September 2008, Leavesden Studios, London, U.K.
"Stupefy!" I shouted, pointing my wand directly at Imelda Staunton, who played Umbridge. She froze mid-motion, her body going limp as the spell struck. The set lights cast a dramatic glow over her falling figure. In one swift motion, Emma darted forward and snatched the Horcrux locket from around her neck. A polyjuiced Ron, played by a different actor, fired stunning spells in every direction, covering us as the chaos of the Ministry set exploded around us.
As soon as the final spell was cast, the three of us, along with the woman playing Ron's supposed wife, sprinted toward the nearest exit.
"It's Harry Potter!" someone gasped behind us, their voice rising above the din, but I didn't stop to look. Instead, I raced straight for the elevator.
We squeezed tightly into the narrow confines of the elevator prop, the gates closing around us. But just before the lift began to descend, a group of black-robed dementor stand-ins drifted ominously into view. Their movements were slow and haunting, suspended by nearly invisible wires and guided by stagehands just out of frame.
"Expecto Patronum!" I cried, flicking my wand forward. A brilliant light burst from its tip—though the Patronus would be added in post-production—and the dementors were jerked back by the crew, their cloaks billowing dramatically as they were pulled out of the shot.
The elevator shuddered and dropped down. As the doors opened to reveal the cavernous atrium of the Ministry, Emma and I exchanged a worried glance. The place was packed with extras, bustling around in full magical costume, and I was the most recognizable face in the Wizarding World.
I lowered my head slightly to avoid drawing attention, and Emma mirrored me. Behind us, Ron, still polyjuiced as another man, stood upright without a hint of concern. We were just about to blend into the crowd when he turned to the woman beside him.
"Mary, go home. Get the kids. We have to get out of the country, you understand?" he said, urgency in his voice.
The woman whimpered and, to our complete surprise, leaned in and kissed him full on the lips.
Next to me, Emma's jaw dropped in disbelief. Just as the camera swung back to the couple, the actor who had been playing the polyjuiced Ron had been seamlessly replaced by Jamie. He was now in mid-kiss with the older actress, his expression serious and committed to the moment.
"Mary!" the original actor burst back into frame, now dressed in nothing but his undergarments and visibly shocked. "Who's that?"
"Long story," Jamie muttered. "Nice meeting you."
Then, without waiting, we bolted.
"It's Harry Potter!" came several shouts from the extras planted in the atrium. "Someone catch him!"
Dozens of security guards—fully robed and wand-ready—gave chase behind us, storming through the set with practiced coordination. I raised my wand and flicked it behind me, hoping to create enough of a diversion. Instantly, hundreds of enchanted newspapers began swirling in a chaotic tornado, cutting off the guards and buying us precious seconds.
Just when it seemed like we had a clean escape, Corban Yaxley stepped into view. The actor portraying the Death Eater snarled and raised his wand. A blasting hex screamed through the air and detonated above my head, showering sparks and simulated debris around me.
I ducked and kept running toward the apparition point set, where the special effects crew was already prepared for our cue. Emma was close behind me, her hair whipping behind her as she ran.
But then I realized—Jamie wasn't with us.
He had turned around, eyes locked on Yaxley, and began attacking with everything he had. His wand carved through the air in quick, aggressive motions. Though the visual effects would be added later, the intensity of their duel was clear even without the magic. The older actor matched him spell for spell, forcing Jamie back with every exchange.
From his increasingly desperate expressions, it was obvious that Ron was losing.
"Oh Ron," Emma whispered, pulling her wand free and pointing it at Jamie just as he collapsed to his knees.
He had been fitted with thin, black wires for the stunt, and as Emma cast the spell, the rigging yanked him backward toward our side. But then something unexpected happened.
Yaxley aimed his wand and cast again. This time, the wires jerked him forward as well. He reached out and grabbed hold of Jamie's leg, clinging to him tightly as they both tumbled forward across the stage. Just as they reached the apparition point towards us…
"Cut! That was perfect! We're done for the day," Alfonso called from behind the monitors, satisfaction in his voice.
I heaved a sigh of relief. We had been shooting that scene for quite a while, and I was grateful it was finally over. Even when he wasn't doing long oners, Alfonso's shots ran longer than most directors'. You had to bring your A-game every single time, because one mistake meant redoing a sizable chunk of the scene from the beginning.
"That was brutal, mate," Jamie whimpered, gripping his shoulder as he staggered toward the break area. "I think I bruised it when I got yanked across the floor."
"You'll be fine," I told him, offering a sympathetic pat on the back. "You don't have a scene for a few days, so just relax. Get a massage or something, it'll help."
Jamie gave a noncommittal grunt as he flopped into a chair nearby.
Ron's small heroic turn in that scene had been added just so his later betrayal wouldn't turn the audience completely against him, as it had in the original version. Personally, I thought the addition was unnecessary, but I didn't voice it.
