Dr Helen Granger, BDS, had lived a perfectly normal and ordinary sort of life, thank you very much. High achieving and a natural rule follower, the idea of strange goings on in her household (tastefully decorated with Laura Ashley wallpaper and lashings of expensive chintz) was as absurd as the idea of her husband, Roger, suddenly announcing he was giving up dentistry and moving to Shetland to knit Aran jumpers for the rest of his life. Her life was calm, scientific, and orderly.
And then along had come Hermione, and her dreams of an ordinary life had been crushed.
Hermione was a witch – and that wasn’t Helen commenting on her character. No, Helen’s precious baby girl, the apple of her eye and the foundation of so many of her dreams, turned out to be an actual wand-carrying, broomstick-flying, spell-casting witch. And it turned out that, far from attending the local grammar school that Helen had had her heart set on for her daughter with its excellent OFSTED rating and high percentage of University acceptances, Hermione would be attending a boarding school of all things. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – even the name seemed ridiculous. Helen knew nothing about the place, other than she hated the very idea of it.
But Hermione had pleaded, and Roger had sided with their daughter – and that interfering old coot from the school had come and spoken in riddles, as if that was likely to be reassuring. And, somehow, Helen had found herself agreeing to send her only daughter to a school whose location she wasn’t even 100% sure of. To study subjects that were alien and unfamiliar (what the heck was Transfiguration when it was at home? At least Potions seemed to be a form of Chemistry). And to let her daughter disappear into a world where she couldn’t follow.
Hermione had come home at Christmas filled with tales from Hogwarts, talking nineteen to the dozen in what sounded to Helen like a different language. She tried her best to make sense of it all, and managed to work out that Hermione had made friends and was doing well at school which was, she supposed, all that really mattered. Her report at the end of the school year was excellent, and Helen was thrilled with Hermione’s academic progress. It might have been in some bizarre subjects that Helen didn’t fully understand, but Top of the Year was still Top of the Year. Her daughter’s achievements were not to be sniffed at.
‘Well done, darling. I’m so proud of you. And did you behave yourself while at school?’
‘Of course, Mummy.’
It wasn’t until they went to Diagon Alley towards the end of the summer holidays, just before Hermione’s Second Year commenced at Hogwarts, and Helen and Roger met Molly and Arthur Weasley that Helen learned that her daughter hadn’t been entirely honest about that.
.oOo.
‘But you two are Muggles,’ Arthur enthused, beaming at them.
Helen tried not to wince at the term. Hermione had told her that it wasn’t offensive (‘Just the word for a non-magical person, Mummy’), but it still didn’t sound very nice to her ears. Still, the Weasleys seemed friendly enough and Helen found herself whisked off to The Leaky Cauldron for a drink while her daughter wandered off shopping with her friends.
Roger and Arthur took to each other like ducks to water, and were soon sipping Firewhiskey and chattering about drills and microwaves of all things. They both seemed to be cut from the same cloth despite the different worlds they came from, and Helen could easily picture the pair of them clattering cheerfully around Roger’s shed together or exploring the contents of Arthur Weasley’s garage. Helen was fairly certain she heard mention of Arthur actually owning a vintage Ford Anglia, though for what purpose she couldn’t possibly imagine given what Hermione had told her about wizarding transportation.
Molly Weasley, however, though warm and friendly, had nothing whatsoever in common with Helen Granger. The mother of seven children (didn’t wizards have contraception? Helen wondered), seemingly content to stay at home and keep house instead of having a career of her own – and judging from the woman’s mismatched and handmade clothes, Helen didn’t even have fashion to fall back on as a subject for conversation.
In desperation, Helen landed on the subject of Ron’s first year at Hogwarts – and it was then that she made the unpleasant discovery.
‘…and if I’ve told him once, I’ve told him a thousand times to think before he acts. Sneaking around in the middle of the night with a baby Dragon, I ask you. It was a good thing nothing more serious happened to him and the others than a detention – though,’ and Molly laughed companionably, ‘Arthur did give Ronald quite the slippering at the start of the summer. I imagine you did the same to your Hermione – especially after what Ronald told me about the Troll. Not to mention the three of them taking on that savage Three Headed Dog.’
.oOo.
‘Hermione Jean Granger. You have some explaining to do, young lady.’
Helen had simmered over her daughter’s deception during the entire disgraceful display at the bookshop, and had seethed the whole journey home. Roger was cheerfully oblivious to his wife’s mood, but Hermione had picked up on her mother’s anger almost instantly. She’d sat meekly in the back seat of the car throughout the drive and had followed Helen into the house cautiously. The moment the front door closed behind them, Helen drew herself up to her full height and demanded an explanation from her daughter.
‘Um, explaining about what, Mum?’
The bewildered look on Hermione’s face did little to sooth Helen’s ruffled feathers.
