ON THE SET

"Has anyone tried to call her?"

Everyone shook their head no. There were shrugs, some comments, expressions of carelessness or worry. Part of the cast and crew of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, now gathered around director Alfonso Cuàron in the set used for Professor McGonagoll’s class, wondered where Emma was. She had been last seen the previous afternoon at four, when filming ended, when she claimed she had an annoying headache and had disappeared, locked away in her trailer. That was the last of it, and Rupert, who’d called her on the phone to invite her out to dinner with him and Daniel and Tom and the rest of the kids, had got no answer from her cell phone.

"Yes I did, but yesterday," said the red-haired boy, shrugging.

"Wonder where she’s sticking her nose into," said Tom, earning a side look from Daniel.

"Alan? You and her are pretty close, I notice... do you know anything?" Alfonso asked of Rickman.

The man shrugged: "I’ve been trying to call her this morning, but with no reply."

The director, now getting quite frustrated, shook his head. "Well, it’s noon, we waited all we could wait and did all we could do without her. We need Greta Garbo, there, so someone would better go and call her," he concluded, raising his chin to a couple of set assistants, who promptly stood from their chairs.

But Alan got in the way, and stopped them. "No... I think it is better if I take care of this. If there is anything wrong with her, I will alert the first aid."

"Alright," said Cuàron. "We’re going to wait another half a hour, then I’m calling the day off."

Alan nodded. Getting rid of his Snape mantle -- he knew how much she hated to see him in his set robes -- he stepped out of the set and walked the long distance which separated it from the trailer parking lot. He finally found the Watsons’ and knocked on the door. He waited. No answer. He knocked again, and again silence.

"Emma?" he called.

Perhaps she’s under the shower, he thought. But, for twenty hours? I just hope she’s alright. If something happened to her… He waited some more, then tried, out of instinct, to open the door anyway, and was surprised to find it unlocked. He pushed and walked in.

What he saw was quite stunning: Emma lay spread-eagled on the bed, laying on her tummy, the sheets covering her middle section only. She was wearing her bottoms-and-top Pickwick pyjamas, and was breathing heavily, like someone who’s in a deep sleep. At least she’s alright, it appears, Alan thought. But the small room was a complete mess, with clothes scampered everywhere, drawers open, magazines and video games and typical teenage stuff dispersed on each and every piece of furniture; empty bottles of Dr. Pepper, sacks of chips, half-eaten bars of chocolate.

"Emma, what the..." he said – but he realised she was just waking up; not a deep sleep, after all.

The young girl stretched and rolled over... rolling right off the bed and landing on the floor with a loud thump! She laughed, then got up and opened her fridge for some pop, then noticed someone. She turned around quickly and saw Alan, and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Oh it’s you... wow, you scared me to death," she said, grabbing her chest with a hand. "How’d you get in here silly? Good morning!" she called, rather giggly.

Alan was quite taken aback by the mess in the room, and by the mess she was in. Her pyjamas was all wrinkled, her hair a mess, and there was a rather unpleasant odour in the room, which obviously had not been ventilated for the past twenty-four hours.

He raised an eyebrow when she finally realised about him: "The door was open..." he said.

"Oooooooh, it was? Oops, silly me! I am starving by the way!" she announced, rifling for some clothes to attend breakfast in.

"Emma, can I know what in the world has been going on here?" he said, sounding rather unhappy now. "Last I’ve seen you was yesterday afternoon at four, claiming you had a headache... and no word from you ever since. You seem pretty good now."

"Oh yeah, that Advil! Way sweet, cleared it right up!" she snapped her fingers. "Powerful little suckers, those four, wow, put me right to sleep, feeling very much better right now, thanks!" She hopped over to where he stood and hugged him.

Out of instinct, Alan hugged her back, but unconvinced. Then he let go and looked at her straight in the eye: "Those four... what, exactly?"

"Umm, you know. Advil, or Tylenol, whatever you gave me when I was sick, ’member?. Took four of those, my mum did that once and she felt much better after she slept. So I tried it and it worked," she nodded, and sipped her pop.

"Tylenol... you got FOUR Tylenol pills all at once, Emma??" he said, his eyes wide, not believing his ears.

