the heavy weight between her legs, the constant reminder of the change she couldn't escape. And now, with it, came the strange, overwhelming desire she hadn't felt before. The way she looked at girls—the way she wanted them—was new, and terrifying.
She didn't know how much longer she could keep this hidden.
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