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Hermione Granger’s mother could put the wide, rounded head of her large wooden kitchen spoon to use with immediate, and memorable, results. If Mrs. Granger felt disciplinary measures had to be taken, Hermione could expect a stern lecture, a trip across her mother’s knee, and her bottom peppered with sharp, stinging smacks.
When she was younger, it was her mother’s hand which delivered some very effective swats. But, it was around the age of ten, when Hermione’s intellect began outpacing her manners and sense of propriety, that the brush was brought into use. Negative reports from the muggle primary school, or from Hogwarts later on, of any mischief or troublemaking guaranteed a firm, thorough smacking.
Barring an unfortunate troll encounter and a few excursions to out-of-bounds parts of the school, there was not an excessive amount of things to report. Nevertheless, when Hermione returned home during school holidays, correction for any misbehavior was always the very first matter tended to!
It should not have been a surprise that the very same wooden spoon, the heavy one made of robust, solid hardwood, should turn up in a package sent by owl from her parents to the Weasleys’ home only days after she arrived at the Burrow herself. Well, perhaps she was less surprised than mortified! Hermione watched Mrs. Weasley weigh the heft of the item in her hand while reading the accompanying note.
“‘Should it be necessary…’” Mrs. Weasley read aloud, though in a contemplative murmur. “Well, I’m not sure whether to be flattered I’ve been entrusted with such an item, or offended at the assumption my own methods would be insufficient!”
Hermione had not considered the possibility of getting into any trouble while spending the summer with the Weasleys. At fourteen years old and considered trustworthy in general, she certainly had not considered the possibility her mother would send along a preferred spanking implement for such an occasion! With it now on full display to everyone around the breakfast table, all she could do was sink lower in her chair and hide the flush in her face as much as she could by acting very interested in her eggs and toast.
Harry and Ron at least had the good sense not to say anything either, but not every Weasley was so discreet. Fred and George, wearing twin smiles of devilish amusement, feigned incredulity.
“Insufficient!?” They exclaimed in unison. “Our mother?”
………………….
Whatever Molly Weasley’s “methods” may have been without Mrs. Granger’s assistance, Hermione would never know. But youthful rebellion ran a sprint through the Burrow at the time, egged on by excitement over the impending Quidditch World Cup and the reunion of the Weasleys, Hermione, and Harry Potter during summer break. It was almost inevitable that a house full of adolescent witches and wizards would have someone, or two someones even, end up crossing a line, and an adult Weasley would have to step in and administer a punishment.
Those someones turned out to be Hermione and Ginny Weasley.
The girls were not particularly prone to troublemaking for it’s own sake, but even the most admirable teenagers could fall into temptation. Theirs came during a rainy night chatting session when neither of them could sleep. The act of rebellion came in the form of sneaking a bottle of Mr. Weasley’s Giggle Water from the top shelf of the corner cabinet in the kitchen.
Typically kept hidden from the underage wizards and brought out only for special occasions, neither Hermione nor Ginny were entirely sure of the proper serving size. In the spirit of adventure and experimentation, they poured out a small measure of the crystal clear, somewhat citrusy-smelling liquid into a single glass, passing it back and forth in the dark, silent kitchen.
As it turned out, those with no tolerance for the drink could find themselves in uncontrollable peals of laughter (loud enough to wake the entire house!) after just a few sips! The effects lasted only about twenty minutes or so, but it was the longest, most awkward twenty minutes of Hermione’s life.
In front of six sleepy-eyed Weasley brothers and a yawning Boy Who Lived, Hermione and Ginny giggled uncontrollably even as Mr. Weasley shook his head and tsk-ed in disappointment and Mrs. Weasley went on in great detail about exactly how sore their backsides were about to be!
Hermione and Ginny were sent upstairs to the attic bedroom they were sharing for the summer to wait for Mrs. Weasley. They gasped and coughed and wiped their eyes as the final spasms of laughter dissipated, and in any other circumstance, they would appear as two mirthful friends sharing a private joke. Truth be told, both felt as if their internal organs were squished up near their throats in nervous agitation!
“How, ahem, how bad do you think it w-will, hmmph, will be?” Hermione managed to choke out once she and Ginny were in the attic room.
Ginny cleared her throat and took a long breath to get her own words out. “Bad enough. Mum wouldn’t have scolded us and said we were in for it if she didn’t mean it.”
The girls sat side by side on the bed, awaiting their fate. The old wooden frame made groans and squeaks under their nervous fidgeting, but they sat straight up and went still when Mrs. Weasley came through the door, with two wooden kitchen spoons bobbing in the air behind her head! They followed her like loyal soldiers into the room, and the door closed behind them.
…………………
It was no secret how adept Molly Weasley was in the use of charms. Her ability to get most household items to put themselves to use through animating enchantments was a true testament to her abilities as a witch, a housewife and a mother of seven. To keep a respectful atmosphere and a better hold on her own emotions during times she needed to discipline her children, she had long ago perfected the charms needed to let the implements act on their own.
This allowed her to stand close to the bed, arms folded, brow knit tight with determination, and continue to explain (at great length) how unacceptable it was for the girls to sneak out of bed and indulge in such feather-headed antics as stealing from the liquor shelf and getting themselves intoxicated! During this secondary scolding, Hermione and Ginny were preparing themselves as instructed, raising their nightgowns and dropping their knickers.
“Alright, side by side across the mattress,” Mrs. Weasley instructed. “Hands and knees firmly planted.”
Bare bottomed and kneeling on all fours, the residual giggling had now been replaced by tight-lipped silence. Their faces scrunched into humiliated cringes as they looked straight ahead at the wall paneling, Hermione and Ginny could only wait for the inevitable.
