Chapter 11: What’s the Rub?
Durham Cathedral, UK. May 2003.
Have you ever been snug as a bug in a rug? I have, and I can relay with full confidence that the sensations my body is feeling now are decidedly not it.
I tried to ignore the irritating prickle of the scratchy blanket we’d been given to stave off that jagged hardness of the stone floor of the cathedral. I think I’d gotten a particularly sharp tile to lie on. Something was digging quite persistently into my lower back. It would’ve been bearable if not for the veritable sauna these unnecessarily downy sleeping bags keeping us swaddled like newborn babies.
Schiff, schiff. Rupert, laying beside me restlessly, did the worm inside his own oven. “Bloody things! It’s like being in a burlap sack filled with hot coals.”
“The lit candles and fireplace certainly don’t help the situation.” Emma, on my other side, puffed out. She looked flushed from the heat, with sweat tickling her temples. No chance the makeup lady didn’t rush down and scrub her face dry before the next take.
Like the God Emperor himself, I lifted off the floor in my pupated form. I surveyed the great hall where nearly a hundred more like us carried out similar conversations. I’d caught a cold a few days back, and despite the congestion I was suffering, I could easily smell the throngs of sweaty teenagers. “It’s like they’ve tossed us into those sausage rollers at seven-eleven.”
Quietly, I fished out the mini bottle of Vick’s vapour rub in my pocket, popped it open, and smeared some around my nostrils. I’m sure the makeup lady would scrub this off, too. But until she did, I was going to allow myself some unpolluted air.
“Sainsbury’s or nothing. American.” Rupert scoffed in disgust.
“I can’t deal with this anymore. I’m boiling!” Both us boys craned our necks to Emma when we heard her drag the zipper of her bag down. She kicked her way out and splayed across the floor. “Sweet mercy, that’s better.” She sighed in pleasure.
Unfortunately for everyone around her, Emma’s pleasure meant our pain. It was evident that while she was cooking in there, something had spoiled. Blech! Rupert gagged. “What’d you smuggle in there? Fish?”
“Don’t be juvenile, Grint.” She scolded. “It’s just a bit of sweat.” She turned her head to the startled girl packaged on her alternate side, “I don’t smell that bad, do I?”
“N-no?” The poor girl tried to placate her. It would have been more convincing if she hadn’t pulled the collar of her shirt over her nose.
I took my role of hero seriously, so immediately jumped to the damsel’s rescue. “I’d describe it more like someone used a dirty dish rag to mop up old milk.”
Emma whipped her head around so fast, her frizzy hair almost scratched my money maker.
She nearly ended the franchise then and there.
“You can’t say that!” she gasped in abject shock. With how wide her eyes were spread, she almost put her open mouth to shame.
“Sour, innit?” Rupert agreed with my assessment.
“You utter beasts!” Like any and every publicly embarrassed teen girl was entitled to, Emma threw a tantrum, complete with kicking feet.
My taekwondo got its first opportunity to display itself. I snatched her ankles before they could do any damage. “I’d rather be a beast than the monster who shattered the dream of every boy in the world that pretty girls all smell good!” I teased. My arms jostled as Emma continued trying to stamp me out.
Fierce as her kicks were, the breeze they blew clued me into where the stink was wafting from. A pair of soggy socks. I firmed my grip and yanked her in closer to me. She fell onto her back with a surprised aah! “Hurry, Grint! Pull off her socks.”
“No way!” He recoiled in horror. “Stuff her back inside her bag.”
“Unless you wanna spend the next several hours with this stench trying to bury into your brain, you’ll do as I say.”
“Stop it! Release me this instant!” Emma protested from her place on the ground.
But I wouldn’t. This was for the greater good.
Rupert, with his face scrunched up in distaste, used his forefingers and thumbs to clamp the tips of the damp cloth gingerly, he quickly yoinked the socks off, and tossed them somewhere out of blocked framing. A production assistant was going to earn a bonus for retrieving that radioactive waste later.
“Now, time for my secret weapon.” I trapped her feet under one arm, scooped the majority of the leftover Vick’s from the bottle and slathered them all over.
