Warning the following story depicts acts of consensual sex between teenagers. If stories concerning this disturb you, then you really shouldn't be looking for stories like this, should you?
This story is purely a work of fiction and fantasy. The depictions within are not based on the real life preferences of Emma Watson, Daniel Radcliffe, or Bonnie Wright or any other character living, dead, or imaginary and any resemblance should be put down to coincidence. The author hopes that if anybody mentioned in the stories reads them, they will regard them only as flattery. If they can provide technical expertise that can be of use in future stories in the series, then please drop the author an email.
It's a sunny day and we're on a coach trip. Yep I know that's not a thrilling start, but hey, I'm too tired to be interesting.
It was a 6am call to catch the coach and let's just say Daniel kept me up all night. I'm cuddled up to him now. No, it's not anything serious; apparently he is not looking for a stable relationship. Still, it's nice once in a while, and as Dame Maggie says, a growing girl needs a good variety of cocks.
Bonnie and Rupert are here, as are Matt, Evanna, Katie and the Phellps twins. Apparently, the film company has scored us some VIP passes to Glastonbury. Sometimes it's hard going being an actress!
The coach driver shows some kind of pass to a guy on the gate. A girl in a high-visibility jacket jumps on, looks non-plussed when she sees who we are, then starts giving the driver directions.
After what seems like miles, we arrive outside a small marquee. We get directed off and inside. To my surprise, a familiar face is waiting for us, and the story behind the tickets clicks into place. Bonnie and I exchange apprehensive glances.
"I know you," Daniel starts, "you're Mr..."
" ... Lynn, Round Table Records, yes, I was at your castings for the films. New Job now. A couple of us promotions execs are having a competition to see which companies can get the best celebrities on our guest list. I think I've won!" Merlin smiles a smile that seems designed to win over the hardest of hearts.
"Now, I've got two runners with Land Rovers ready to take you and your stuff to the V.I.P. campsite. Here are your wristbands, you've each got a tent, sleeping bag, novelty large hat, poncho, glasses and other disguises, all courtesy of Round Table, if you want to go around without the hassle. And here is a number for a runner if you want food, drinks, beer or a lift anywhere. All on us, of course. Have fun and I'll see you about."
It wasn't hard to fathom by the look he has just given me and Bonnie that he expects to see us very soon. So much for a quiet life.
Tents up. Stuff unpacked, ready to rock! Well, I would be if an old wizard wasn't about to ask me to do something for him. Bonnie and I decide to walk back over slowly and indirectly. Most of the rest have wandered off around the site. Daniel said he had apparently seen some interesting horses by the gates. Sometimes I wonder what type of stable relationship he is looking for.
We enter the tent to be greeted by not just Merlin, but another guy and the all too obvious smell of beer. It takes me a few seconds or so to match the new guy's face, or rather costume, with a name. He's The Onlooker, a folk-pop artist who is playing one of the stages. You must have seen him; he's one of the big new things, a blind guy who sings long and tedious songs about morally bankrupt societies. He was actually on my pre-festival list of acts to avoid. In person he is imposing, even if sitting down, a big bulky twenty-something year old with a face that looked to have aged beyond its years. He has on a battered denim shirt with a battered pair of jeans.
"Emma, Bonnie, come on in," wheezes Merlin, waving a tankard, "this is an old friend of mine."
I'm immediately suspicious, old friends of Merlin probably don't turn up at random.
"How old?" I ask, possibly a bit too coldly.
"She's good this one." The Onlooker speaks slowly, not bothering to hide a patronising tone. "Well, my father was the court jester for King Vortigen, that's how old."
"Typical, they know nothing of their history." He snorts.
"King Vortigen ruled England before Arthur's father, Uther," Merlin explains, "dangerous man to be involved with."
"Rubbish king." The Onlooker waves his tankard around, spilling something red coloured.
"Yep, rubbish king, good tyrant though."
"Yeah, good tyrant, if you like that kind of thing. He had my dad put to death for not being funny. Now that's a rule we need now, no more Jim Davidson DVDs, anyway, Merlin had me smuggled to a monastery when I was 7 or so. I left there a few centuries later and kind of travelled."