‘Why I had to learn about your misbehaviour at school from Ron’s parents instead of from you. You made me look quite the fool, young lady. Molly was astonished that I knew nothing about the Dragon. Or the Dog. Or,’ Helen narrowed her eyes, ‘the Troll at Halloween. And I believe you lost your house points over that particular incident.’
Hermione’s confused expression had turned to one of embarrassment, her face flaming. Well, they wouldn’t be the only cheeks flaming when Helen was through with her wayward child.
‘I cannot believe that you never told me about any of this, Hermione. I don’t know why you are keeping things from me. What’s more, you lied to my face when I asked if you had been behaving yourself at school.’
‘Mum, I didn’t lie. I just…well, I…look, it just didn’t seem that important. And those were just little things – overall, I was very good.’
Hermione had never been very good at obfuscation when caught out. She knew full well what Helen thought about liars, and what the punishment was so she always at least tried to talk Helen out of it. Her protestations had never yet successfully prevented her bottom from becoming reacquainted with Helen’s solid hardwood hairbrush, but she always gave it her best shot.
‘You lied, Hermione. You tried to fob me off in the hope that I wouldn’t ever find out about the dangerous and disobedient things you did last year at school, trusting, no doubt, to my muggle ignorance. Isn’t that right, child?’
‘No, Mum. I don’t think that.’
‘I think you do. You lied to try to dodge a well-deserved spanking. Well, this is a lesson you need to learn and learn well, my girl. You’ll soon realise that it would have been better to get this over with at the start of the holiday.’
‘Mummy – please! Nooo!’
‘Go up and wait in your room. I’ll be up in a moment.’
‘But-‘
‘No buts. Upstairs now – unless you’d rather I bare your bottom right here and spank you in front of your father.’
Hermione flushed vermillion and practically flew up the stairs. Helen glanced at her husband, who was somehow oblivious to the kerfuffle that was happening, and then sighed to herself. That man wouldn’t notice feminine temper tantrums if they slapped him in the face. Helen shook her head with exasperated fondness at him, and then girded her loins for the upcoming battle and grimly climbed the stairs.
Helen collected her hairbrush from its place on her dressing table, weighing it in the palm of her hand as she gathered her thoughts for a moment. It was a sturdy implement, useful for taming her brown bushy hair as well as taming her bushy haired daughter. Helen knew too well the sting a smack from such a hairbrush could impart upon teenage buttocks; her own mother had had a solid wooden hairbrush of her very own, once upon a time. Grimacing at the memories and refocusing her thoughts on her daughter’s misbehaviour, lest she grow too soft and sympathetic towards her child, Helen left her room and went down the hallway to Hermione’s room.
Hermione was pacing agitatedly and opened her mouth to argue her case as soon as her mother came into the room. Helen knew the signs well, and cut Hermione’s protests off before they got going.
‘Not one word, young lady. I don’t want to hear it. The time for explanations is long gone. You speak only when spoken to, understand?’
Hermione pursed her lips in a show of sassy silence, and Helen raised one well-manicured eyebrow before dealing a sharp swat to her daughter’s thigh.
‘Ouch.’
‘I said, do you understand?’
‘Y…yes, Mummy.’
‘Good.’ Helen took a seat on Hermione’s bed, laying the hairbrush beside her. She snapped her fingers and pointed at the ground between her feet. Grimacing, Hermione trudged to come and stand between Helen’s knees.
Helen looked into her daughter’s eyes, finding mainly defiance but a small amount of nervousness. No fear though – and that was half the problem. Hermione may have been intelligent, but she was also stupidly brave. What sort of child went looking for Trolls and Dragons, let alone tackling a Three Headed Dog?
‘What on earth got into your head, child? I think learning you have magic has addled your wits. Just because you can cast spells, doesn’t mean you are invincible. You could have been seriously hurt by the Troll. Or the Dragon. Or the Three Headed Dog. You could have been killed. I didn’t raise you to behave so foolishly and with such a casual disregard for your safety. Those actions alone earned you a spanking, and you know it Hermione.’
Hermione was biting her lip and flushed red at those words. But Helen wasn’t finished.
‘Furthermore, you lied to me when I asked if you had behaved yourself at school – and I don’t tolerate liars. It’ll earn you a dose of my hairbrush each and every time, young lady.’
‘But Mummy, I didn’t lie about it.’
‘Just because I didn’t ask the direct question ‘Were you messing about with Trolls, Dragons or Three Headed Dogs at any point this year?’, doesn’t mean that what you told me was acceptable. Lies of omission are just as bad, Hermione. And it’s important that you communicate with me – especially as I cannot be around as much in your school life as we had planned.’