Emma thrashed wildly. I learnt she was more than ticklish with the way she laughed out. “I’ll get you for this!” she threatened. Happily I might add.
She’d kill me later, I knew, but the immediate difference in the air was worth it.
Ahem! The sound of a throat clearing above snapped the three of us back to reality. “Shall we get back to filming?” Alfonso (rhetorically) asked. My two contrite minions scurried back to position in shame.
Had I been capable of the same, I’d have done so too. Instead, I smiled at our director, peered behind him to find Alan Rickman massaging his temples while averting my gaze. Michael Gambon as Dumbledore smiled at me when I waved at him. “If you insist.” Today was his first day on set and I’d say I’d made a hell of a first impression.
As predicted, the makeup lady painfully set us to rights before the great hall sleepover scene started filming.
[Dumbledore and Snape stood less than a meter away from my head.
The camera very slowly panned down between the rows of sleeping students, drawing Dumbledore, Snape, and me squarely in the center of the frame.
I lay unnaturally still, one eye open as Dumbledore began his speech.
“For now, let them sleep. In our dreams, we enter completely our own world-
PRRRFFFT! The explosive sound of flatulence suddenly echoed around the cavernous hall.
Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
As I felt the vibrations from the speaker hidden in my sleeping bag, I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten about this. I rolled over just as Alan Rickman snorted.
Gambon, in control and unfazed, continued his monologue. “And we like to-” THBBT! “We like to swim-” FWWWT! “In the deepest waters.” BRRRT! “Hee hee hee!” He broke.]
The hall erupted in laughter. I jumped out of my bag and flapped it till the fart device spilled out.
I picked it up and looked at it for a moment. I’d forgotten about the prank played on Radcliffe in the original timeline. Guess I was the butt of the joke this time.
I raised it in the air so everyone could get a good look. Gambon clicked the switch again, ripping another loud one. All the kids cheered him on excitedly as he celebrated with his hands dancing above his head. Rickman beside him bent over with a wide smile stealing across his face.
“Now, who’s the smelly one?” Emma teased with a wide smirk on her face.
“Still you!”
She kicked my shin, successfully this time. “Prat!”
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Leavesden Studios, UK. June 2003.
[The offscreen speaker played the soundbite of the door to the Gryffindor dormitory shut with a grind and a stoney thud, signaling McGonagall’s exit with the Firebolt.
The camera started at a close up of my face as I stared forlornly, my eyes glistening at the Gryffindor common room exit. I bared my teeth and scowled at the broom polish prop clutched, shaking, in my hand.
The camera pushed and floated over my shoulder to focus in on Ron and Hermione having a row deeper in the common room.
Ron stood over a seated Hermione, flushed face, and frowning. “What did you go running to McGonagall for?”
Hermione had a thick tome hiding her face. “Because I thought-” Her cheeks had been made up to look pink in frustration. She shifted the book down until the tip of her nose was visible over the pages. “and Professor McGonagall agrees with me - that that broom was probably sent to Harry by Sirius Black!”]
“No! No!” Alfonso suddenly called cut. “The tone is not right. Rupert, you must whine more, your anger is not justified - it is petty. Emma, you must show more guilt. And, Bas, stop overacting.” He pushed his sleeve up and noted the time on his watch. “Let us try one more time.”
Just as we were about to take our places, David Heyman, the executive producer for the franchise, marched into the middle of the set. “I’m afraid they have a prior engagement.” David patted Alfonso on the shoulder.
Our director sighed, “very well. We’ll have to pick this up first thing tomorrow.” When the boss tells you to take a hike, you put on your best boots.
“Come along, kids, follow me.” He took a seat on the plush chair by the fireplace, he put one knee over the other, and locked his hands over them.
The three of us squeezed in on the couch, facing him. The set was mostly left alone, but the staff started picking themselves up and made themselves scarce as our private conversation began.
“I don’t remember being informed about anything aside from our regular filming schedule today.” Emma broached.
“That’s because you weren’t,” Heyman clarified. “Once bitten, twice shy, as the saying goes. The press is involved today, so the risk of you pulling shenanigans was weighed and taken into account, Bas.” He pointed at me.
“Rude.” I pouted.
“But, fair.” Rupert elbowed me playfully.
