Chapter 7: Unscripted

WB London Branch, UK. November 2001

As she strode into the meeting room with Columbus, Kloves, and Heyman, Jo Rowling felt like, for once, she was the one in the lead.

It was time to finalise the screenplay.

She’d been in these meetings a hundred times before and usually felt like she was shouting at a brick wall. Well, today she had a sledgehammer in the form of the strategy that Bas and herself had worked out over the last few weeks.

He understood what the core of the story was, and helped her construct script changes that were more carefully aligned with her vision, while at the same time allowing the cinematic leeway that the studio preferred.

His true value, however, lay in dictating the narrative of her arguments. If he wasn’t already Harry, she’d have fought to make him Voldemort - devilish child that he was. At least it was to her advantage. Maybe she should let him in on the full secret of the story the way she had Rickman? Food for thought.

“Let me guess? You have issues with what I’ve written?” Kloves got started testily before they’d even had a chance to settle in.

Jo felt the urge to snap right back, and express every single grievance she’d made a note of, but held off in the name of reaching her story in the parts where it mattered most. She took a deep breath and replied far more genially, “No, actually, I think you’ve done a rather decent job this time. Merely a few tweaks on characteristics here, adding in a scene or two there; and I think we can be done in time for dinner.”

Chris and David looked relieved - at least until Kloves chimed in. “And what precisely does a ‘few tweaks’ entail? The last time that happened, the entire final act of my script was altered beyond recognition.” He grumbled.

“Well, I don’t entirely understand the complaint, if I’m honest.” Heyman lost his temper and reprimanded Kloves. “The movie’s only been out for a weekend now and it’s raked in one hundred million. Enough of this tired argument!”

This was a moment Rowling - on the advice of Bas - had been anticipating. She just didn’t expect Kloves to be simmering quite so close to the boiling point.

“Well, if it will ease tensions, feel free to extend the basilisk scene to the length you have. I understand the inherent cinematic value a boy fighting a sixty-foot-long snake holds.” Even if it was only twenty feet in her books. “In fact, I say make it even more dynamic!”

JK knew that Bas had clearly been fishing for a scene to stretch his acrobatic talent. She’d let him have it as a small reward for his insight.

“Seriously?” Chris spoke up.

“Have at it! Make Fawkes burst into flames for all I care.” She offered magnanimously. Phoenixes don’t die after all.

“... Well. I guess we can actually get somewhere. Thank you for your cooperation Jo; Sincerely,” Heyman thanked in relief.

Chris piled on as well. “Then, in the spirit of camaraderie, let’s hear your suggestions.”

“Oh, it’s really nothing major. My main requests lie with the lack of development with the Weasley family. They are absolutely crucial for the story in this book - and their role, as a whole, will remain much the same going forward. We can’t afford any sidelining.”

The three men had considering frowns on their faces, “that’s not unfair I suppose. Chris?”

“We’ll have to reorganise a few scenes and switch up the dialogue, but I think it’s perfectly reasonable. Right Kloves?”

Kloves didn’t say anything but grumble silently under his breath.

“We’ll have to get on rehiring Ginny ASAP,” David mentioned, confusing Rowling.

“Why? What happened to Bonnie?”

“Her father took a job opportunity out of the country. They’re moving to Australia, I believe,” David explained. “It’s not a worry, we’ve already contacted the runner-up from the audition phase.”

“She was a bit older than the part allowed for, if I remember correctly.” JK threw in.

David nodded in affirmation. “She’s only a few months younger than our Draco, but she’s sufficiently petite that we’re confident she won’t look out of place.”

“Is there anything else I’ve pointlessly written, then?” Kloves spat mulishly.

“Since you’ve mentioned it…”

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Durham Cathedral, UK. January 2002

Being back on set felt eerily like returning to school after the summer hols. There were kids, homework, and adults telling you what to do.

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The Leavesden studio sets were still being dusted off. The new ones, like the chamber and the burrow, were still being built.

This part of the world was still very much in the throes of winter, so the snow was an insurmountable obstacle for filming. We’d have to wait till spring to shoot all the outside, and half the quidditch scenes once Alnwick Castle became accessible.

“Wait, so how am I meant to solve for x, if there’s an unknown y term?” One twin loudly complained.

“Express x in terms of y, then substitute.” I boredly assisted.

“Why they have letters in maths, I’ll never know.” The second Phelps twin tacked on.

Suddenly, there was a thunderous knocking on my trailer room door, interrupting my tutoring session. I didn’t even get to invite the interloper in before the door was wrenched open and Emma Watson angrily barged in.

“Do you have a problem with me?” She shouted in my face.

I shifted back in my seat, while the Phelps twins flinched. “No… you clearly have one with me, though.”

“If you don’t, then explain this!” she said, slamming a thick pink bound stack of papers.

I calmly reached over and picked up what she tossed down. I could have gotten into an argument, but she was a little girl and I was a much older man (in spirit, at least).

