Chapter 66S: In CONclusion

DOUBLE FEATURE ALERT: The ‘S’ in this chapter title stands for special, haha. Here’s the promised visceral fan experience and retrospective of the HP franchise. Hope you enjoy the two-in-one chapter - it's a long con!

--

Chapter 66S: In CONclusion

San Diego, California. July 2011. 

Patience was a virtue, Kimmy knew. But would it really kill the universe to speed up the space-time continuum? “Why can time turners be real!?” Tossing her head back, Kimmy railed against the confines of her reality by hurling abuses at her ceiling.

Whump! Whump! Whump! Her upstairs neighbours seemed to have assumed it was targeted towards them.

Maybe it had been. 

Kimmy had probable cause to believe they had a rinky-dink, bootleg version of a theme park parade constantly marching across their floor. Everyday she jingled her house keys into her lock, they’d respond with booms and bangs of rattling rollercoasters. Her daily dose of migraines was liable to decapitate her before any rides could.

Agony. She sensed herself wilting away as the slow sands of time steadily eroded her already meagre supply of sanity. Nerve-chewed nails scraped across the sallow skin of her face. Inching her itchiness up towards her hairline, she fiendishly dug furrows into her flaking scalp.

There was enough expensive product sitting on her shower shelf to confirm it wasn’t dandruff, but the beams of sunlight stressing the motes of dust gave a damn good impression of her fraying state of mind.

 With purpose in her step, and hate in her heart, Kimmy stomped up to her window. 

The view outside was picturesque. A shirtless jogger trotting over the crosswalk waved flirtatiously at a preppy blonde driving around in her sugar daddy’s convertible. On a bench, an old couple cuddled up, amusedly watching a young boy wielding a melting vanilla ice cream cone as his puppy chased him. Gulls squawked as they surfed the seaside slipstream in a cloudless sky made Kimmy sing her own monosyllabic song. “Yuck!”

Unable to stand the stench of the ocean breeze worsening her salty mood, Kimmy slammed her window, yanked her curtains shut, and drowned herself in gloomy grumps. “I can’t stand the light - everyone and everything has got the sun shining outta their butts. Mocking me just because they’ve probs seen Harry Potter, and I haven’t!” 

Retreating into her self-imposed mission of misery, Kimmy reflected again why she insisted on this self-flagellation. She wasn’t an albino assassin monk, and she wasn’t living in the Da Vinci code, so why was she torturing herself like this?

Crocs squeaked as she morosely dragged herself towards her computer desk and tossed herself on to her chair with enough strength to send her rolling. It didn’t matter, anyway. The last thing she needed was more temptation on the internet. She scooted over, twitching digits hovered over the keyboard; qwerty was an acronym, and it was begging her to ‘quit worrying, enjoy relief tonight, Yaldaboath.’ Her fingers rested on the plastic keys. Desire demanded she apply pressure, but at the last second she refused to relent to the (demi)urge when she caught the reflection of a photo frame on the still dark monitor.

It was small, square, and unassuming as it sat on the very edge of her desk. A simple wooden frame she bought at the dollar store that held something truly priceless. Her, grinning beyond even her own ears, Hufflepuff scarf around her neck, sorting hat on her head, and Bas Rhys’ lips planted on her cheek.

The ‘I love you too, Dimples’ scrawled across the bottom in permanent marker, had ensured it had become a permanent fixture - right next to other pictures of her family and friends.

Deathly Hallows part 2 had been out for nearly two weeks at this point - one week domestically in the States, yet Kimmy hadn’t even bothered to sit through a single preview. 

Moving her hands to the desk drawer, she pulled it out to reveal her official Comic-Con staff lanyard. Hidden just behind her ID badge, inside the same plastic sleeve, was the only ticket she’d purchased for the movie. A special closed screening that took a bunch of cash, abuse of her corporate contacts, and not a little gratuitous cleavage to secure.

That last trick of hers scored her extra seats, funnily enough. As a longstanding member of Potter Heads Online, she’d felt obligated to extend the offer to buy the extras from her, first. Unfortunately, Harry Potter’s status as an international sensation meant that few of the globally located group would have been able to attend. Lady$Milfoy had predictably pounced like the apparent cougar she was and bought the two Kimmy had.

