“This is pure crap!”

Joanne Kathleen Rowling was desperate. She had been doing so good, and now what? She had told herself countless times: book five is the real obstacle, the rest will be just plain easy to write. Why shouldn’t it be, after all? She had it all planned out in her mind, all she had to do was to find some joke and secondary stories and it would be all over with.

But something had gone terribly awry. When you write about the same characters for a long time, they tend to take over you, and so Harry, Ron, Hermione, Draco and all the others were enjoying a life of their own, one completely different than what Rowling had in store for them. They were like rebellious children, and there’s no way to restrain a child who does not want to be restrained.

On second thought...

It happened all of a sudden, in a cool winter morning. Rowling sat at her desk, hoping to find some inspiration to complete at least another chapter of Book Six, when suddenly the solution to her every problem flashed in front of her eyes as though written on the view screen. There was one way, after all.

She worked hard that morning, and when she was through she was completely satisfied. One more paragraph and it will all be alright...

~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry tensed his muscles and waited. He exchanged a glance with Ron and Hermione, who didn’t know what to do. Nor did he, actually: he had just no idea of where that energy could be coming from, but it was overwhelming. He just had to do that, though he did not know why. Like someone was controlling his moves from above, he raised his wand and spoke the words, which sounded insane to his ears: “Accio author!”.

~~~~~~~~~~~

A tall, blonde figure materialised in front of him. A nice-looking woman in her forties, dressed like people dress in the cities, some usual clothes like they wore themselves when not in school. Who was she? And what did “author” mean? Author of what?

“Oh, nice to see you, Harry. Ron, Hermione: very glad to see you two as well.”

“Thanks... I guess,” said Harry.

“Just who are you?” said Hermione.

“Watch your mouth, girl. I wrote you better than that.”

Hermione was bedazzled to say the least. “Wrote me? What?”

“I think the lady’s a bit nuts,” said Ron in an undertone to Harry, but Rowling heard him anyway.

“Speak loud, there’s no difference. Your hushed voice is just an italic line on my paper. Also your thoughts are, so don’t try and mess with me.”

There was amusement on the kids’ faces for a while, but now they were also a bit scared. When you’re a character in a fantasy book, nothing seems really strange to your eyes.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” said Hermione.

“And you’re damn right, Hermy,” replied Rowling. She approached the three of them, who took one step back. “I’m here because your behaviour is getting out of hand, as of lately. You force me to write things I don’t want, you force me to take the story whenever I don’t want it to go. Ron, what’s this thing of you having sexual intercourse with Fleur?”

Ron gulped. “How does she know? No one does!”

Harry and Hermione looked at each other, than at him. “You and Fleur?!”

“Good boy!” said Harry, smiling.

“Oh, please,” said Hermione. “That’s disgusting.”

“Come on, I’m sixteen. It’s normal, isn’t it?”

But Rowling shook her head, and interrupted with a stern voice: “No! You see what I mean? You’ve turned yourselves into nasty, filthy, sex-hungry teenagers who do nothing else than forming and disrupting the craziest couples. There’s thousands of people out there that...”

“Out there where?”

“Just you listen!” she snapped at Harry. “Thousands of people who write the most distasteful, disgusting stories about the three of you, and more. And this is all your fault. You’ve taken over them just as you’ve taken over me. You wanna read my own Book Six, huh? It sounds like All My Children, for God’s sake! You ruined me as well. You weren’t like these in the beginning, you were graceful, respectful children-characters who don’t go mess up with their author’s work.”

Harry’s expression was of utter sympathy, something like “if the lady’s nuts, let’s not argue: she may be dangerous”.

“Okay, Mrs....?”

“Rowling, you idiot red-haired slug-eating loser!”

Ron raised his eyebrows. “Okay, that was enough. I don’t know why you’re really here or what you really want for us, but we’re not gonna stay here and hear your babble. So, if you please...”

And they all started to walk away, but Rowling would have none of that.

“You can not quite go yet, my dears. I choose who enters and leaves the scene, here. I run this place, if you haven’t noticed. And now I’m gonna make a little attitude adjustment on my main characters...”

Before they could stop her, Rowling was waving her hand – she hardly needed a wand there – towards them. Harry, Ron and Hermione were surprised, to say the least, when they felt their feet come off the ground, their bodies suddenly flying freely in the air.

“What’s going on?” screamt Hermione.

“I don’t know!” said Harry. “But I’m going to...”

He seemed like he wanted to take out his wand, but it flew right away out of his pocket, landing on Rowling’s open hand. So did the other kids’.

“No magic here, kids. You won’t need it now. I do the magic here, understand?”

And with that she took the three wands and put them head-to-tail. The magically sealed, producing a metre-long, thin wooden cane. The perfect instrument for what she had in mind.

“Hey, wait!” said Hermione.

“What’s that for?” demanded Ron.

“You are going to find out, believe me.”

In a second, three chairs appeared out of thin air, and the kids found their own bodies bent over them. They were not restrained or anything, and yet they could not move, like a spell had been put on them from above. Well, sort of... But their situation got even worse when their Hogwarts black robes rose up to their waists, and Harry and Ron’s trousers were magically pulled down to their knees, all the while Hermione’s shirt was also raised.

Rowling watched at her three characters: three perfectly presented panty-clad bottoms, and a cane in her hand. It was the fulfilment of a desire she had just found out having.

SPANK!!

The three-wand-made cane flew into the air and impacted on the six cheeks contemporarily. Not needing anyone to swing it, it could apply full force to its targets, using its own full length. And it did.

SPANK!! WHACK!! WHIP!!

“Oww!”

“Ouch!!”

“Noooo!!”

SPANK!! WHACK!! SPANK!! WHIP!! WHIP!!

The children screamt, more in surprise than in real pain, but soon also started to weep for the numbness forming in their backsides.

But Rowling wasn’t satisfied yet. With another wave of her hand she had Ron and Harry’s underwear and Hermione’s panties slip down to their knees, so that now the cane had three naked bottoms to smack into.

SPANK!! SMACK!! WHACK!! SMACK!! WHIP!! SMACK!! SPANK!!

They rained down again and again, until finally, satisfied of her job, Rowling let the cane rest on the floor and released the kids. Harry, Ron and Hermione found themselves kneeling on the floor, and immediately brought their hands back to rub their bottoms. The sounds of their cries filled the air, and a giggling author watched their amusing “dance-of-the-well-spanked-kid”.

“I hope this does the trick. Now I’m leaving, and I’m writing you to bed tonight. Don’t ever make me repeat this performance, or I’ll write so many spankings in the following books that you’ll have to stand through your lessons rather than sitting. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am...” whispered a weeping Hermione. Similar sounds came from the boys.

“Good. I’d better be off, then. I have a best-selling book to finish.”

And she was off.

– The End –

This story does not necessarily represent the author’s point of view about anything. It is simply a work of fiction. The characters herein portrayed are invented and do not resemble reality to the best of the author’s knowledge. This account is entirely fictitious. Any similarities to other persons, living or deceased, is purely coincidental.

This story is written for the sane amusement of adult readers. It does not intend harm and does not promote violence of any kind, including spanking. No offence is meant to any group, ethnicity or individuals.

The author does in no way endorse the non-consensual disciplinary spanking of actual children and/or teenagers.

Copyright © 2003 Haley Brimley. Contact for information and/or feedback.