Chapter 5: Polaroid Express

You never know how much or how little you have until you put your life into boxes.

A week’s worth of clothes, a well-worn pair of trainers, a folder full of documents, a camera, and a toothbrush. My entire existence fit into a single, medium-sized duffle bag with enough extra room for a tiffin and thermos.

Even my scrawny arms could lift that.

No. What weighed a hell of a lot more than the life I was taking with me was the life I was about to leave behind.

My dorm at the orphanage was small, but never uncomfortable. Yet now, despite both me and Mrs Stephens sitting on the bare mattress of my single cot, my room had never felt so huge or empty. She was turned away from me. I watched her back move as she silently folded my old school uniforms. I’d opted to leave those behind, along with my black oxfords and a full set of textbooks for the next tenant at the orphanage that would need them. My time in Wales was at an end; none of that would be useful to me anymore.

She finished folding, but Mrs. Stephens kept flattening a crease that wasn't there.. “That’s you done then, Bas.” Her voice was unsteady; it sounded wet. She still wouldn’t look at me.

“Don’t I even get a hug before I leave?”

Instantly, her shoulders tensed, and I noticed her hands curl into fists while she remained hunched over my old school wear. “.... that’d be inappropriate. And unfair to the other children.”

“Fairness, huh?” I was surprised at the scoffing tone that escaped me. “I always thought I was your favourite. Guess I was wro-”

Mmf! That was all it took till I found myself stuffed into her belly.

Since returning from LA, Mrs Stephens constantly complained that she’d put on a few pounds, but given how violently I was being squeezed into her, I was supremely thankful for her newfound softness. “You aren’t! You are! My favourite - not wrong. I mean… oh, you know what I mean!” She babbled frantically through light sobs.

Her body shook. I tried to pull my face away, but her clawing hands locked my head in place.

I guess eleven years was my second life’s limit. Cause of death, suffocation by smothering. It was painful. Given the way she shivered and sniffled, I’d assume her eyes were shut tight as tears and snot streamed down her face - yet my face was the complete opposite. I don’t think I’d ever smiled so widely. My arms circled around her waist and I hugged her back.

“I love you, too.” We weren’t related by blood, but she was my mother in every way it truly mattered besides. I wanted her to know that.

Obviously, that only made her cry more. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” She said wetly. “Goodbyes are tough enough as it is.”

“Hey, hey!” I patted her to let me go, she relented her stranglehold. “Not goodbye. Tan tro nesa.” I said in Welsh.

At that, her tears threatened to spill over again, but she bit her lip, held herself back, and nodded vigorously. “Right! Until we meet again. And don’t you forget it!” With one last hydraulic press, she broke the embrace and calmed herself down. She straightened her dress, wiped her tears, and fixed her hair. “Oh dear, I must look a frightful mess.”

I didn’t bother un-ruffling myself, but I did reach into my trouser pocket and pull out my wallet. There wasn’t much in it, about thirty quid in cash, my folded up train ticket, and the main thing I was looking for, two photos.

After I’d secured the part of Harry Potter, on one of our last days in America, Mrs Stephens and I went down to Santa Monica. While there, we visited the beach, the boardwalk, and even the pier. A stall selling cameras was there, and I bought myself one with the pocket money I’d had left, a cheap instant camera. We took two photos together.

In the first, a gust of wind had nearly knocked Mrs Stephens’ big, floppy hat off her head, and I’d elected to make a silly face - cross-eyed and tongue out. Inevitably, we took a second one that was picture perfect.

“Here.” I held out the first photo, obviously.

Her smile was brittle, yet happy as she gripped it. Her thumb stroked across the image. I waved the second photo at her. “I have mine, too.” I put it in the clear slot of my wallet, which I then pocketed again. “This way we’ll both always be with the other. No matter the distance.”

Mrs Stephens mauled me again. At this rate I was gonna miss my train.

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Goathland Railway Station, UK. September 2000

My career had just begun, yet it already felt like the end.

I wasn’t getting fired or anything, not after the whole hiring ordeal, but because the first scene I would film was the movie’s very last scene.

Arriving early in the morning, I’d been immediately bathed, dressed in costume, and then subsequently strapped to a chair for the last couple hours, getting cuts, bruises, and not to mention the World’s most famous scar painted all over my face.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Rupert Grint had landed Ron’s role, while Emma Watson was Hermione.

Rupert sat in his chair beside me, quietly nervous while getting his hair done.

Emma had been taken outside and was being fitted, and screen tested for various different prosthetic buck teeth options. Incessantly chattering away at the man taking the behind-the-scenes footage.

“Are they done?” David Heyman walked into the makeup trailer just as we were finishing.

“Just about.” The stylist patted me on my shoulders, swiped off the makeup bib, and allowed me to hop off the chair.

“Fantastic. C’mon kids, time to earn your paychecks.”

We approached the legendary Hogwarts Express. Cameras were trained on our markers for their blocking, extras were in position, and the noticeably massive form of Robbie Coltrane standing on a soapbox was all lower down the platform.

