Veela. All he could think of was the Veela. He'd dreamed of them each night since he'd first seen them - the impossibly beautiful women with the moon bright skin, far more beautiful, far more voluptuous, far more well endowed that the very impressive women he'd encountered in the magazines he'd found under Dudley's bed... but now for the first time he saw one naked, nude, and she was even more beautiful than she'd been in his dreams, and she was reaching out to him and placing her hand on his shoulder.

And shaking him roughly awake.

"Time to get up, Harry, dear."

Harry Potter blinked his eyes in the light shining in from the windows of his best friends bedroom. Mrs Weasley moved onto the next bed to wake Ron, and Harry sat up blinking. He'd been dreaming again... but it had seemed so real. At the foot of his bed, were George and Fred (or was it Fred and George?) in their own beds as he reoriented himself to where he really was. He was the burrow, staying with the Weasley's having come to stay with them so he could attend the World Cup - and that's where he'd seen the Veelas four days earlier... it was just another dream.

Mrs Weasley left the room, as the other boys all climbed out of bed and began to dress. Harry was about to do the same, when he suddenly realized that his dream had created something of a dilemma. A dilemma that the duvet was, for the moment, hiding from view.

If it had just been Ron in the room, this wouldn't have been a serious dilemma. Ron was his best friend, and sharing a dormitory at school, they'd seen each other naked every morning and evening, and occasionally dealt with this precise issue by studiously avoiding comment. But with Fred and George in the room, forced to share a room with their younger brother due to their older brothers having taken their room, things were a little different.

A little different? That was putting it mildly. While boarding school experience had taught Harry he had nothing to be ashamed of for a boy of his age, Fred and George were two years older than he was and the difference between sixteen and fourteen seemed to be rather large indeed. He cast a quick glance over to where the older boys were dressing. Yes, rather large indeed was right. It was, to put it mildly, somewhat intimidating to see the two athletic beaters, but worst of all was the realisation that Fred and George were the type who'd always take the opportunity to tease their little brother's best friend and he didn't want to give them the excuse.

The Weasley boys were dressed by now, as Harry lay in bed, and Fred - or George - looked over at Harry with mild concern evident on his face.

"Are you all right, Harry? You'll miss breakfast if you don't get a move on."

"Yeah... I've got a bit of a headache - I'll be down in a second. Don't wait for me."

Fred and George turned and left - Ron lingered a moment, but Harry gave him a non-committal wave and Ron followed his brothers. Harry now moved to get out of bed, but stopped when he heard Hermione and Ginny's voices in the hall outside - Ron had left the door open and while Dudley's old pyjamas would cover a lot of things, Harry was very concerned that if the girls walked passed and he was out of bed, they might see some signs of his predicament. He wished his invisibility cloak were closer. As it was, he had to wait for Hermione and Ginny to go past, before he felt safe in getting out of bed, moving passed the other beds and closing the door. As he did so, he could smell the smell of eggs and bacon wafting up from below, and his stomach grumbled - he didn't want to be late for breakfast, but first of all, he decided it was necessary to get rid of the erection that was causing him so many problems. He placed his hand into the fly of his oversized, Dudley sized pyjamas, and dropped back onto the nearest bed, and took the shaft of his penis in his hands. And with a practiced motion he started to think of the Veela.

----------

"Where's Harry?" Mrs Weasley looked over at the three boys already tucking into the hot breakfast she'd cooked, primarily for Harry as a special treat - she always felt he needed to be fed up when he was in her care.

"He said he had a headache, but he'd be down in a minute, Mum."

"He's feeling poorly. Oh dear, I'd better go upstairs and see if he's all right. Good morning Hermione," she said as she brushed past the two girls coming into the kitchen.

----------

Upstairs in the bedroom, Harry was finding it hard to remember exactly what the Veela had looked like in his dream, but it didn't really matter all that much - he was getting the job done. He was focused on what he was doing, so focused that he didn't immediately notice that the door had opened. But he heard Mrs Weasley's gasp of surprise, and he instantly stopped what he was doing, and rolled over to hide from her gaze. He waited - and after a few seconds, Mrs Weasley spoke quietly.