Trollina_2-2 had gone ballistic when she’d sold out - as if she’d ever sell to him, massive mark-up or not. He did the usual thing by calling her a bitch, warned that he’d post spoilers, and unsurprisingly got himself banned again. A threat, which MadEye_Trudy had privately informed Kimmy, that the asshole had made good on the minute he’d recovered his posting privileges.

Kimmy had logged off the site since and sworn off any other avenue that could spoil the experience. She’d held off on heading to the cinema this long. Nothing would be allowed to trump the secret show. “I just gotta take the edge off - only a couple days left ‘til D day.”

Photo kissed, PC ditched, Kimmy descended into her TV cabinet. Pfoo! Dusting off the distraction, she beheld her prize. “Harry Potter blu-ray box set. Complete with commentary and plenty of behind the scene footage. Time for a marathon!”

A key element was missing, though. “It is comic-con. Some cosplay should obviously be mandatory.”

Skipping to her bedroom after a quick pit-stop at her microwave, Kimmy returned to her couch, bowl of piping-hot popcorn in hand, dressed in her best Uniqlo branded Potter jersey/jammies combo, and swaddled in a visibly fluffy blanket. “Sing me to sleep, John Williams.”

Her quick click of the TV remote sounded off the starter pistol, with Philosopher’s Stone taking pole position.

Time flew by, but the first hour and a bit of the movie demonstrated how ageless the story was. Remembering how young and rosy-cheeked the cast were was a real treat, though they were definitely not lacking in talent despite their inexperience. The third-floor trap gauntlet was proof positive of it.

Christopher Columbus, the director, voiced-over this segment of the commentary.

 [“The set design for this sequence took ‘til the end of our allotted schedule to complete, so the kids were totally comfortable with each other, by this point. And I really think that shows, like right now - they’re convinced that the chess piece merc’d Ron. Our original plan was pretty different for the rest of the scenes. We had this whole extended broom flight with Bas tumble-turning as Harry to grab the flying keys. But right before we were gonna film that, he snapped his arm in half during a gymnastics accident. So, as a result, we had to scrap that and follow the more sedate, book-accurate version of events with the potions riddle and everything else. JK Rowling was down right jubilant over that fact, even if the studio wasn’t. Bas has been a handful since day one, but I don’t think I’ll ever regret the decision to hire him.”]

As Kimmy watched, almost getting choked up, as Harry and Quirrel violently tried to strangle each other to death, she could see why.

Impermeable mystery though it was meant to be, Chamber of Secrets’ runtime was as bite-sized as the first film, so she breezed through that, too. More than anything, she couldn’t help feeling nostalgic for the days where she lamented whose poster to put up in her bedroom after watching this movie. Draco versus Harry was an impossible choice for a pre-teen girl to make. 

“Lucky me that Bas never tried to find out. Tom won that for twelve-year-old me. I wonder what he’s up to?” Unlocking her phone, Kimmy swiped over to her instagram account and started stalking Tom Felton… again.

One of his recent posts caught her eye. An album of three grainy pictures from a few specific days on set, strung chronologically one after another. Rehearsal photos of them in civvies practising the mid-night fight from the first movie. Tom and Bas hoisted upside down and sideways on stunt wires during the duelling scene from Chamber. And, finally, both of them bloodied and drenched in a destroyed toilet, with Alan ‘Half-Blood Prince’ Rickman squashed sourly between them. The caption below read: Draco and Harry at constant logger-heads gave Bas and I every excuse to whip out our wands - and we loved it! My best days on set. Changing the game and even the script since we were eleven!

A screenshot of that post was sent off to MadEye_Trudy via her DMs as soon as she was done reading it.

The credits didn’t finish rolling, but Kimmy had the next CD on the roster spinning with a press of a button. 

Prisoner of Azkaban was a slap to the face - something Kimmy enjoyed oft repeated. It was the point in the series where the scales tipped from magical to masochistic. Dark, brooding, scary. It was evident to Kimmy how everything from the zoom-ins, to the colour grading, to the acting was a true labour. Kimmy had her blanket clenched between her teeth as she watched Ron hobble and plant himself in front of Harry and Hermione.