It was the movie script. Specifically, the page was opened on the mudblood scene in Hagrid’s hut.

I couldn’t help frown however as I read further. This wasn’t the script we’d been given at the start of filming. It was an older version. The version that would have been in the movie from the timeline I originated from. The one where Hermione the muggleborn knows more than the pure-blood Ron.

Let’s pretend I don’t know what this is. “Do we have a new script that I don’t know about?”

“No! It’s the old one. Which, if you’ll notice, had a lot more for me to do and say.” She snatched the script from me and flipped to another page that showed Hermione blowing up the quaffle.

One of the twins picked up and began reading out of curiosity. “Ok. So an earlier revision had different scenes. Why does that make you mad at me?”

“Because it’s your fault they changed the script in the first place!”

“Is it my fault they changed the script to be more like the book? How do you figure that?”

“It’s what Mr Kloves confided in me. He said that script,” she pointed at it, “was the version he wanted. But because you won’t stick to his scripts, and wilfully use the books as your guide instead, JK Rowling made him do all the rewrites.”

It was a naïve line of thought and an unreasonable response. But she was just a passionate young girl, easily manipulated by a massive douche. I let her catch her breath.

“He said that because you won’t behave, the entire studio has to work around you. Which means that I get the short end of the stick!” She finished…loudly.

I raised my hands in a placating gesture to get her to calm down. “I won’t argue that my mistakes have made script changes. Don’t forget, though, that you benefited the most from it.” That took the wind out of her sails a bit. Probably best I never reveal that I broke my arm on purpose. I’ll save that for the twenty-year reunion special.

“Let me ask you a question.” She nodded slightly, more unsure now that a fallacy was presented to her. “Did you check the call sheet? Did you see who’s scheduled to film today?”

She nodded again, this time confused where I was going. “You know that Tom Felton isn’t the only name you should look out for, yeah?” I teased; she flushed in embarrassment. “Alan Rickman is also here today. We’re filming the potions class where Hermione steals the polyjuice ingredients.” I motioned for the script, passing it back to Emma. “Which, if you’ll see, isn’t in the old script. So the argument that you get less because of me isn’t true, is it?”

Emma looked confused again, then one of the twins chimed in. “On the other hand, your scene means my brother and I don’t get it. So should we be mad at you now?” Emma very quickly looked ashamed.

With her head bowed and her voice slightly shaky. “Then… why would Mr Kloves say all that to me?”

“Who knows? Maybe he’s still cross that I got him in trouble with Mr Griffiths last year, so he’s trying to play a trick on me.”

“Well, if he is, it’s not a very good one.” She got out with her head still down. “I’m sorry I yelled at you, Bas.”

“No harm done.” I waved her off. “Do you want to sit with us and do your maths homework?” I offered an olive branch. She shook her head vigorously in a no.

“I think I’ll just go back to my room.” To cry, most likely. Kids, so many emotions. She reached for the script, but I clung on to it. “Don’t worry, you get going. I’ll make sure Mr Kloves gets this back. I’m certain we’ll film the duelling club scene soon - why don’t I teach you how to headlock properly, later? Sounds good?” I smiled at her reassuringly.

She managed a tentative smile back, nodded, and left.

I looked at the script again. If that’s how you want to play it, Kloves. We’ll play.

A few days later, there was a lull in my shooting schedule, so I took the opportunity to make my way over to Kloves’ office. I didn’t forget his script either.

“Come in!” He called out after I knocked. He looked surprised to see me, but didn’t bother getting up to greet me. “Yes, Bas, what is it?”

“What are you playing at?” I said dramatically.

“Excuse me?” He said, standing up very slowly.

I waved the script from where I was standing. “Just running lines. Thought you could help me.”

“Those aren’t part of your dialogue.”

“They aren’t? I’m sorry. There’s just so many differing versions of the script floating around, I got confused.”

He took a closer look at the script; his eyebrows shot up in realisation. “Where did you get that?”

“From Emma. She forgot it in my trailer after crying about ‘Mean, old Mr Kloves playing tricks on her,.” I embellished.

He panicked. “Has she told anybody else?”

“I don’t know. I imagine you’ll be the first to find out if she does.” I let him stew for a moment. “Or, if I do.”

The room went quiet. I didn’t bother implying a threat. I made it outright. We sat uncomfortably in the tense silence for far longer than I wanted to. Eventually, though, he capitulated. He shifted his gaze, looked away from me, and hunched over his desk.

“What do you want?” He growled.

I chucked the script. It landed with an echoing thump next to his hand. “I just wanted to make a good movie. I still do. Let’s both follow the script - the real script. And stay out of each other’s way.” I could have pushed for more, but I was quite happy with the revised - Rowling approved - version; and didn’t see a need to stick my nose in more than I already had.

He took a deep breath, picked up the script, and threw it in his bin. He’d gotten the picture. Game, set, match - me. “You’re not normal, boy. There’s something wrong about you.” He pointed at his door in a dismissal.

He was totally correct, but he didn’t need to know that.