"Get dressed, Harry, or the others will have eaten all the bacon and eggs."

As she left the room, closing the door, Harry reflected that that certainly was one way to get rid of an erection - but far, far more embarrassing and nowhere near as satisfying as his more traditional method. He dressed quickly, and went downstairs, quite flushed with embarrassment, and thinking that a bit of teasing from Fred and George would have been much more preferable to what had actually happened. He tucked into the breakfast though, in silence - and it tasted very good.

As breakfast ended, Mrs Weasley was looking out of the window.

"It looks like it might rain. Hermione, would you be able to do something for me, dear?"

"Of course, Mrs Weasley."

"You told me about those leaflets that tell us how many stamps we should put on Muggle letters?"

"Postal rates leaflets, yes, Mrs Weasley."

"Would you go down to the village for me and get me those. I don't want to risk embarrassing Harry again -" Harry looked up in shock but realized she was talking about something quite different "if I have to send another letter to his Aunt and Uncle. The rest of you can go with her - the fresh air will do you good, if it's going to rain, I don't want you cooped up inside all day. Except for you, Harry - if you had a headache, it could be a sign of a cold coming and if it rains, I want you indoors."

"All right, Mrs Weasley," said Hermione. "Come on, everybody, let's go." Fred and George seemed about to protest - they knew when they were being got out of the way - but a look at something in their mothers face persuaded them that this was not a time to make a stand. Besides... the Muggle Post Office... communications channels, unlikely to be accessed by the Ministry of Magic could be very useful when it came to their planned business opportunities.

Harry sat at the table and waited. He was sure that Mrs Weasley was going to say something about what had happened upstairs and the idea was making him very, very nervous. There are some things you don't want to talk to your best friends mother about - but Mrs Weasley had been very kind to him, and he knew she cared for him in a way that he could never remember feeling. And if the price of that was a few minutes of embarrassment - well, it wasn't an unreasonable price to pay.

Mrs Weasley sat down opposite Harry, on the other side of the table, and looked at him.

"Well, that's a rather silly thing to do, isn't it, Harry?"

Silly? It seemed like an odd choice of word. Harry gave a non-committal shrug.

"Don't you have anything to say? Harry, I'm surprised at you - doing something so wasteful and dangerous and, I don't know... what were you thinking about?"

Veela seemed like the wrong answer, but Harry was a bit stunned. Wasteful? Dangerous? What was Mrs Weasley talking about?

"Mrs Weasley... what do you think I was doing?"

She blinked hard. "What do you think you were doing, Harry?"

He shrugged again.

"No, I'm serious, Harry - what were you doing?"

He cringed, but decided he'd better answer. "I was... well, I was masturbating, Mrs Weasley."

"Is that what Muggles call it, then? We don't engage in euphemism Harry - it's manustupration to us."

"Manustoo-what?"

"Manustupration - it comes from Latin - manus stuprare - to defile with your hand. But whatever you call it, Harry, I'm shocked that you would do this. You might be powerful and you might come from a family of powerful wizards, but that doesn't make your power strong enough to go around wasting it, spilling it out to no purpose. It makes you weak, Harry - it takes your vitality. What were you thinking?"

"What?!? Mrs Weasley, those are... they're old wives' tales. I've read books - those are myths."

Mrs Weasley eyes flashed, and then suddenly she seemed to have a realization of some sort.

"These books... Muggle books?"

"Yes."

"Oh Harry... myths, you say. Myths like... dragons. And hippogriffs. And the phoenix?"

"I'm not sure what you..."

"Harry - things that are myths to Muggles are real to us. Manustupration - it robs a wizard of his power, his vital force, the essence that allows us to use magic. Muggles don't have this - so they can't lose it. I suppose it's not surprising that Muggles don't think it's dangerous. They've got nothing to lose."

"Oh!" Harry was shocked and surprised... and worried. How much magic had he lost over the last year? It was a sobering and disturbing thought.