Kimmy only gathered how engrossed she was when she was mouthing along to Sirius’ wail in the shrieking shack. “I did my waiting! Twelve years of it! In Azkaban!” Kimmy deserved her own Oscar for that.

That hypnotic state carried her almost unconsciously through to near the end of Goblet - mostly because she kept getting discombobulated by the superelaborate set-piece that was the maze scene. Every spell, every magical creature, and every performance was exactly how she’d imagined it in her own head while reading the books.

And that end - oh, that final shot… It was like a painting of pain. The slow-mo only made her weep faster. 

Kimmy got up and headed urgently for a bathroom break. Upon sitting, Kimmy discovered she was halfway done with the paper-roll without even beginning her business. Suffice it to say, a load of tears and snot was gonna get flushed. She was down in the dumps - in multiple ways - but when she was about to scroll through funny cat videos, MadEye_Trudy channelled her Trelawney and pinged two messages across to her.

Both were snippets relating to Harry Potter. Clicking on the first, Alan Rickman’s nose replaced the play button.

 [“If you’re just joining us, this is James Lipton bringing you Inside… the Actors Studio. Our guest… this evening is true thespian, Alan Rickman, with whom we’d begun discussing his experience as Severus Snape.

“Indeed, Potter was…. meticulous. Every frame was a choreographed canvas.” Alan answered without prompting the full question. Kimmy sped up the playback. Because, for some odd reason, both men had a uniquely slow, stilted way of speaking.

“Must have afforded very little room to maneuver your performance then.”

“On the contrary, Bas Rhys’ bungling… ensured there wasn’t a shortage of takes to sow my creative oats. I’d estimate an even half of my scenes involved him in some capacity. Not a day went by where he wasn’t falling off chairs, or habitually cracking inappropriate jokes in the middle of a take.”

“Diva? Difficult to work with? Someone you’d consider sharing the screen with again?”

Alan didn’t even blink. “Yes, to all of the above. I’ve nurtured that boy from a particularly hollow egg, and over the years I’ve witnessed - and often beaten - him out of his shell. He should only be so lucky to work with me again, of course - but there are certain allowances one has to allot to their proteges.”]

Kimmy’s sniffles swiftly shifted to snorts. She eagerly un-paused the next clip she’d received. It looked like another press tour; confusingly, though, nothing to do with the Potter franchise. Why had Trudy sent her a Prince of Persia promo from last year?

“A fun factoid for you, Jake Gyllenhaal: did you know they almost gave your role of Dastan to someone else? Rumours circulated that Bas Rhys was a contender, but he dropped out!”

“Really? Well, if he’d gotten it, maybe his Brit accent would’ve been better.” Jake reacted rather nonchalantly to the interviewer’s tidbit.

Whereas his co-star, Gemma Arterton, seemed more animated. “I’m unsurprised Bas never shared that with me - he does so hate to disappoint. By my count, this’ll be the second missed opportunity for us to work together again. The closest I’d seen him to inconsolable was when he’d lost out a part in RocknRolla, which I was also in with Dan Radcliffe - who you might remember as… Longbums, I think the character’s name was?”

Following their intrusive instinct, the interviewer derailed the conversation. “Hold on a sec - I knew you guys dated-”

“Not entirely accurate, I’m afraid.”

The reporter didn’t drop the subject, and tried a different angle. “Wait a minute, you were in Harry Potter? I guess it would make sense - sheds light on why you were one of his few red carpet arm candies. You guys really must have hit it off on set.”

“My very, very first role, in fact!” Gemma pinched her index and thumb close together. “It was a teensy part; you might even spot me waltzing in the background during the yule ball scene in Goblet as a Durmstrang extra. It was actually the practice session for those scenes where Bas and I met. I reckon the best way to describe our relationship would be…” Gemma chewed both her words and her luscious bottom lip, “dance partners.”

