Chapter 1: Real Wizards

Emma entered her dressing room wearily. It had been a tough shooting day on the Prisoner of Azkaban set, she still had four hours of school to go through, and she was beat. She couldn't wait to get out of her costume and into some normal clothes. "A nice, hot shower, that's what I need", she thought, "and then a nap. Or maybe the other way 'round... "

A knock at the door startled her out of her reverie. She turned and walked back across the large room to open it. Outside was standing a man who must have been an extra for the movie. He was tall and old, at least in his thirties, with black hair and goatee and the coldest blue eyes Emma had ever seen. "He's either lost or looking for an autograph", she thought, "well it won't cost me anything to help him out, whatever it is".

She smiled and said, "Hullo, can I help you?"

The man returned her smile, then pulled a wand out of his belt, pointed it at her and said, "Immobulus!"

Emma discovered that she could not move. Not a muscle, not an inch. Her body was as stiff as if she'd been turned to stone. The bearded man quickly pushed past Emma into the dressing room, closing the door behind him. He grabbed her elbows and turned her around, staring deeply into her paralyzed eyes for a long moment.

"Perfect", he said, "just perfect. Let me introduce myself, Miss Watson. My name is Darius Macnair, though you will be addressing me somewhat... differently". He smiled coldly at her.

"I am here, dear girl, because your playing young Hermione Granger has created a sort of... magical resonance between yourself and her that is useful to our purposes".

Emma just could not believe what was happening. She was standing paralyzed by two words spoken by a man who was obviously, despite what she had always believed, a real wizard. She began to feel panic rise in her chest, butt was unable to do anything about it; she couldn't even change her breathing rate, though she could feel her lungs begging for more air. "Purposes?" she wondered, "What purposes? And whose?"

Macnair's eyes roamed over her still form, wandering from her face to her feet and back again. Emma found herself feeling really uncomfortable with some of the places his gaze seemed to linger. "You should feel honored, my dear; you are going to help me resurrect the greatest wizard of all time! Now, I am going to release you from this freezing spell soon, but first I'm afraid there's another I must cast."

With that, he pointed his wand at her and said, "Imperio! There, my dear. You will find that, unlike in Ms. Rowling's little fairy tales, the Imperius curse need not make you blithe or uncaring about my control over you, it can simply make you unable to disobey. You may move now, and even speak, if you wish... just so you don't raise your voice or try to attract any attention... and stay away from that door. We are going to be here for a while yet."

Emma immediately tried to leap for her dressing room door, only to find that Macnair had been telling her the simple truth. Try as she might, she couldn't force herself to approach her only escape route. She also found herself unable to raise her voice and scream for help, so she settled for backing as far away from the tall, pale wizard as she could.

"What's going on? Why have you done this to me?"

Macnair scowled and sat on the black leather couch provided by the studio. "I can see that you need to learn proper respect. When you address me, you shall always call me either 'master' or 'sir'. Do you understand?"

"Yes... sir", Emma replied, nearly choking on the last word.

"Good. And stop backing so far away. Come out here into the middle of the room... very good. Now put your arms down by your sides and start turning in a circle, so I can get a good look at you."

He continued speaking as she obeyed his command, fear gripping her chest. "Now, I've already answered your first question, but I will assume that fear is making you somewhat muddled and repeat myself this once. What is 'going on' is that you are going to help me resurrect the greatest Dark Wizard the world has ever known.

"As to why I have done this to you, the simplest answer I can give is that Rowling's stories, while fairly accurate, are some twenty years outdated. The ritual we are going to perform requires a female with some connection to Harry Potter, and with the Granger bitch dead... well, let's just say that anything we do to you will help to weaken Potter."

Emma's face blanched as she made the connections. Harry Potter... Dark Wizard... this man was going to try to use her to resurrect Voldemort somehow! "I've got to get out of this", she thought, but she just kept turning slowly around and around, a prisoner in her own body.

A hoarse whisper seemed to come from behind Macnair. "Enough of this", it said, "Get on with it!"

"Yes, my master", said Macnair, "Emma, my dear, stop and face me."

Once she had done so, he removed his overcoat and then the gray silk shirt beneath it, revealing a wiry, well-muscled but hairy torso. Then he turned around, and

There was a face growing out of his right shoulder blade. It opened its eyes and looked straight at her. "Perfect, Darius", it croaked, "I see your talent for the hunt is as great as ever."

Since she'd been forbidden to scream, Emma began to whimper quietly, wishing she could scream, run, do anything that might release her from this nightmare. A tear began to roll down one cheek.

"Aaaahh, the sound of Muggle fear", whispered the face, "such sweet music. Take your time, Macnair... I can wait. Consider this a reward for such outstanding service."

"Yes, my lord", whispered Macnair, turning to face his prisoner again, "Thank you."

He looked at the thirteen-year-old hungrily. "You know, dear girl, this is not an order, but maybe you should save those tears for when you've a need for them. They'll certainly do you no good here and now. Now remove your blouse."

"E-excuse me?" she asked, scarcely believing she'd heard the order from the much older man. But she could already feel her arms moving toward her top blouse buttons. "Please, sir... I-I'm a good girl..."

He reached out and cupped her cheek in his left hand. "I should certainly hope so, my dear. Your innocence is a very important part of the ritual.

"You know", he continued, cupping her ear and then running both hands down her neck and over her now-bare shoulders, "call it a weakness if you like, but I've always had a special fondness for young Muggle teenagers. Their trim hips, their nice, tight bodies, their oh-so-easily controlled minds. That's very good, my dear. You are indeed... well, luscious. Those titties are especially nice. Not really very big, but they do practically defy gravity, don't they?"

Next he ordered her to sit on the couch, where he removed her shoes and stockings, being certain to run his hands up and down over her calves and feet. She began to recover from the shock of what she was doing, and her face heated in shame at her actions and her helplessness.

"Now I want you to go and lean over that makeup table", he ordered, and though she tried to fight every step of the way, she did as she was told. She heard him approach from behind, then saw him in the table's mirror. He had removed his trousers, and his thing was big and hard in his black boxers. He smiled his malicious smile at her in the mirror.

"Do you begin to see what our little ritual entails, my pretty little Muggle? Let's see what we have here, now." And with that, he lifted up her costume skirt and ran his palms over her behind. Then, he hooked her panties' leg openings with his thumbs and lifted them up until her cheeks were exposed.

"My dear", he said, unzipping her skirt and dropping it around her ankles, "you are a work of art! Now get back out into the middle of the floor and finish undressing."

Her face burning with shame, Emma did as she was told. She unhooked her bra and, covering herself with one arm, slipped her panties down her legs with the other. Then she stood, trying vainly to conceal herself with both hands.

Macnair immediately crossed the room and slapped her arms down to her sides. "You will not attempt to cover yourself unless given permission to do so", he growled at her. Then he stepped behind her and put his hands on her hips. "You know, little slave, you've been remarkably disobedient in a very short time", caressing her stomach with his left hand while cupping her behind with his right, "In fact, I think you're going to need to be punished."

"Disobedient, sir? Punished? I... I don't understand", she stuttered, confused by both his words and the brush of his lips against her ears and neck.

"Why, you've been disobedient three times already", he whispered into her ear, running both hands up her belly to stroke her breasts, "You failed to address me properly when I first allowed you to speak, you argued with me about removing your clothing, and just now you tried to hide yourself when I obviously wanted to see all of your charms! Yes, I think some instructional pain may definitely be in order."

"B-but yuh... you", she was really disoriented now; he was rolling her nipples between his fingers, and her skin was hot from embarrassment and... something else. "You huh-hadn't told me uhhh-about..."