And Mrs Weasley had the same thought.

"Harry - have you done this before?"

----------

On the road into the village, Fred and George had been questioning Hermione quite extensively about the operation of the Royal Mail, and she was gratified to be the centre of such intense questioning and testing of her knowledge. But suddenly she stopped.

"Oh, I should have brought my purse - if we're going into the village, I want to get The Guardian - the Daily Prophet is all very well, but I really should keep up with the Muggle world as well when I can. Wait here - I'll be back as quickly as I can be."

She turned and ran back up the road.

----------

Harry cringed at the question - but he really needed to know if he'd done any permanent damage.

"Yes, Mrs Weasley. I've been doing it for about a year. A couple of time a week. Am I going to lose my magic?" The idea was awful. A Muggle again? A squib? And having to explain things to the Dursleys?

Mrs Weasley shook her head. "Well, you haven't done yourself any good, Harry, certainly. But it's nowhere near the worse case I've heard of. Percy had a problem that went on a lot longer than that, but we solved that one, and he recovered fairly quickly. You haven't noticed any loss of power yet?"

"No."

"Then you haven't done yourself any lasting harm. But we need to make sure you don't."

"How?"

Mrs Weasley stood up and walked around to the other side of the table where Harry was sitting, and placed her hand on his shoulder.

"I'm not sure, Harry... Harry, do you trust me?"

"Yes." The answer to that was easy.

"It's difficult, Harry. Because you don't have any parents, and I'm not sure I have the right - but who else is there?" Her heart was almost breaking as she said it - the poor dear boy. Motherless, unloved by his only surviving family - Molly wanted to take him into her arms like a mother would, every time she saw him - but did she have the right? Well, whether she did or not, she could give him what he needed now. What she'd given Percy in the same situation and for the same reason. "Harry - there is something I can do, but you're not going to like it. But it's the only approach I know of that works well."

"What is it?"

"You manustruprate because it feels good. Well, we have to make you think of something that feels bad every time you think you want to do it. So... I'm going to spank you Harry."

"Spank me?"

"Yes. I assume that you have encountered that concept in the Muggle world?"

"Well, yes, but..."

"I can't force you to accept a spanking from me, Harry. I really don't have any authority over you. And I warn you it will hurt. I'm very experienced and this is something I know how to do. It's up to you, Harry." She spoke briskly now, deciding to get this over and done with before the others got back from the village, and hopefully before Bill and Charlie still upstairs woke up. "If you don't agree, however, I think I'll have to send Professor McGonagall a note telling her about what I saw - she does have authority over you, and so she can take steps even without your cooperation."

For Harry, the choice was now obvious - possibly the only thing worse than the conversation he'd just had with Mrs Weasley would be repeating such a conversation with Professor McGonagall. "All right, Mrs Weasley. I'll do what you say... I trust you. And I don't want to put my magic at risk. If this is what it takes to stop me, all right."

"Once may not be enough, Harry. It wasn't with Percy."

Harry shrugged. "Whenever you need to, then." He paused and thought about what was on offer here. "For this... or anything else."

"All right, then. Stand up and let's get a chair out."

Harry stood and Mrs Weasley pulled out the chair he'd been sitting on and turned it around. She guided Harry to where she wanted him and sat down on the chair. Her deft and experienced hands undid his belt, unbuttoned his jeans and undid his fly almost before he realized what was happening and his large jeans dropped of their own volition, leaving his underpants visible. Before he could be embarrassed by this though, he realized her hands were in the waistband of his underpants and she tugged down.

----------

Hermione had come through the house via the front door to avoid disturbing Mrs Weasley who she had seen through the back windows having what looked like a very serious discussion with Harry. He did look a little sick - rather flushed and red and Mrs Weasley had a rather grave expression on her face. Well, she wouldn't disturb them - she'd just get some money and leave quietly. She headed upstairs.

----------

Harry hands had gripped the waistband of his underpants just as Mrs Weasley had begun to pull them down - he'd done it without thinking. Mrs Weasley paused.