"A few centuries?" Bonnie laughs. She had wandered over to the table at the side of the tent and picked up two cans of beer, walking back, she offers one to me. I crack it open and start to drink. Surprisingly, it tastes rich and not fizzy. I briefly lose track of the room as a warm wave of real ale taste washes over me.
"Yeah, one thing my dad taught me was how to sense magic in the air and use it. It means that I can absorb magic to help me stay youngish. Glastonbury is a great place for me, so much magic buzzing around. It also means I can sense when people use magic, and so I came here to tell Merlin that I felt a new, strong magic user in England. That, I'm told is Emma. As a warning, I doubt I'm the only one who has seen your arrival on the scene. While they won't be able to find you as quick as I can, they are coming. So be careful."
I mutter something apologetic.
"Anyway, to business..." Merlin stands up.
"To business!" The Onlooker yells and raises his tankard in a toast. Bonnie half-heartedly raises her can while laughing.
"No, what I mean is we need to concentrate on our mission. For that, Bonnie and Emma need training, in swordplay."
"Swordplay?" I gasp.
"Learn to understand the weapon of your enemy, and you learn to understand them. Besides, you will need to know how to handle a sword by the end of tomorrow. Right, there are three training swords there, take them out back. Don't worry, they are pretty blunt."
"I'm not allowed a blade," The Onlooker murmured, "since I took holy orders in the monastery, all I can carry is a staff."
Bonnie and I grab the swords and take them out of the back of the tent, into a nice, large, empty field with a copse behind it.
An hour later and my arms are aching from holding the damn thing, my legs are aching from tripping over under the force of the blows and my head is aching as I have clouted myself one too many times with the weapon. I'm not as bad as I was, but hardly a great improvement. Bonnie is much better that me, she even managed to disarm Merlin. The Onlooker is just too quick for both of us; his hearing is almost as good as having eyes. He can also, apparently, sense me through my magic, so I can never get any kind of hit in.
Then it strikes me. We're two teenage starlets, in a field at a music festival, being beaten at a sword fight by two drunk men who have combined ages probably well beyond 3000 years. And one of them can't see. I've had enough of this.
"Look, I've got magic, which do I need this?" I yell as I throw the sword to the ground.
"So young, and already so unknowing." The Onlooker chuckles at me. "If you really think you are that good, try and hit me with your tricks, little girl."
He seems intent on annoying me, and a teenage girl who can throw fireballs is not a person to annoy. More annoyingly, he side steps my fireball.
From the corner of my eye, I can see Merlin and Bonnie making a swift exit back to the tent. I throw a few more balls of fire, followed by clumps of ice, all getting the same result, nothing. Well, a little result, that familiar tinkling in my pussy is back. I try to think of what could be too quick for him, and settle on a mild bit of lightening. The moment I cast the spell, I can see him swing is staff, the next thing I know I'm flat on my back and smoking slightly. I hear his laughter all too clearly.
"Expect the unexpected."
"What the hell was that?"
"My staff is of English Oak but over the centuries, I've travelled to holy men in every continent to get it blessed. As well as being unbreakable, it sometime ago acquired the ability to reflect magic. Now, up on your feet and try again. You're not hurt."
I shake my head clear and leap to my feet. My favourite jacket now has a small hole in the chest where my magic rebounded. Feeling frustrated by my lack of impact on this old guy, I plan a new attack. I look around and see we are surrounded by trees on three sides. Perfect. I close my eyes and concentrate on the trees, I can feel them willing to respond to me, the air too is mine to command. Nobody laughs at Emma Watson unless the scriptwriters want them to.
I uproot a dozen trees on either side of me and coax them into the air; it is just as if I have twenty four giant arms holding them in the air. I open my eyes and stare at this man before me before letting loose with the trees, throwing them at him, driving him back into the woods behind him. The trees are much more of a problem to him than my other magic, as soon as I let go, there is no magic controlling them, his hearing telling him just in time to dart away, but I don't mind. He is falling into my trap.
.... There is more of this story ...