One of the biggest changes in [The Deathly Hallows] was that other characters were finally given their own narrative arcs. Remus and Tonks had theirs. So did Ron and Hermione, even Mad-Eye Moody. That part, I appreciated deeply. My biggest complaint when I had first watched [The Deathly Hallows] was how little we felt for the characters who died. Remus, Tonks, Fred, Mad-Eye Moody—they were all killed off-screen. It left no time for the audience to process their deaths, let alone mourn them. Even Hedwig's death happened so fast that Harry barely reacted.
The only death that truly landed emotionally was Dobby's. Alfonso had made it clear from the beginning that in his version, every major death would matter. And I couldn't wait for the day I finally saw the completed cut of this movie.
"Finally done here?"
I looked up to see my father approaching from across the lot, hands tucked into the pockets of his windbreaker. The crew had started packing up around us, their voices blending with the distant hum of equipment being wheeled away.
"Hey, Dad," I greeted. "What's up?"
"Just wanted to see how everything's going," he said, gesturing vaguely at the dismantling set. "I caught the last take just now. It was good. You were all good."
I studied him for a moment. It didn't take much to figure out he hadn't come all this way just to observe.
"What is it?" I asked.
He cracked a grin. "Saw right through me, eh? Well, I got a call from Warner Bros today. They want to talk about your upcoming Oscar campaign."
"What is there to talk about?" I asked, confused. "We'll start it in December after the Golden Globe nominations come out. That's still three months away."
"You forgot what's happening next week?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.
I racked my brain but came up empty.
"The Emmys," he reminded me. "[The Night Of] has fourteen nominations. That's more than any other limited series this year. People are saying it's going to sweep the Emmys because of the overwhelming response it's received, from both critics and audiences. HBO was gearing up to release this big biopic mini-series about John Adams, and they actually delayed it a few months so it would qualify for next year instead. That's how serious the competition is."
"Okay?" I said, still unsure what he was getting at. "But what does that have to do with the Oscars?"
"If you win at the Emmys, you can start giving some interviews," he explained. "That way, your Oscar campaign starts a little earlier. People are already saying that the Best Supporting Actor trophy is as good as yours, but we need to solidify that momentum."
I paused at his words. Supporting Actor? Would you call the most important character of a story, supporting? No. I wouldn't have it.
"Dad," I said calmly. "I'll campaign in the Lead Actor category. Tell that to Warner Bros."
For a moment, Dad said nothing. The silence between us lingered as background noise from the set faded into distant chatter.
"But... you are a supporting actor in the film," he finally said, his tone cautious.
I shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me. I was the top-billed actor, and everyone who saw it loved me more than Bale. If Bale were campaigning in the same category, I might've considered Supporting Actor, but let's be honest—no one's going to vote for Christian Bale for playing Batman."
Dad pursed his lips, weighing my words. "Your total screen time isn't even forty minutes."
"Anthony Hopkins had even less in [The Silence of the Lambs]," I countered. "Same for Meryl Streep in [The Devil Wears Prada], and Daniel Day-Lewis in [Gangs of New York]. All three of them were nominated in leading categories."
He opened his mouth to respond, but closed it again. He couldn't argue with precedent, so he shifted tactics.
"If you go for Supporting Actor, that award is already yours," he said. "But in the Lead category, you'll face serious competition. These are actors who carried their entire films. I hear Sean Penn is playing Harvey Milk in a biopic that drops in a couple of months. Then there's that Darren Aronofsky film about a wrestler starring Mickey Rourke. Early reactions are phenomenal. And let's not forget Leonardo DiCaprio and Brad Pitt—both have big Oscar-bait movies coming out soon."
If I remembered correctly, Sean Penn did win that year for [Milk], and Mickey Rourke came close with [The Wrestler]. But none of that mattered much to me now.
"I still want to go for Lead Actor," I said firmly. "I've already won a Supporting Actor trophy. If I don't win again, that's fine. But I don't want people to think I was there to support someone else's story."
Dad studied me for a moment, then slowly shook his head with a reluctant smile. "Fine. I'll convey your message, Mr. Lead Actor. That's exactly why they wanted to have this strategy meeting. These decisions get finalized there. They're also preparing a list of questions and suggested answers so you'll be ready for interviews."
I nodded. "I'll send Benji over to handle that part. I trust him to make the right calls for me."
Dad raised his hands in surrender. "Whatever you decide."
Then he switched topics. "How's the music for [Deathly Hallows] coming along?"
"It's a little slow," I admitted. "But in my defense, I've been busy all week. And the weekends have been packed with concerts. Now that those are done, I can finally focus on composing the final Harry Potter soundtrack."