"You said you'd cooperate Harry. And I have six sons - I'm not going to see anything new. In fact, I'm not going to see anything I didn't see before breakfast."

"But, Mrs..."

"You can pull them down yourself if you want or you can let me pull them down, but they are coming down."

"Could you close your eyes?"

"Harry..."

"Please. I'll cooperate. I'll pull them down and I'll bend over your lap. But can't I..."

Mrs Weasley looked at him. It would be easy to allow him that bit of dignity. But being a Witch - and being a mother - wasn't about doing what was easy. It was about doing what you had to do. She reached out and removed his hands one after the other from the waistband of his underpants and he didn't resist at all. Then she placed her hands back in the waistband and pulled down, until the fabric was at his knees. Then the reached up and guided him across her lap. She looked down at his bottom, presented for her attention, placed her left hand in the centre of his back, and her right hand on his bottom - the palm on his left buttock, the fingers resting on his right.

And then she lifted her hand and swung it down hard.

----------

Hermione was coming down the stairs, when she heard a noise from the kitchen. A loud SLAP. She stopped and there was a second similar sound. Then a third - and a gasp of pain. She stuck her head around the door - and was stunned at what she could see. Her view wasn't good - Mrs Weasley was over the other side of the table with her back to Hermione, and across her knees with his pants pulled down was Harry. And he was getting a spanking. It was a stunning sight - and it suddenly occurred to Hermione that Mrs Weasley had got them all out of the way for this. And so she left hurriedly.

----------

Over more than two decades, Mrs Weasley had handed out quite a number of spankings (and sometimes more severe punishments) - she knew what she was about, she had a tried and true method based on the age of the child and the seriousness of their offence. Harry was fourteen, and while it was important that this punishment be one he would remember and not want to repeat, there was no malice in his behaviour, no real understanding that what he'd done was wrong. So twenty-eight good hard smacks seemed appropriate in this case - his age times two. To begin with, she landed her hand right across the centre of his bottom - palm on one buttock, fingers on the other, but when after the tenth smack, she realized that tears had begun, she changed tack and began to land her hand across one buttock cheek at a time. By the twenty-third spank when she prepared to finish the job, the boy was sobbing hard. But his hands were still planted on the ground in front of him - he made no effort to put a hand back to protect himself which was unusual in her considerable experience. The last five spanks were extra hard and once again delivered across his entire bottom - fingers spread apart now to increase the surface area somewhat.

And then she stopped. And she helped Harry to his feet. And now his hands moved behind himself as he tried to rub away the pain. His face was as red as she had made his bottom, and there were tears on his cheeks, and his eyes were red as well. She stood up and walked to the sink, where she made a cloth wet. By the time she turned around, he was doing up his jeans. She walked upstairs and he followed. Into the bedroom, where she gestured at him to lie down, and once he had done so, she placed the cloth over his eyes.

"That will clear things up quickly, Harry - and nobody needs to know. This time, anyway."

"Yes, Mrs Weasley."

She left him to reflect and remember. As she walked down the stairs, she herself reflected and remembered a young woman who she'd only met briefly once or twice, with dark red hair and brilliant green eyes... and wondered, somewhat guiltily, what she would think, what she would say, if she knew that Mrs Weasley was thinking of Harry Potter like her own son...

And somewhere, somewhere else, where wizards and witches go when their time has come, a figure looked down upon the world, and breathed a single breathless word.

"Thank you."

----------

Hermione respected Harry's privacy - up to a point. This was why she didn't stay around and spy on what was happening to him, interesting though it was. This was why she didn't tell the others what she'd seen. But respect for privacy has limits and limitations. She and Harry were guests in the Weasley's home - and obviously Harry had done something he really shouldn't have done. Hermione knew a fair amount about Harry's upbringing with the Dursley's of course - and wondered if perhaps nobody had ever taught Harry about appropriate behaviour as a guest and for his own good, somebody needed to make sure he understood. If, for no other reason, so that he didn't find himself in trouble again.