She nodded. "Oh yeah. I figured if my mom could, I could too," Emma reasoned. "And it worked just great! Wow, thought I was gonna pass out last night, then took those and went to bed. It was really scary, so I am glad that they were here!"

Alan could just not believe his ears. "Emma, I’m glad you feel better, I was worried about you, so I’m very glad..."

"Aww thanks!"

"... but that was some extremely irresponsible behaviour from you!" he said, now sounding quite angry. "Was it at least Kids Tylenol you took? Show me the bottle, where is it?"

"Dangerous?" she waved her hands. "Nah, it was cool. And it was the kind you swallow, you know?" she dung in the first aid kit and showed him the adult extra strength Tylenol bottle.

"Oh my goodness..." Alan said, and rolled his eyes. "Emma, can you read?" he practically shoved the bottle in her face, pointing at where it read: ’Adults – standard prescription: one pill twice a day maximum’.

"Adults! Two a day maximum! I can’t believe you did this!"

Emma cringed. "Well, I was kinda dizzy, but I remembered my mum taking four, so I figured that was okay," she admitted.

"Your mother is an adult woman and quite well-built, too, and can do whatever she wants with her medicines anyway, but you’re a kid!" he snapped. "We’ve got a fully-equipped medical staff here just for the crew, why didn’t you report to them instead? Or at least to me?"

"Cuz I was sick and I was scared and it was there," she told him. "Besides, I can’t go walking around in my pyjamas! And I walk dizzy, I could have fallen over and like cracked my skull or something!" She sat down on her bed, half frowning at him. Sometimes adults really can’t understand the simplest of things, she thought in her little head.

Alan sighed and started counting to ten to calm down -- he couldn’t believe the danger she’d put herself in. "You have a two-hundred Pounds cell phone, you might’ve called someone, you know?"

Emma paused in thought. "If I was too dizzy to read the bottle, I’d probably be too dizzy to dial too," she reasoned. "Don’t be mad Alan, I didn’t know! I thought it was okay!"

Counting to ten didn’t work, so he got to twenty, and that seemed to do the trick: "I understand your reasons, Emma, I’m not debating that," he said, finally calming down a bit, "but I want you to know that you must ask for help when you feel bad, and not, I repeat, not do things by yourself, especially taking medicines! An excessive dose of that and you might’ve entered a coma, you hear me?"

Emma’s jaw dropped and her eyes widened. "Really?" she squeaked. She sincerely had no idea.

"Yes, really!" he yelled back, then turned around and started pacing the room, fingers in his hair, resuming the count till he got to almost fifty. He let almost a minute slip by, then turned back to her and said: "I’m not angry, Emma, I’m just scared. You might’ve died, and then what, huh?"

He thought something along the lines of: and then I would feel like one who’s lost a daughter, but he didn’t voice that.

On her behalf, Emma looked very shocked. She hadn’t realised that what she had done was so dangerous! "Alan... don’t spank me please! I didn’t mean to be dangerous, I didn’t know, I’m sorry!"

"Oh no, Emma, you need to learn when you can do things by yourself and when you cannot." He stated, as calmly as he could. "Plus, you need to learn that medicines are dangerous more than anything else if over-used."

"Okay, okay, just not the brush!" She begged, already looking close to tears. "I’m so sorry, I’ll never do it again, PLEASE not the brush!!"

Alan sighed, didn’t know what to do. He again shook his head, then sat on Emma’s bed aside her and pulled her close. "Come here," he said as he hugged her.

She scooted right onto his lap, hugging him tight. Emma sniffled, trying to ward off tears. There was truly nothing worse then that horrible brush, and it really did scare her how much it did hurt! "Please, Alan, please, it was an accident, just not the brush." She just couldn’t get that out of her head, it was haunting her.

"It was an accident, I know... and I’m not going to spank you because you should have known better, I realise you didn’t know. I am going to do it because I want you to know better from now on, do you understand the big difference?" he asked, stroking her hair and back as he spoke, and purposefully ignoring any comment about the hairbrush.

Emma gave a great sniffle. "Yes sir," she whimpered.

"Good. Emma, I think you deserve the brush on your bare bottom..." he said, "... but that’s not going to happen. Not today. I gave you that four days ago, and it seems too early to me for a repeat."

She let you a very great sigh of relief, feeling much better, and hugged him very tight, nestling her face in the crook of his neck. She knew he’d move her when it was time, and until then, she wanted him to hold her, and to know that she would have really missed him always had she gone into a coma or something.