“I’m glad you understand. As you all know, over the last few years, we’ve kept you three mostly out of the public eye and away from journalistic scrutiny.”
We nodded. Aside from a few infrequent and heavily monitored interactions, we were generally kept away from non-filming cameras.
“The studio has now agreed that it would best serve everybody’s interests if we increase your exposure with the press. We’ll start off easy this year, but next movie onwards we’re really going to be involving the lot of you in more aggressive media campaigns.”
“And that starts today?” Emma asked.
“You catch on, quick. Yes. We have a reporter from Access Hollywood with us. She’s going to conduct a fairly light interview with you today, and besides this short dose of coaching, I’m going to let you off the leash. It’s important that you kids get used to handling yourselves.” He matter-of-factly informed us. “We’ve already pre approved her list of questions and topics so there’s no need to be too nervous. Just be yourselves and don’t spoil the ending of the movie.” He glanced behind us and gestured to someone with two fingers. “With my piece said, good luck and don’t embarrass us!”
“Hey, man!” I protested his speedy explanation and speedier exit in equal measure.
He rolled his eyes at the pun. “Save that charm for the camera, Bas. And remember, I’ll only be stepping in if she goes rogue.” With that, he found a chair only just within earshot as the young, blonde reporter took his place and her cameraman set up his tripod.
“Don’t worry kids, you’re in good hands.” It was always jarring hearing an American accent after spending months in the UK. The red light of the camera flickered on. The cameraman gave a thumbs up, and the reporter plastered on her fake Hollywood smile.
“Welcome to Access Hollywood! I’m your correspondent, Nancy O’Dell, joining you from the magical school of Hogwarts!” Nice of her to introduce herself while on camera. “With me today are the wonderful young actors portraying the bright young wizards and witches of our favourite story.” She introduced us one by one. “Rupert Grint as ‘Ron’. The stunning Emma Watson, as ‘Hermione’. And last but not least, Bas Rhys as our titular character ‘Harry’! Say hi to everyone watching at home.”
We did as told. Emma was polite and surprisingly fake. Her inflection was pretty different from how it usually was. Rupert was also uncharacteristically shy. Hopefully, that gulp of his wasn’t audible. I, as usual, was perfect. Or maybe that was just in my head?
“Now I’ve got oodles of questions to ask, but the one I have on the tip of my tongue is because of a story a little birdie whispered in my ear.”
“It’s all lies. Don’t believe a word.” I joked. “Unless it’s the one about musical fruit. That one’s true.” My costars needed to chill. The best way I knew to do that was to behave as flippantly as I normally did.
“No it wasn’t. But I’ll be certain to ask about that story, too!” She didn’t miss a beat. “I heard that when shooting started, the three of you were assigned some homework. The director Alfonso Cuaron tasked you with writing about your characters and their motivations from your perspectives. Tell me about that.”
I nudged Rupert to go first. “Oh, well… Emma wrote like eight pages-” Predictably, he started ragging on Emma instead of telling his own tale.
“Single spaced and double sided.” I joined the fun.
“All about Hermione and how she identifies with her character.”
Nancy opened her mouth for a follow-up, but Emma retaliated before she could. “Well, if somebody had written anything at all, maybe I wouldn’t have had to compensate.” She pestered back good-naturedly.
“But that’s just what someone like Ron would do, don’t you think?” He was quick on his feet. “I was method acting.”
I glanced at the reporter. If it wasn’t unsightly, I’m sure she’d be rubbing her hands in glee.
“Bas, I hear yours wasn’t much better either.” Nancy asked to elaborate.
Seeing her chance to get one up on me, Emma chimed in. “Do you mean the single ripped up piece of paper with actual bite marks he handed in?” She smugly smirked at me as if to say, ‘bullshit your way out if this one.’
So I would. “There’s just so many beasties and creatures we’ve got on set. Unfortunately, one of them mistook it for lunch.” My answer was obviously outlandish. I shrugged.
“And you didn’t re-write it?”
Truthfully, I’d gotten bored halfway through, and just decided to play the old ‘dog ate my homework’ schtick. With added believability, a la chomping.
“Nah. That’s just Harry’s luck, isn’t it?”
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