So when she had a chance - when the Weasley children said they were going to practice their Quidditch, she announced that she would stay behind and read her paper - and join them when she'd finished. Harry hadn't come down from the boys' room - Mrs Weasley said he was lying down because of his 'headache'.

She went upstairs and quietly opened the door marked "Ronald's Room". Harry was lying on his back, on top of the bed, with a wet cloth draped across his eyes. She cleared her throat and he sat up slightly, pulling the cloth away. She noticed that his eyes were still slightly red - but not incredibly so, she wouldn't have noticed if she hadn't been looking for the signs.

"Hi Hermione."

"Hi Harry. How are you feeling?"

"Fine. Where are the others?"

"They've gone off to play Quidditch in the orchard.

"Quidditch!" He rose from the bed.

"Hang on, Harry - we need to talk."

"Talk about what?"

She gave what she hoped was a sympathetic smile. "How's your backside, Harry?"

His jaw dropped. "What! How do you..."

She raised a hand, "I came back to get some money for a newspaper and I couldn't help but see what was happening."

"You haven't told anyone?"

"As if I would. But we need to talk Harry."

"What about?"

"We're guests in this house, you and I. The Weasley's have been very kind in letting us stay and taking us to the World Cup, and I just think you need to be more careful. It's not fair if you're not behaving yourself when they've..."

"Hermione." Harry's voice was sharp. "You don't know what happened."

"I know you got your bottom smacked, Harry, and I don't think Mrs Weasley would have done that without a pretty good reason."

"Well, yes, she did have a good reason... but it wasn't like you think. I didn't do anything wrong."

"Mrs Weasley smacked you and you didn't do anything wrong?"

"Well, I did, but I didn't know - look, Hermione, I don't want to talk about it. It's embarrassing?"

She rolled her eyes. "Harry - I know you had your pants pulled down and your bottom smacked. I saw - what could be more embarrassing than that?"

"I don't want to talk about it. It's none of your business."

He pushed past her and headed to the stairs. Why was she like this? Why was she always trying to interfere? And it wasn't as if he'd really done anything wrong - the book he'd read said it was normal and nothing to worry about. It wasn't his fault that Muggles had the wrong end of the stick. And then he stopped suddenly.

Muggles. This was different for Muggles. Wizarding kids learned different facts of life than Muggle kids. And witch, those she was, and clever and powerful for her age, Hermione had been raised by Muggles. And the book he'd read had made it quite clear that it wasn't just boys who did certain things. And Hermione read a lot of books.

He heard the door to Ginny's room - the room Hermione was sharing with the youngest Weasley - slam shut and knew he'd upset Hermione by refusing to answer her questions. And he thought to himself about the fear he'd felt a little earlier when he'd discovered what he was doing could cost him his magical power. Hermione was one of his two best friends - she had to know. If there was any chance that she was at risk... she had to know.

He turned around and walked to the closed door - and knocked and entered.

Hermione was lying on a bed, reading furiously. She looked up as Harry entered, and then looked straight back down at the paper. "Yes?"

"Hermione... I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be rude, but - well... this is pretty hard."

She looked back at up at him. "What's hard?"

He sat down on the head of Ginny's bed. "Look, Hermione - I know you're really clever."

"Well, I suppose-"

"No, please listen. There's something I have to tell you and... I want you to be clever about it. It's important I say it, but it's going to be a lot easier if I just say it - well, just like it's facts, nothing else."

She looked puzzled. "All right, Harry. What is it?"

"Mrs Weasley spanked me because she caught me doing something very dangerous. But it's only dangerous for wizards, it's not dangerous for Muggles and I didn't know it was dangerous."

"Dangerous for wizards and not for Muggles? What do you mean?"

"I was... masturbating, Hermione."

"Oh," Hermione went pink. "OH! Harry, most boys do that, it's nothing-"

"Hermione - STOP! Please. I don't need you talking about this - and besides - it's not the same for Wizards. It really is dangerous. I just thought you needed to know that... maybe when we get to school, there's a book in the library that explains why."

