Chapter 48.5: One Blue Over the Canary’s Nest

Chapter 48.5: One Blue Over the Canary’s Nest

Leavesden Studios, UK. September 2009.

Contrary to popular belief - and as contrary as I could consciously be to popular relief, we weren’t as grown up as we pretended we were.

Although, I ought to exclude myself handily from that equation. In all honesty, I had startlingly few qualms or compunctions about strangers out in the wild polishing themselves into sexually gratified sheens in front of effigies dedicated to me. 

In case the analogies hadn’t clicked yet, I was talking about flicking the bean, stroking the stalk - jacking off. Specifically, fans doing it to the thought of us. Fee fi fo fum, I know that I’ve made perverts cum. 

Where I, rather hypocritically, drew the line was when my friends were also subject to it. So what if they were both my elders? I’d done the math; in comparison I’m a senior citizen at heart. Just because I was an eternal fourteen-year-old in mentality was no excuse. They needed a guiding hand - that wasn’t slathered in scented lotions - to steer them down the right track.

So it was only natural that mommy made herself known once in a while to hover over us. “My, my, isn’t this just so achingly nostalgic? The golden trio before me, all together; potentially one final time.” Rowling had swept into town like an unseen tsunami, throwing the set into a disarray. A flood of pestered PAs followed in her wake; brewing tea, buttering crumpets, and dusting off a meeting lounge; until our quad squad was successfully sequestered behind closed doors at her behest. 

Jojo’s impromptu arrival alone wasn’t what drove them helter-skelter. 

Now that the filming was ramping up to meet deadlines, the wider cast filming disparate scenes - where, regrettably for the audience, my handsome face wasn’t gonna be on screen - were also in full swing across the various sets. So, plenty of the usual suspects, and even an unusual guest here or there, had the production staff beleaguered.

It felt familiar sitting here in this slightly musty smelling room. The three of us squeezed tightly onto a single sofa, while JK presided over us from her single wingback. I could almost see the afterimage of our dangling feet. Where once upon a time they’d be hanging inches off the ground, now instead three pairs of knobby-knees were jostling for every millimetre of free space. “As our modest franchise enters its twilight-” The clinking of her teaspoon against the sides of her steaming cup called out to me like the signal for a toast. I obliged.

“Since you brought it up, speaking of twilight, just imagine how much more successful we’d have been if you’d expanded the lore on vampires. Hell, we had Robert playing Diggory. We should’ve had the forethought to toss him in a vat of glitter and reap the teenage girl funded rewards.” Had this been a couple years from now, no doubt I’d be quipping about Harry being a bit more stylish with his wand work to compete with the conspicuous copy of Fifty Shades of Grey sitting squarely in every mum’s bedside drawers. 

“Careful there, mate. You almost sounded jealous.” Rupert cried envy. He was absolutely right. 

“Almost? I bloody well am!” Pattinson’s fairly recent fame had his glittery feet stepping all over my hard fought turf. I refused to relinquish my hold on the collective hearts of the globe’s housewives. 

Flecks of tea suddenly spattered over the side of my cheek. Shocked and appalled by the assault, I ripped my face away from Rupert’s and whipped towards Rowling. Her fingers floated above her cup, still dripping.

Successfully gaining our attention again, she cleaned herself up - not bothering to hand me a tissue and leaving the tendrils of sticky tea to follow the contours of my face and into my mouth. My tongue swiped up. Not nearly sweet enough. What’d she do, replace the honey with vinegar? “I fear we’ve veered away from our original topic of conversation. There’s only about a year left, which will have meant that we’ve spent a decade together. Our successes and failures have always, up to this point, been tied to one another. Now, however, as you make your own ways into the big, bad world - find your own feet and voices; I thought it prudent that we air out any… ah grievances, while we still have the opportunity.” 

Hmm. Now wasn’t this interesting? I adopted my thinking pose. Leaning back, I relaxed my posture, slung my arms across the sofa backrest, and smoothly weaved my fingers through the ginger and brunette heads on either side of me. Fidgeting, especially with something in hand, helped me concentrate. My co-stars’ scalps were as good a toy as any. 

“Ugh-Bas!” Rupert jerked forward and immediately swatted my hand away. “Grubby mitts to yourself, mate. S’far as it goes, don’t really have any grudges I need sorted out, or anything like that. I’m content.” He shrugged and returned to his previous position. I couldn’t resist tickling a few stray strands at the nape of his neck. He swatted me away again.

Emma piped up. “Well, I have plenty of complaints. Starting with him.” She jabbed a pointy nail into my rib. “His entire existence is a grievance!” Then why were you placidly allowing me to scratch your head?

“Serious questions require serious answers, please.” Jo cut in.

Emma cut it out. “Honestly, it’s nothing major. Ms Specter already given me the ins and outs. Really, the worst I’d have to say is about the gruelling time commitment; but even then that has more to do with my personal choices - especially university…” 

I kept quiet, letting the three of them dive into dialogue, while I coasted along. 

This little rendezvous wasn’t in service of righting wrongs or honest feedback. It was purely about securing the future. After all, the longevity of a movie franchise (while not solely dependent on, but certainly) helped along with a positive reception of those involved. 