Jake, though, awkwardly drew the conversation closer to home. “So… uh, we gonna talk about Prince of Persia, or what?” ]

Normally, Kimmy disdained - ugh - entertainment reporting, even if she was an avid consumer. Perhaps there was something to be said about the untold stories backstage, though. 

Flopping directly in the divot she’d earlier extricated herself from, Kimmy flicked on the next flick on the list. Order of the Phoenix continued the trend of emptying her supply of kleenex. She added dabbing sweat to the range of uses, too. Armpits instead of eye ducts, because Bas’ enraged screaming, tense torture, and silent frustration had drenched her in flop sweat.

His maniacal giggles had literally given her a dose of goosebumps. At least the duel scene had stellar CGI - she loved seeing the full scope of unique magic on display. If only that was enough to compensate for the depressing, prophesied conversation between Harry and Dumbledore.

Their developing closeness during Half-Blood Prince; between the bloody history lessons on Voldemort and bloodier Horcrux hunts (she still winced every time Bas genuinely slashed his hand open) was heartwarming, but then came Dumbledore’s name switch to tumble-floors.

 Fortunately, there was a palate cleanser in the form of DVD extras.

[ “Juggernaut of juicy journalism, Nat Tena, is on the case!” The purple-haired actress who played Tonks commandeered a camera and went behind the scenes in between takes. “Don’t worry, Evanna. I got your take, even if the editors’ll cut it out later.” Bas had just ruined a take by tickling his co-star mid-dialogue.

Evanna Lynch, dolled up Luna Lovegood’s shiny date dress, skipped over and threw peace signs at the lens. “Oh, that’s alright. Bloopers are cool, too. I’m just glad we’re making the film at all. Bit touch and go there for a while.”

The camera snapped to Bas. “Look what you did, Rhys! Robbing innocent girls of their enthusiasm.”

“Yeah, yeah. If you were in my position and read that shitty rom-com script…”

“What? I’d just threaten to leave?”

“Gotta hit ‘em where it hurts.”

“Yes, you certainly do aim for the sore spots, Bas.” Nat Tena zoomed-in where Evanna was gingerly rubbing the skin under her arm. “I’d much prefer your shoe instead of a bruise as a souvenir next time.”

“Mhm. He used to poke me a lot too, back in the day.”]

Kimmy proceeded to watch Deathly Hallows part 1 through the gaps in her fingers. 

Partly because hours had passed, and she had to physically prevent her eyelids from drooping closed; predominantly, also due to Dobby’s death, and Bas’ near-death experience. 

Haah… Kimmy sighed. So that was it - seven films back-to-back until the ass-crack of dawn. It was almost time to wake up, shower, and head to work. One would’ve assumed that she’d have been pretty much knock-down drag-out by now; but truth be told, there was still a constant jones nagging at her.

Terrible of her, but Kimmy once again faced the PC monitor. “One last teaser can’t hurt.” Eschewing the forum, she instead navigated to youtube and pulled up the trending video of the UK premiere of Deathly Hallows part 2.

[“Bas! Bas, over here!” A stereotypically peppy entertainment correspondent hailed Bas - who didn’t quite approach but was instead bonked by the oversized mic in her hand and dragged over. “Making a statement tonight, are we? It’s been years since we’ve seen you with a proper date on the red carpet. Yet, tonight you’ve rather boldly shown up and shown out with not one, but two lovely ladies in your arms! Seems a suspiciously fitting end to the entire Harry Potter saga for you, doesn’t it?”

Difficult to believe, but Kimmy couldn’t deny that there wasn’t a single syllable of a lie uttered by the anchor. Bas did, in fact, have two women brazenly tucked into the crook of his elbow. Both were also well seasoned compared to Bas’ youthful indiscretions.

Lucky old hags.

Whoever ran the poll on Bas’ preferred age range could probably post the final results now.

“Typically, I advocate creating fantasies, but in this case, I’m forced to disenchant anyone watching at home. This isn’t a Siamese sweetheart situation, we’re his jailors. When I wrote the finale for Harry Potter, I didn’t pull the last scene out of my derriere. Bas’ promiscuity had a direct influence. Two girls fawning over one callous man, raising a child with another woman entirely!” JK Rowling in the years since publishing her last book had turned into a social recluse, but she certainly had a lot to say, all of a sudden.