Hermione looked at Harry and realised he was turning bright red. And she realised that this was hard for him, and she appreciated why he was doing it. But she had to know more. At least one thing more.

"Harry... is it just dangerous for wizards - or is it dangerous for witches as well?"

"I don't know."

"It's important, Harry."

"I know it is. Well, I didn't know it was... but I did wonder... I don't know Hermione - Mrs Weasley told me it was dangerous for wizards, and she told me that what she did was the way to deal with it - but I didn't really ask any questions."

"All right, Harry. You might want to put that cloth again on your face for a few minutes before you go and play Quidditch."

"Yeah."

She watched him leave, and turned her attention back to the paper. But she couldn't concentrate on the Muggle world right now. After a few minutes, she heard him go downstairs and leave the house. And then she stood and went downstairs herself.

"Mrs Weasley. Can I talk to you about something?"

"Of course, you can, Hermione."

"It's a bit... personal."

"Oh, really?" Mrs Weasley looked at Hermione closely. "What is it, dear?"

"I've been talking to Harry and... he told me something that has me a bit worried."

"I see."

"Mrs Weasley - I saw what you did to Harry and I asked him why, and eventually he told me, and now I'm really scared. Is what he did - if it's dangerous for him, is it dangerous for girls as well?"

"Sit down, Hermione." Mrs Weasley watched as Hermione took the same seat that Harry had sat in when they'd had their little talk, and so she again took her seat to face the girl across the table. She waited for Hermione to continue, but when she didn't, she took the initiative.

"What did Harry tell you?"

"He told me that you smacked him for masturbating, and that you did it because it's dangerous for Wizards. But that's really all he said, and..." her voice became a whisper. "...I'm worried."

"We call in manustupration, Hermione - manus stuprare - defiling with the hand. And, yes, it is dangerous for girls, as well as boys. Harry told me that Muggles don't think it is - is that right?"

Hermione nodded. "We're taught that it's normal, and that most people do it, and it's harmless."

"Well, that may be true for Muggles, Hermione. You see... it's a matter of power. Our magical power comes from within ourselves, Hermione, and the release of energy that happens when you paroxysm, it takes away some of your vital force, you lose it to the world. It's a waste of power and of energy. Once in a while, very occasionally - it won't be a major problem, but if it becomes a habit, it can be very bad indeed."

"Paroxysm? That's orgasm."

"The climax? The moment of pleasure?"

"Yes."

"Then, yes. Muggles use such strange words." Mrs Weasley pursed her lips in thought. Unlike Harry, Hermione had parents, and from what she'd seen of them, they seemed to be fine people who loved their daughter. But again, Mrs Weasley's great maternal instincts came forward, and she realized that Muggles were obviously to tell Hermione the facts of Wizarding life. As she pondered this, Hermione confirmed her musings by asking a question.

"But does that mean... sex is dangerous?"

"The union? No, Hermione, it doesn't - not when it involves a wizard and a witch, in any event. When two people are involved, there's an exchange of power - not a loss of power. Provided, of course, that both gain pleasure."

"Only if it's a wizard and a witch?"

"Well... it can be a wizard and a wizard, or a witch and a witch - as long as there's an exchange of power."

"No, I mean - what about wizards and Muggles?"

"Oh! Well, that's not the best idea. If a wizard or a witch decides to join in union with a Muggle... then there is a loss of power. That's one reason why some people think it's a very, very bad idea - of course, love can be worth any price. But yes, there is a loss of power there."

"I see... Mrs Weasley - you said that occasionally this won't cause a major problem? How occasionally is occasionally?"

"It's impossible to say, Hermione. Once a year perhaps."

"ONCE A YEAR!" Hermione went as pale as a ghost. What damage had she done to herself already?

"Hermione, don't panic. Just tell me - how many times? How often?"

"More than two years... every week, or at least three weeks out of four." Hermione calculated. "A hundred times... something like that."

"It's not that bad, Hermione. It's not good, either - but it isn't that bad. But you'll have to stop. Or at least come as close to stopping as you possibly can."

"What you did to Harry... is that supposed to stop him? Would it stop me?"