I still remembered the day Dad had complained about not being able to find a music composer for the last Harry Potter film. I had jokingly offered to do it myself. He didn't realize I was joking and got serious. Now, here I was—actually stuck composing the soundtrack.
Not that I minded. In fact, I loved it. Creating something new and original gave me a thrill I didn't get from acting. The only real problem was finding the time. Fortunately, I still had over a year before the film would need a complete score.
"I have faith in you," Dad said, his voice softening. "You'll get it done."
"Of course I will," I replied without hesitation.
(Break)
"How was Venice?" I asked over the phone as a designer crouched at my feet, adjusting the fall of my trousers with practiced fingers.
"It was good," Scarlett replied, her voice light and animated. "I didn't expect to like it as much as I did. I was especially moved by two films: [The Wrestler] by Darren Aronofsky, which won the Golden Lion, and [The Hurt Locker] by Kathryn Bigelow. The latter didn't win any of the major awards, but it received wide critical acclaim."
I grinned at her response. "Glad you liked at least one of my films."
"Your films?" Scarlett asked, clearly skeptical.
"Yeah, didn't you see the opening credits? Phoenix produced [The Hurt Locker]. Dad's listed as a producer on the movie."
"I didn't see that," she admitted. "So when are you releasing it?"
"It hasn't been decided yet," I said as I stepped down from the small stool I had been standing on. The designer gave a final nod of approval and began gathering his tools. "We don't have a distributor right now. That's actually why Tobias is also in Venice, he's hoping to get some people interested in the film. Based on the response it got, we'll decide whether to release it this year or hold it until next."
There was a lull in the conversation. I shifted my phone to the other hand and changed the subject.
"Did you talk to Aronofsky about [Black Swan]?"
"I did," Scarlett replied, her tone turning uneasy. "I… don't think he was very enthused about casting me. Are you sure you talked to him about it?"
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "He wanted to cast Natalie Portman in the movie, but I told him I was buying the script for you."
"Should I step aside then?" she asked.
"Why would you?" I said firmly. "Natalie Portman was a dancer in her childhood, sure, but she hasn't danced in years. She would have to put in just as much work, if not more. I've already contacted a choreographer, Peter Darling, the one who worked with me on [Billy Elliot]. He'll start your training as soon as you're back in London. Put your whole self into preparing for the role, and I'm damn sure you'll do a great job. You'll prove Aronofsky wrong."
She didn't respond immediately, but I could practically hear the smile in her silence.
"You know exactly what to say to lift my mood," she finally said, warm with gratitude.
"Glad to be of service," I said, tipping an imaginary hat in the empty dressing room. Then I glanced at the clock. "As much as I love talking to you, I've got to go attend the Emmys."
"Are you, like, starting your second EGOT run already?" Scarlett whispered conspiratorially. "That's what I read in a tabloid yesterday. They're saying you want to be the youngest to win a Triple Crown twice. That's why [The Night Of] and [The Dark Knight]. They're even speculating that your next move will be a Broadway play to snag a Tony."
I laughed. "Stop reading tabloids, Scarlett. Anyway, Benji is glaring at me to get off the phone, so I'll do exactly that."
"Love you," she said softly.
"Love you more," I replied before slipping the phone back into my pocket.
"Finally!" Benji groaned. "Let's go already."
I rolled my eyes at his dramatics but followed him out to the driveway. My date for the night was waiting beside the car, looking elegant and radiant. She was dressed in a floor-length golden gown embroidered with intricate patterns that shimmered under the porch light. The fabric clung to her body with grace and poise, accentuating her curves in a way that defied her age and left no doubt about her timeless beauty.
"You look exquisite, Mum," I said warmly, kissing her gently on the cheek.
"Thank you," she replied with a proud smile, then gave me an appraising once-over. "You don't look too bad yourself. Though I wouldn't mind if you'd worn a shirt."
I chuckled at her dry comment. My outfit for the night leaned on the unconventional side. It was a sleek black suit, but worn without a shirt, exposing the defined center of my torso. I wasn't in the extreme shape I had been for [The Night Of] or [The Dark Knight], but I was still very fit. Years of training had left me with a solidly sculpted set of abs, and tonight, they served as an intentional statement beneath the sharp cut of the suit.
To finish the look, I wore my custom-made Crocs shoes and a minimalist silver necklace that hung just below my collarbone. The entire ensemble had been designed by Givenchy, and I liked the bold, clean approach. So I went with it.
"You do realize this will start a trend of sorts, right?" Mum asked once we were settled in the car and on our way to the venue.
I shrugged. "I honestly don't care. I wore it because I liked it. It's as simple as that."
Mum shook her head with a fond smile as the car sped through the glowing city streets toward our destination.
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AN: Visit my personal website to read ahead, or check out my second Hollywood story set in the 80s.
Link: www(dot)fablefic(dot)com