The spoon sent by Mrs. Granger and the one selected by Mrs. Weasley for Ginny were of comparable shape and size, and made nearly identical loud whap! sounds as each came down upon an exposed backside, one after the other. Hovering at the precise height and distance, the spoons drew back in the air, and came down again in exactly the same spots, raising the first light pink marks.
Hermione bit her lip in an effort not to cry out just yet. She suspected Mrs. Weasley was in no rush, and had total control over the enchantment. This would not be a mindless beating, nor would it be particularly quick. Beside her, however, Ginny was less stoic.
“OWW!” She yelped. “We’re sorry, Mum!”
Three well-aimed smacks followed, and Ginny hissed through her teeth in small bursts after each one.
“I have no doubt about that,” Mrs. Weasley said, speaking even as the blows landed. “So that means you understand exactly why you have earned every bit.”
Hermione got three of her own right after, and felt the first tears prick at her eyes. Mrs. Weasley never hesitated to be the motherly figure someone may need, and as painful and humiliating as the ordeal was, that was exactly what she was doing now. Realizing that she and Ginny had not only broken rules, but shown a profound disrespect for what orderliness Mr. and Mrs. Weasley managed to maintain in their home opened the floodgates of guilt.
Flutters of shame in the pit of her stomach met with a half-dozen more smacks of the spoon across her bottom, and that was enough for the tears to fall. Ginny shrieked and whimpered beside her as she took her own round of licks. The spoons hovered in the air above them once more, pausing as Mrs. Weasley began to pace back and forth in the cramped space.
“Am I correct to assume, Hermione dear, that your parents are of the mind that if you are punished in someone else’s home, you could expect to be punished by them for it as well?”
“Yes, Mrs. Weasley,” Hermione answered with a miserable sniffle.
Her mother would be livid, in fact, to hear she had been so foolish. At least she would not be back home for another few weeks, and one reckoning upon her arse would not be immediately piled upon another!
“Well, I’m not one to keep things secret when you are my responsibility, but I suppose I won’t need to bring it up with Mr. and Mrs. Granger. That is, if I have both your assurances that you won’t be repeating this silliness?
Ginny’s hand edged across the blanket, and she grasped Hermione’s fingers in a reassuring, apologetic gesture as both gave an emphatic nod.
“Speak up now,” Mrs. Weasley snapped, and the spoons landed two more punctuating smacks each, on the tender flesh near the very top of the girls’ legs. “You can both assure me this was a one time lapse in judgement?”
“Yes, Mum.”
“Yes, Mrs Weasley.”
The charmed spoons resumed their work, delivering a fearsome round of several dozen swats. Evenly paced and delivered with enough force to raise welts without breaking skin, the enchantment assured a painful lesson with no long term damage. In their vulnerable positions, Hermione and Ginny struggled to remain still and not earn themselves a further penalty.
It wasn’t easy, and Hermione’s stocking feet pattered against the bed when a particularly sharp swat landed against the reddening skin. Ginny was showing less physical signs of agitation, but Hermione could hear her forming words under her breath that sounded dangerously close to cussing. Threading her fingers through those of her friend, she gave a squeeze that was meant to be both comforting and a warning not to go too far!
Enduring it together was easier, but the camaraderie was not enough to stifle Ginny’s mouth completely. “OOOWWWW! Dammit!” she wailed. “We said we were sorry! You don’t have to be such a mean harpy about it!”
It was as if she’d been playing with a broken time turner. Everything froze, from the spoons in the air to the breath in Hermione’s chest, for an extended, eternal second. The spell was eventually broken, and the motion of reality resumed around them with nothing more than the smallest huff of breath from Mrs. Weasley.
The sound was more like resignation than outrage. With heavy steps, Mrs. Weasley marched up to the bed, placing herself between and behind the two crouched girls. A firm push of each hand at their backs bent Ginny and Hermione further over, raising their bottoms higher into the air. She kept them in position in spite of their feeble wriggling as the spoons picked up speed and worked their entire bottoms into a matching glow.
Hermione could not find words, but heard the whimpers and yelps escape her lips as if from far away, and it piled on the humiliation and regret. Ginny fought the good fight, making fierce growls and letting out another “damn” or two, but was eventually overwhelmed, and dissolved in to tears as her face went as bright red as her bum.
They were released only after a final flourish of smacks across their sit spots, ensuring the crease between their bums and their legs would burn at the slightest attempt to sit down for the foreseeable future. The quilt on top of the mattress was soaked through from their sobbing, and it bunched and twisted under their trembling knees. When given permission to stand, Hermione carefully tugged her knickers up from around her ankles, wincing as the elastic slid over the worst of the rising welts.
Beside her Ginny was righting her nightclothes as well. She was sniffling furiously, but failing to fully stop the free drip from her nostrils.
“I expect you both to go right back to bed now, hmm?” Mrs. Weasley said, throwing back her shoulders as the floating spoons flanked her once again.
Wiping their eyes and noses, the girls found enough wherewithal to respond appropriately. Hermione desperately wanted to rub her bottom, and her toes fidgeted against the rug as her pride warred with the urge. That aside, Ginny’s mouth had gotten her humbled to the point of nearly going to pieces, and despite getting a matching share of smacks as a result, Hermione still wanted to stay strong for her friend. She could forget her own soreness more easily if she focused on offering some solidarity, even if both were well aware of the long night ahead, sleeping side by side on their stomachs!
When Mrs. Weasley turned and left, the wretched spoons shook at her and Ginny like pointed fingers, giving a final warning to behave themselves before following their mistress out the door.