Mrs Weasley nodded. "That's the idea. You do it because you enjoy it - and it is enjoyable, I know, but it's meant to be enjoyed with someone else. And you remember you enjoy it, and so you want to do it. A spanking means you start to develop memories of it that you don't like, and it makes it easier not to think about it."

Hermione nodded now. "Mrs Weasley... would you spank me then?"

"Oh, Hermione... it's different with Harry... he doesn't have parents to do things for him and..."

"Mrs Weasley... my parents are very modern Muggles. Very modern. My mother gave me a vibrator for my thirteenth birthday -"

"A what?"

"It's like a wand - for manustupration."

"Is it normal for Muggle mothers to do that?"

"It's normal for my mother. Mrs Weasley - my parents think the wizarding world is strange already. I don't tell them everything that goes on anymore, but they... worry about me, and they worry about our world. They think it's old fashioned and reactionist - and if I went to my parents and told them I needed them to spank me because I'd been masturbating, I'd be in a psychologists office in half an hour. And probably sectioned half an hour later if I tried to explain things to him. But they might even do worse things - that might not let me come back to our world."

"They're your parents."

"And I love them. But they're Muggles, and we've been hiding from Muggles for three hundred years for a reason. Mrs Weasley, I can't ask my parents to do this for me. And I need somebody to do it for me. Because I won't be a Muggle, and I won't be a Squib."

Mrs Weasley looked at the bright-eyed girl, and realized she was right.

"You'll destroy that wand?"

"Wand - oh, yes, I will."

"Very well. Let's get this done then, before anybody comes back."

"Oh, yes, please."

"Stand up, Hermione, and come here."

Once again, Mrs Weasley stood and walked over to where a child was standing waiting for a spanking. Once again she turned the chair around, and sat down in it and once again, her fingers deftly undid the fastenings of a child's jeans. Unlike Harry, Hermione did not protest, or complain or in any way resist. For obvious reasons, this wasn't quite as embarrassing for her as it had been for Harry. Mrs Weasley pulled the jeans down, and then pulled down Hermione's knickers and with practiced ease, tipped Hermione forward and across her lap. Mrs Weasley had far less experience of spanking girls than boys, but that really didn't matter, because she saw no reason whatsoever to treat them differently in this regard. She planted one hand in the small of Hermione's back, and with the other took aim across the young girls bottom. And she raised her hand and brought it back down as hard as she could, her palm and fingers curved slightly to match the contours of her target area. Hermione gave a gasp at the first spank, and was crying by the sixth - though not as loudly or as obviously as Harry had. At about the twelfth, Mrs Weasley began focusing her attention on one buttock at a time in turn, and Hermione squirmed, but made no real struggle. The last five spanks were a copy of how she had finished with Harry - fingers spread, and curved and with force, to cover as much of the target area as possible. And then it was over. And she placed Hermione on her feet, and went and got a cool wet cloth. Unlike Harry, Hermione didn't move to cover her nakedness as quickly, and showing her great intelligence, when the cloth was passed to her, she didn't initially apply it's soothing coolness to her face. But then she did, and adjusted her clothing, and looked at Mrs Weasley, and said in a very polite good-natured voice.

"Thank you, Mrs Weasley."

Mrs Weasley looked at the girl and came to a conclusion.

"Hermione."

"Yes, Mrs Weasley."

"You have parents - and they love you, very much. But if you wish, I can be there for you as well, when there's a need. They're not wizards, and..."

"Thank you, Mrs Weasley. And, yes, please."

"You understand what it means? What I'm offering to do. You may not always like it."

Hermione gave a smile through her tears. "I'm a witch, Mrs Weasley. And I know what that means."

----------

In the orchard, some time later, Harry came down out of sky to meet Hermione as she walked out to join the others. He looked at her face, very carefully, and he could obviously see the signs that a damp cool cloth hadn't entirely obliterated. He blushed.

Hermione smiled. "Thank you for telling me, Harry."

He nodded. "It makes you wonder about Filch, doesn't it?"