The three of us stood clustered as the scene was set for us. “Alright, stroll down to the last cart and get on. Rupert and Emma, please wave off-sight and then, Bas, you’ll run your lines with Robbie. Good? Let’s hop on it. Places!”

It had been months since I’d signed on, so in the meantime, I’d watched and rewatched the movies repeatedly until they were seared into my brain. This scene was originally done well; the only changes I felt worth making were Harry’s awkward expression when looking at the photos and the stilted hug with Hagrid. But besides that, I’d keep it simple.

The two next to me seemed jittery, so I patted their backs to keep them reassured. “Action!”

It took several takes, but we eventually got it.

[I jogged down the platform, dodged around the roaming extras, and approached the towering form of Hagrid with a subdued smile.

“Thought you were leavin’ without sayin’ goodbye, did ya?” He took out the album from his oversized pocket and presented it to me. I glanced curiously between him and it. “This is for you.”

It wasn’t an actual book, just a folded block of green foam inside a cover for the CGI.

I knew what picture was going to be superimposed onto it, but at that moment, as I opened the book, I thought back to the photo in my wallet.

The camera panned into position. I didn’t look as the shot was framed, I just focused on an image only in my mind. My eyes burned, tear ducts activated, but I didn’t break. I stroked the page and kept my head down. “.... Thanks Hagrid.” I closed the book gently.

A large hand appeared in my vision. I looked up at him, misty eyed and wobbling smile. I took his hand but didn’t shake it, choosing instead to pull on him and crash into a powerful hug.

The scene continued, and I reached my last marker.

“I’m not going home.” Wistful smile. “Not really.” ]

“Cut! Print that one!”

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Durham Cathedral, UK. November 2000.

Being on set can teach you a lot. My biggest bit of learning was understanding how involved movie making actually is.

That and secrets.

The last two months opened my eyes to the complexity of creating even a simple dialogue scene at a table.

For instance, if I performed a well-written dialogue like a robot, what would be the point? Then, even if my performance was adequate, if my costume and makeup weren’t there, then I’m not a character, I’m just some guy. I may look the part, but without a stage or props, I’m only good for Halloween. And all of that only matters if there're tons of electrical equipment recording everything. Which is why I found myself learning about cameras and filming from the movie’s principal cinematographer, John Seale.

“What we have here is the Panaflex platinum shooting on 35mm.” He instructed. It was a heavy camera, standing on a tripod taller than me. John panned across the hall as I observed on a monitor connected to the rig.

Durham Cathedral was the first location where the wider cast had joined. A large chunk of all the interior Hogwarts scenes were being filmed here. The Great Hall is most prominent, especially in holiday regalia in preparation for the Christmas scenes slated for next week.

“I use the same zoom lens for all my cameras. I love the free feeling! Slow zooms in during emotional moments that draw the audience in are my fave.” His tone turned a little teasing, “but you know all about that, don’t you, green eyes?”

“What can I say? I have star quality.” He chuckled, fiddled with the buttons and dials on the camera and zoomed in on a table full of kids.

While I was learning here, they were studying, too. Rupert and Emma, alongside a host of others, were slogging through their homework. Daily school was four hours for the Hogwarts cast, which meant homework was much heavier. I couldn’t be happier that I’d finished compulsory education.

Dan Radcliffe, in attendance as well, had landed Neville Longbottom’s role, and was provided with a larger-than-original part. It was pretty hard to miss a small kid wearing sunglasses in Hogwarts robes.

I felt terrible for Matt Lewis, but I found out he was Crabbe now, so good for him, I guess.

It became increasingly apparent how much had changed from the original script. Neville shows up on the train before Hermione this time. He was even included in the Fluffy scene after being found lost outside the Gryffindor dorms.

One scene that was still missing, however, was the chocolate frog card, Nicholas Flamel revelation. It was instead, like the original movie, where Hermione figures it out on her own rather than a team effort by all three. Ron for the clue, Harry for the epiphany, and Hermione to bring it home.

Too bad it wasn’t my place to discuss script changes. A topic that was already heavily contested.

I could try other things, though.

“I have six of these babies running on hydraulic heads to catch all you hopping monkeys.” Seale snapped me out of my introspection.

“Does that mean I can try experimental takes like a true Hollywood diva?” I teased.

“Don’t you dare move off the markers! If I have to reset the lighting, I’ll string you up by your laces.”

“Speaking of stringing someone up,” I quickly changed the subject, “I heard there are reporters on set today.”

“Unfortunately, yes. Wreaks havoc on our already tight schedule. But the PR team wants to drum up some early press by showing off the sets, getting some cast interviews, that sort of thing.” He pointed to the rest of the child cast. “Media types can squeeze water from a stone, mate. You tykes stand no chance against those vultures. And believe me, they’ll try.”

I stayed quiet for a moment. “We’re the leads, though. Can’t escape that.”

He nodded. “True enough”

“What if we pretend that we’re rehearsing a scene when they come around? Might keep them out of our hair if they think we’re working.”

He shrugged, “worth a shot.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Worth a shot.”

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