Helen swallowed against the lump in her throat that was forming, and decided to move on from the scolding. There was nothing more to say anyway – she couldn’t exactly tell Hermione how it made her feel when Hermione excluded her from stories about her new life, how much it had hurt to learn about things from Molly Weasley of all people, and how she felt she was losing Hermione more and more every day. There were some things she had to keep to herself as the adult in the situation. Nevertheless, the fact was that her almost thirteen year old daughter had earned herself a jolly good spanking for behaving so dangerously, and Helen was determined to deliver on the promise.
Helen reached for Hermione’s waistband and unbuttoned her daughter’s jeans, batting Hermione’s hands out the way impatiently. Hermione whined as Helen tugged the girl’s trousers down to her knees and pulled her into position over her lap. Helen rubbed at the seat of Hermione’s knickers for a moment, ensuring she had her full attention. Then she lifted her hand and brought it down with a sharp smack.
Helen spanked evenly and methodically, covering her child’s bottom with stinging swats. There was little reaction at first – Hermione had always been stoic at the start of a spanking. But as the spanking continued, Hermione began to wriggle and her breath hitched ever so slightly. Helen made sure that every inch of Hermione’s bottom was given the same treatment, landing smacks repeatedly all over the area. Helen even ensured that she pinkened Hermione’s thighs for good measure. Soon Hermione’s little gasps turned to pained grunts and her feet began to kick out involuntarily.
Helen’s hand was stinging, so she was certain that Hermione’s bottom must be stinging badly too. She rested her hand on her daughter’s buttocks, noting the heat through the thin fabric of her knickers. She rubbed soothingly for a moment, before slipping her fingers in Hermione’s waistband and sliding the small garment down to the child’s knees. Hermione whined as her bottom was bared, and Helen made a shushing noise to calm her.
‘Almost done, good girl. Just the hairbrush to finish it off.’
‘No, Mummy p..please. Please, n…not the hairbrush.’
Hermione reached back to defend her bottom, and Helen took hold of Hermione’s wayward hand. She held it, squeezing it reassuringly, before arranging it in the small of Hermione’s back safely out of the way. She adjusted the girl over her knee, tipping her further forward so that her sit spots were more easily accessible, and then picked up the brush. She felt Hermione flinch as she rested the cool wood of the brush against her daughter’s heated backside, taking careful aim.
‘Alright Hermione. Just twelve with the brush and then it’s all over.’
Hermione yelped as Helen snapped the brush down with a loud thwack, and a dusky pink oval blossomed in the centre of her right buttock. Helen gave her a matching one on the other side, eliciting another pained yelp, and then proceeded to give Hermione the sound spanking she sorely deserved.
‘Ow! Mummy, Mummy please! That really hurts.’
‘I know. It’s meant to. Maybe next time you are faced with something dangerous like a dragon or a troll, you’ll remember this spanking and find an adult to help you instead of trying to deal with it alone.’
‘Ooh, ow, oh! Yes Mummy, I promise. I wo-oh, ow-oh oh on’t do it again.’
‘I should think not.’
Round about the seventh smack of the brush, Hermione started sobbing rather than yelping, and Helen squeezed her daughter’s hand tight as she applied the remainder of the punishment to Hermione’s reddening behind. By the time the final swat fell, Hermione’s bottom was covered in hot pink ovals like scattered flower petals. A rosy bottom indeed.
Helen carefully gathered the girl into her arms and rocked her lovingly, whispering soothing nonsense into her daughter’s hair and rubbing circles on her back. Hermione wept into her mother’s shoulder, soft hiccupping sobs being the only sound heard for quite some time. Helen planted a kiss to the crown of Hermione’s head, smoothing back her daughter’s wild and bushy mane to see her better. Sorrowful eyes looked back at her.
‘Don’t give me that look, little miss. You know you earned that spanking, fair and square. But it’s all over now, all over and done with. You’re forgiven, my love.’
Hermione’s breathing slowly evened out as Helen comforted her, and they sat together holding on to each other for quite some time. Eventually, Hermione stirred, and Helen helped her daughter pull up her knickers. Hermione gave her jeans a dubious glare, and Helen’s lips twitched as she watched her child kick them off instead.
‘Have a lie down for a bit. I’ll call you when it’s time for tea,’ Helen soothed.
She pulled back the pink counterpane on her daughter’s bed and helped the penitent girl settle between the sheets. She pressed another kiss to Hermione’s forehead, gently wiping away the final traces of the girl’s tears. Hermione’s eyes were already drifting shut, and Helen smiled as soft snores began to be heard before she’d even left the room and closed the door. It wasn’t easy being nearly thirteen, with a foot in two worlds and never fully belonging to either. It wasn’t easy being a nearly teenaged girl at the best of times. No wonder Hermione was tired.
But, Helen mused, it wasn’t easy being a parent either. And she had a nasty feeling that as time went by and Hermione threw herself further into the Wizarding world, it was only going to get harder to keep her safe. She doubted that it would be the last time that Hermione encountered her trusty hairbrush.