Cool October sunlight spills through the Forbidden Forest, hitting the clearing with a crisp glow. Hogwarts is a distant smudge, but Hermione Granger’s not buried in books today. Her pink and black witch costume laughs at her usual robes, nothing like what Hogwarts girls wear. The black top, pink laces tied tight, grips her tits, bare shoulders gleaming in the chilly air. The pink skirt rides high, black panties flashing with every step. Her legs go on forever, ass barely covered, and the witch hat sits crooked on her wild curls. Getting caught out here would mean hell, but that danger just makes her grin.
Hermione stands, one hip popped, tossing her hair so it bounces, curls catching the light as she shoots a sultry look that screams trouble. She spins slow, skirt lifting to bare her panties, hand sliding down her side, tracing her ass, her mind buzzing: I’m the hottest thing alive. The brainy girl who plans everything is gone, spitting on her usual restraint.
She drops onto a gnarled log, legs spreading wide, skirt riding up to show her thighs. Her hand glides up her leg, fingers lingering just below her panties, eyes locked with that daring stare. She leans forward, cupping one tit where the laces dig in, the risk of being spotted making her bolder.
Hermione stretches out on the cold grass, one arm under her head, the other hand trailing over her lips, then down her neck to tug the pink laces. The skirt rides up, barely covering her ass, black panties stark against her skin as she bends one knee, foot scraping the dirt. Her hand skims her thigh, thinking: I’m untouchable today. She arches her back, panties catching the light, tits straining the laces.
She rises, sauntering to a twisted tree, leaning back against it with one shoulder, letting her hair bounce again as she tilts her head with a wicked smirk. Her hand slides up her side, fingers grazing her tits before resting on her lips, lingering there as if daring someone to cross her. The skirt shifts, showing more of her ass, and the thought of someone stumbling on her just makes her hotter.
Hermione kneels on the forest floor, one hand on her thigh, the other tugging her skirt higher to flash her panties. Her eyes burn with that sultry stare, chest heaving as she runs her fingers down her neck, stopping to cup her tit again, her mind roaring: I’m the hottest thing here. The bookworm’s buried, and every inch of her screams defiance, panties glinting in the sun, body begging to be seen.
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