“Don’t believe a word out of her mouth! Need I expose what the original draft was? What was that ridiculous name for Harry’s son, again? Albus Severus Potter?” Kimmy short-circuited at that shocking revelation.

She imagined a small boy with glasses, greasy hair, and a big bushy beard. 

It made her wanna vomit.

Rowling rushed to defend herself. “Oh hush, you! I changed it, didn’t I? Your postscript in the novel was well deserved. So, I obviously had Harry become more reflective of you. Or are you prepared to claim those hellions behind us are a figment of our collective neuroses?”

The cameraman wasted no time and panned over to a circus of kids, each of whom was in cute dresses or dapper suits, emulating (and even putting to shame) models and their poses. It pleased Kimmy to know that even indirectly; she funded that Uniqlo sponsorship that had those children dressed to the nines. She even recognised the girl who played young Lily Potter. 

“I’ll beg you not to slander my clutch, Joanne. I assure you, any unideal behaviour is Bas’ influence on them. They’re much better behaved back home.” The second woman spoke up, at last. Kimmy couldn’t place her, but her proximity to Bas suggested she was supremely important. 

Bas whined sarcastically. “Muuum, you’re embarrassing me!”]

Well, that answered her unasked question, and her phone alarm suddenly blaring seriously made her question her common-sense.

Kimmy earnestly contemplated whether she should spurn a shower for a quick nap. Despite the knowledge that hiding her body odour would’ve been like hiding a needle in a stack of other needles, she thought better of it. She had an example to set - SDCC had poor enough hygiene standards as it was.

–

San Diego Convention Center, California. July 2011.

Kimmy fondly remembered when it was her on the receiving end of this lecture, but in the years and promotions since, it became her responsibility to supervise the other receptionists. “You’ve got the basics pat, so here’s some advice. Feel free to tell anyone who flirts with you to kiss off. I’ll handle the backlash. Don’t let anyone snag your pen. Trust me, people will take anything not nailed down.”

“You got it, boss.”

“Awesome. I’ll catch you later. My show’s gonna start any minute, so emergencies only… or if you spot a buff dude in a Batman mask, text me immediately.”

Kimmy didn’t hold out too much hope over her last warning. The recent obsession with caped crusaders had a super stranglehold in the cosplay department. As she weaved through the traffic of MCU mania, she felt like a foreigner among them. Though that might be because she was rocking the British schoolgirl uniform.

The leery looks, even from beneath the various domino masks, made Kimmy second-guess her decision to wear thigh-highs no matter how spectacular they made her look. Anonymity often turned cowards brave, so to avoid any unwanted advances, she dialled someone on the phone. 

“Hello, Kimmy. Are we due our rendezvous already?” 

“Doors to the hall should open soon, so I totes recommend heading on over before someone tries to steal our prime seats. Tell me where you are. I’ll come pick you up and we can head in together.” Lady$Milfoy and her tween-age daughter, Mia, were making good use of their purchased passes.

“Sure, Mia and I are at this quirky little kiosk in the mezzanine. She wanted to buy a replica wand for herself. We’re at plot number, um…”

“Ah-! I think I have a pretty good idea where to find you. Sit tight, I’ll be there in five.” Entering the familiar confines of the black market craft shop, Kimmy felt the full weight of her own personal lore smack her in the face. “Hey, Lawrence.”

“That is a name I’ve not heard in a long time, especially coming from a beautiful voice I never thought I’d hear the sweet, dulcet sounds of again.” Cue eye-roll. “And please, my sweet, I no longer reside in the mortal realm. You may now refer to me as Lore-ki.” Guyliner thicker than his waistline, enough wet-set hair gel to uncover his growing bald spot, and black nail polish that failed to hide his Dorito-dusted digits pinching a hundo off Mia and her mom. Yup, that was Lawrence. 

“Alrighty, almighty lord of Alzheimer’s, we ran into each other during last week’s expo. Whatever. Hurry and ring my friends up, and don’t forget her change - we’re late.”

“Wait - change? Is the wand’s sticker price not a hundred dollars?”