Alan kept rubbing the young girl’s back. "Don’t ever do anything like that again, Emma, please. Don’t risk your life over some headache, because if you die or something, I’m SO going to blister your bum, ’sthat clear?" he said, not wanting to sound humorous but not being able to help it either. "And don’t be too glad. You are still in for a hard spanking, do you understand, young lady?" he said, letting go of her and giving her ‘the stern look’.

"Yes sir, I understand," she said, meekly.

She hung her head, a few tears trailing down her face. Emma just couldn’t believe she was being spanked again and for something so stupid on her part. She squirmed in his arms, feeling very lonely and wanting comfort.

"Very good. And remember that I love you very much. Now," he said, as he stood her and himself up and let her on the floor. "Remove your pyjamas bottoms and lie on the bed on your tummy. I shall be right back."

That was odd, Emma thought. "Okay... I love you too," she told him sincerely. Then she sighed, slid down her pants and laid tummy down on the bed, wondering what in the world was going on.

Alan saw out of the corner of his eye that she complied to his instructions, then disappeared into the very small kitchen-corner adjacent to the main room, and fished in the drawers until he found what he was looking for. Satisfied -- but also quite sorry to have to do that to her -- he walked back to the main room, to see Emma laying as instructed, wearing only her pyjamas top and white Pickwick undies. He showed her what he was holding: a long, not-too-heavy, slightly concave wooden spoon.

Her eyes went wide. "WHAT?" she shrieked.

"Yes. I promised you would not get the hairbrush, but I just can’t let you off easy, Emma."

’Your hand is NEVER easy!" she wailed. "And my arse still kinda hurts from the other day, please Alan!" she started to cry, burying her head in the pillow.

Though it was tough, he hardened his heart and went on. "I’m sorry, Emma. Your irresponsible behaviour brought this upon yourself." And with that he took two of the three pillows she had under her head. "Lift your hips please."

Already bawling, she did what he asked. She did not fully understand why his love had to hurt *so* much sometimes!, but she figured it was a part of it all. There was to be no choosing, either she took it all or dropped it all... and she had no doubt about that.

"Please, I’ll be good! Not too much, please? I’m so sorry!"

Alan quickly put both pillows under her loins, and then adjusted her lean frame over them, so that her panty-clad bottom was the highest point of her body. "I know you are, Emma. And I’m sorry too. You just made a little mistake, that’s all, and we’re going to correct that now, aren’t we?"

Her face buried in the pillow once more, Emma nodded, her pert bottom quivering with nervousness and tension.

"Good..." and without saying anything more, he leant forward and started smacking her panty-clad bottom with his hand. whack whack whack

Her cheeks bounced beneath the cotton and he could hear her yelping, muffled as it was. It was amazing to her that her arse was still sensitive from those days ago, but it sure was!

Alan kept it up, though he noticed a faint pink hue colouring her cheeks already under the very thin white cotton panties, which were surely offering little or no protection. He rained down the smacks quite firmly, and at a fast pace. whack whack whack

Her legs began to kick and she attempted to buck her bottom from side to side to elude the smacks. "Oww! Ouch!! Owwieeeeee!" she wailed, her head lifting from the pillow.

Since she was starting to squirm, Alan pushed with his hand on the small of her back to keep her still, and smacked on. He didn’t keep count, but he stopped when he figured he’d reached around fifty or so, and rubbed his sore hand on his pants -- it was still less sore than her tush, that was sure.

Emma was kicking wildly now, crying and wailing, squishing the pillow in her hands. It definitely hadn’t been the hardest spanking, but somehow each one seemed harder than the previous.

"I’m not through yet, Emma, as you know," he said, and picked up the wooden spoon from the bed.

"I’m sorry! I’m sorry I was bad!" she whimpered. "Don’t give up on me!"

"If I wanted to give up on you, why would I care enough to be spanking you, huh?" he said as he lowered her panties down to her knees, and tugged her shirt up her back and well out of the way, exposing what was indeed one nicely-pink bottom. "Think about it."

"It hurts and I hate to hurt!" she bawled, still kicking.

"It’s supposed to hurt." he said, knowing it was rhetoric, but also knowing he needed to get going, now: there would be time for talking later. "How old are you, Emma?"