An oxymoronic - healthy obsession - was a key factor for a property to maintain a favourable relationship with its fanbase. It’s what spurred, even years after any new content for an IP, engagement. Merchandise purchase, event attendance, future project interest. You name it; the fandom was gonna buy it. Or at least they would if they still felt good about being involved and associated with us. Fact of the matter was, unless we had a good grip on our own reputations and held an overall chipper outlook on the whole experience, fans just weren’t gonna be invested in the Harry Potter brand going forward. No fanfiction, no cosplays, no flippant tattoos of my gob on hairy calves, none of that. 

Twilight, inadvertently, ended up being a perfect stick to measure against. It had gotten just as big as us; the stars spoken about in that same breathy exultation as we were. But all of that fell away for them when the behind-the-scenes turmoils, sordid affairs, and disdainful cast candidness came to light. They were far from the last to have that fall from grace. The tabloids had a field day, but the people reading them soured on the whole thing, wiped their ass with those same pages, and flushed away any proceeding involvement.

We, though, ought to do our best to avoid that fate. For everyone’s benefit; fans, financiers and famous faces alike. The currents of influence weren’t omnidirectional “My time on Harry Potter? Oh, what a lovely experience! Now, come check out my new one man play about the wonders of male pregnancy. I call it the mangina monologues. Tickets are twenty quid, cash only.” 

 I glanced at JK Rowling as she sternly absorbed Emma and Rupert’s laundry list. She wasn’t doing this for the money. I knew that better than anyone. 

This was for legacies.

Mine too.

Money wasn’t a concern for Richie Rowling. As far as numbers went, she had more than I did and I was absolutely swimming in it. Her digits, ironically enough, posed the greatest danger. 

No one fully understood that threat yet. Once our contractual obligations were up in totality, nothing could legally compel any of us to sing false praises anymore. This was what gave production heads heart palpitations instead of the true (definitely not silent) killer; social media. 

Everything had gone quiet. All eyes were on me. I stopped bouncing my knee. Clearly I’d submerged myself a tad too deep, there. “I’m sorry. What was the question again?” I won’t lie, there’s a special thrill I get when hopeful stares turn disappointed when looking directly at me. 

Rowling sighed and stood. “It has been an absolute pleasure speaking with the both of you. I’m severely going to miss our little chats in the future.” Gathering the two next to me by their shoulders, she bundled them up, and blurred through bye-byes. “With Bas, unfortunately, it seems I’m going to have to twist his ear if I’m going to get him to use it. Would you mind giving us some privacy? Of course you wouldn’t.” And bamboozled them out the door before they had any chance to answer.

You’d think my minions had been doing double duty as Hedwig’s understudies, the way they’re owlishly blinking at being so effectively ushered away. 

Rupert snapped to attention first and opened his mouth. “I changed my mind about not having any issue.” The door slammed shut. “This has always been ruddy unfair. Favouritism!”

“Some things just aren’t going to change, are they?” Emma’s muffled voice was punctuated by Jo loudly clicking the mechanical lock.

She pinned me through narrowed eyes all the way back to her chair. “Penny for your thoughts?” 

I spread both myself and my smile wider in my suddenly empty seat. “You can afford more than that.”

“Do we really have to needle each other before getting to the point?” No, but it is fun.

“M’not exactly fond of going around in circles, either.” Tell that to the donuts I occasionally do in the carpark to keep my drifting skills sharp. “Wanna just skip the rigmarole, and tell me straight what brought this conversation on?”

“Sniffed me out, have you?” I can smell blood. I’d become a shark long ago. “This stays between you and me.”

“I’ll just add that to the long list, shall I?”

“Hush! Truth be told, for the most part, it’s as I’d said on the tin. I just wanted to make sure we all move forward amicably.” Fair, but…. “But WB has approached me. They vehemently do not want these two films to be the last in a very lucrative line for them.”

“Oh? Fantastic!” Greedy little corporate beasts. “More movies, then? Can’t say I’ll be signing on as Harry again, though.”

“Movies, TV, stage, could be anything, really. Still working the details out. Not to worry, that’s not the part I’d like you to play. I haven’t forgotten for one second why I could tell the entirety of my story my way. They’re circling me, Bas.” Like thirsty dairy maids with empty buckets; raring to squeeze our every last drop of milk. “I’m prepared to give you anything you want - a stake in the core franchise, whatever. Please, Bas, I need you. Not all the time and not for everything, but always at my back.”

Can’t say I hadn’t anticipated this, though I thought I’d have to broach the course myself. There wasn’t a point deluding myself into assuming I’d ever get a final say. Ideas, advice, and vetoes could definitely be a possibility, however. As long as I’ll live, my name will be ubiquitous with Harry Potter. Besides my offered loyalties, it would only benefit me to preserve our rep. “I’ll have conditions.” 

I scooted over, leaned forward, and extended my pinky. Jo was quick to wrap it around her own. “You need only say them.” 

Fingers entwined, I swung them until I saw one side of her lip upturn. She was relieved to have me on lock. To me, it felt less like joining hands than shackling her twitter fingers - no way was I gonna let this canary sing.

Keep off the net Rowling, it’ll trap you.