 “I never explicitly said the price was fifty silver - I merely asked for a hundred and they were all too happy to pay it. I am the trickster-god, after all.” Lore-ki could alter his appearance as much as he liked. In the end, Lawrence continued defrauding kids.

“Oh, you’ll definitely be playing tricks - right on the corner for a pimp named Slickback, if you don’t fix yourself!”

One administrative backhand, and he dropped the attitude. “Kimmy c’mon, I was just foolin’…” 

“Grab the bag, and let’s go, gals.” Kimmy snapped her fingers, and everything Mia was owed magically appeared in the girl’s hands.

“What a woman. If only she’d step on me…” She’ll pretend she didn’t hear that. 

An achingly slow ride on the escalators later, the three of them were ushered to their seats with their complimentary buckets of popcorn right as the projector flickered on. 

The movie was everything she wanted it to be, and more. The sombre swatches ubiquitous with the series had been palette-swapped for a much more expressive range of emotion. 

Her peripheral vision clued Kimmy in that she wasn’t the only one dyeing in happiness. Real recognised real. Kimmy and Mia discovered their gazes gravitating towards each other throughout. 

It was like gaping into a mirror ten years in the past. Teeth glittering in a massive grin visible in spite of the dark and tears seasoning the already salty popcorn.

Lady$Milfoy wasn’t immune, either. Her foundations didn’t just crack, they smeared as she cried and gripped at her daughter. “Ouch, mommy!” Seemed that Harry’s paternal insistence fundamentally struck at her maternal instinct.

“This was everything!” Every whispered wish and dreamt hope realised.

When the credits rolled, and the panel of stars were wheeled out, Kimmy - with basically the entire audience around her - all stood in thunderous ovation to let them know precisely that. 

Granted, the stars were probably confused whether they were being applauded or derided with weeping and whooping whistling out in equal measure.

Kimmy wasn’t capable of either, so she just blubbered. 

“The panel will now take questions.” 

Mia, as Kimmy came to learn, was the furthest thing from shy. When her turn eventually came, she held nothing in reserve. “When I was younger, I met Bas at a Japanese restaurant in LA. I’d asked for a simple autograph; he instead went out of his way to take a polaroid of us cheek-to-cheek, wrote me a ticket for the Hogwarts Express, and promised me magic was real. So, my question is, why did I never get my admission letter?”

“A-ah, well… hmm. How do I put this? Okay, did your parents ever let you in on the secret of the tooth fairy or Santa? The truth is…” Oh, no! Poor Bas. Damn it, Mia. That was such a horrible question to ask. Just look at him clumsily scratching his head. Although that rapidly became a devious smirk. “The truth is that they lied to you! And imma prove it - everyone here is getting a free pass to the Wizarding World at Universal! Studio’s treat.” Nevermind, way to go, girl! About the only person Kimmy peeped not celebrating that announcement was a producer called David Heyman, who’d squarely planted his face in his palms. “Now, let’s get you sorted into your houses!”

Kimmy was a ride-or-die Hufflepuff. A revaluation was something she’d absolutely deny, but she appreciated another photo-op, nonetheless.

Her apologies were mentally directed at Tom Felton this time. Because while he, and a bunch of the other cast, had their respective lines full of fans. Kimmy refused to budge from Bas. 

Her turn was imminent. She fluffed her hair, straightened her skirt, and resisted the impulse to sniff her pits. 

Okay, Kimmy, play it cool. You’ve got a second chance at a first impression. Try not to ruin your rep. 

“Fancy meeting you again, Dimples.” Damn her face muscles! Wait-! 

“Y-you remember me?” Why wasn’t she an asthmatic? She needed to complain about not having an inhaler!

“Your lanyard has your ID, but I’ve had plenty of recent reminders of my past, so your face sparked a memory. What’ll it be, Dimples? Another smooch?”

Goo.

That’s all she was - a puddle of it. “Huh-bleh-ha-gugabo-?” Her baby talk was to be blamed on her sudden bout of baby fever. 

Forget k-i-s-s-i-n-g, Kimmy wanted the marriage and carriage that came after.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Pucker up.” She was never washing her face again!