"Thir---teen" she hiccuped out. One hand sneaked back to rub, fearing what was coming next.

Alan took hold of the hand and gently pinned it to her back, and was quite glad when she spontaneously took it away and did not try to reach back again. Then he raised the spoon and slammed it down on her right buttock, not very hard... but still hard enough. WHACK!

"EEEEEEEE!!" she screeched, nearly kicking him as her legs kicked around.

He ducked just in time to avoid her kicking feet -- he never thought one single smack would elicit such a reaction. "Emma, I know it hurts!" he said firmly. "But please contain yourself. You still have twelve to go through."

"I’m still so sore from that brush!" she wailed. "I’m sorry, I wasn’t aiming for you!" she had felt him duck. "Please, I’m so sorry, I’ll try and be good!" With that, she bit her lip really hard to keep from screaming more.

"You *are* good, Emma. And you know I never doubt that." SPANK! on the left cheek.

She bit her lip harder and her legs kicked again, but she managed to muffle a yell this time. Alan saw her kick had not been nearly as high as before, so he quickly raised the spoon again and delivered three stinging smacks in rapid succession. whack whack whack!

"AHHHHHHHHH!" she screamt, clenching the pillow tighter

"You’re being very good," he said. spank whack spank!

Exhausted and defeated, young Emma finally just laid still and sobbed hard, tears streaming down her flushed face. Alan would have wanted to stop, also because quite nasty-looking pink blotches were appearing on her backside, but he steeled himself and carried on. whack spank whack!

"Only two more to go, Emma..."

She just bawled hard by now, her little body relaxed and motionless. She had let go. Even though it wasn’t the brush, still being tender made it feel like he was killing her bottom! But it was almost over, so Alan raised the spoon again and aimed at her sit-spot, on both sides, and delivered two very hard swats right there. SMACK! WHACK!

Her back arched and she screamed loudly, her whole body trembling, her cheeks throbbing like they would never feel right again!

As soon as he had delivered the last smacks, Alan sat on the bed aside her and quickly gathered her sobbing body and draped her on his lap, face-up letting her cling to him and caressing her back.

"It’s alright, it’s over, shh, shh... cry it all out."

"I’m so sorry, so sorry, forgive me, I sorry I bad," she mumbled over and over, clutching to his shirt and crying freely, her nose running.

Alan detached from her so he could look in her teary eyes. "Emma, you are not bad, how many times do I have to tell you? Please get that into your mind! You are a wonderful young woman, I’m just helping you through some mistakes, can you understand that?" he said, trying to convince her -- though he sounded so desperate it was almost like he was trying to convince himself.

"But I try so hard and I always screw up," she whimpered. "I can never be good, I’m always in trouble, no matter what," she buried and looked away from him.

"It’s because you’re not used that doing some things will grant you a sore bottom," he said. "With time, you will get used to it, and you will behave and feel so much better. Do you trust me on this, little one?"

Emma nodded, throwing her arms around him. "I wish you were my dad," she whispered, before even realising she had. "Because I love you and you don’t hurt me."

Don’t I?, Alan thought to himself. But he knew the answer already. "Why, it’s a very sweet thing to say..." he stammered. It was time to finally say that thing that was pushing to be let out, like a lump in his throat. "And, well... if I had a daughter, I’d want her to be... er... yeah, well, just like you."

Emma could barely believe her ears now, and for a moment, for just a brief moment she forgot all the pain in her backside and the tears and the frustration, and squealed happily like a little girl and kissed his cheek, hugging him very tightly.

"I knew it! I knew it!"

He sighed and hugged her back too, squeezing her so hard he was afraid she might pop any minute. "I’m never going to let you down, sweetie. Never." He knew he was sounding like one of his theatre characters, and he did not care at all.

Again he detached and looked straight into her teary eyes. "D-do you... er..." he hesitated. It was going to be the question that would alter his and her life forever. "I mean, I know a good lawyer. Several, actually, and... d-do you want to try and be my... my d-daughter? Be like a real daughter, I mean, legally?"

Emma couldn’t even find the voice to answer. She let herself go and bawled hard on his chest, but those were tears of pure joy. He was taking over her, and taking her over, and she loved it all.

click here for pictures of Emma and Alan