NOVEL NEXT Chapter 34.5: The Crux of it All – Part 2
Chapter 34.5: The Crux of it All - Part 2
Leavesden Studio, UK. January 2008.
There was a crack in my butt. Not just the one that ran down the middle.
Heineken owed me royalties for all the free advertising I was giving them for constantly rubbing my heinie on camera. But I wasn’t gonna complain too much because it came with the territory.
All this time, shooting Half-Blood Prince gave me that sensation of something missing despite being comfortable. Like going to bed and forgetting a blanket. Or maybe it’s closer to sitting on the porcelain throne and realizing only halfway through the olfactory obliterating ordeal that you hadn’t refreshed the toilet paper roll - so neither would you be.
Point being, shit wasn’t right.
It wasn’t until we began shooting this particular sequence, a sequence where Dumbledore takes Harry on his first extracurricular excursion and giving him his first lessons on curse breaking, that I finally heard the satisfying click of peace of mind strapping into place.
Clingy though she was, I cannot deny her presence had been sorely missed.
One last clip clinching, one last buckle tightening, and one last scrunch of velcro securing it all; I was back in the suffocating embrace of my stunt harness.
“Lean forward for me, Bas.” The stunt coordinator tugged taut on my tether.
Heels and toes stuck firmly to the floor as my torso was caught between the affection of the harness and gravity at an angle that urged me to ask Annie if she’s ok. I was happy to hang around as long as I wasn’t being touched by a smooth criminal, that is. “So, what’s the verdict? Am I ready to get rag dolled again?” My sore rear end was clenched, hoping for a no. While my heart pumping a steady stream of adrenaline through my veins demanded otherwise.
“You’re all set. Though the prop department wants me to remind you to watch your elbow when you land, they’re getting a little tired of having to replace broken wands.”
“I think I’ll leave that decision to my reflexes. Now, make like Nike, and shoo.” My dangling arms had purpose once more as I ushered the burly bald beast away. And in the next motion, waved over wardrobe waiting in the wings. “Health and safety’s been taken care of, so if you’ll excuse me, it’s time to adhere to beauty standards.”
Harness and I had to hide our heated love beneath the soft, padded layers of Harry’s outfit. Refitted to better suit my larger frame, the scuffed, baggy sweater I was made to wear was the same design eagle eyed viewers would notice as the threads the Dursleys ditched as my Dudley hand-me-downs. The jacket was also the one I was usually jammed into during promo shoots.
Both were available for purchase at your nearest Uniqlo!
“Must we pretend the boy cares one whit about his own wellbeing? He doesn’t and neither shall I. Let’s get this show on the road. I have dinner plans I’d rather not delay, so no more dallying.” Though dressed like him, Gambon hadn’t donned Dumbledore yet. Alternatively, his callous disregard indicated that he might have. Either way, he was raring to go.
Subdued teal on the outside, there was still enough fanfare embroidered into the hems and lining that the Dumbledore line of robes was outselling almost everything Harry themed. Except, of course, the Harry Potter branded frames. According to the latest figures I’d received from Shinpachi at Fast Retailing, the only thing outpacing those bitches were the house branded jerseys collectively.
There was, however, an accouterment that wasn’t stocked on the accessories shelves. Not yet anyway. His hand wasn’t just gloved green, but would also later be graced with the Gaunt ring.
“Listen to Gandalf!” So much for brand loyalty. “Time for some movie magic.”
[Memories parsed through and secrets revealed it was time Dumbledore and I took advantage of them, or rather they took advantage of us.
“Lumos.” What basically amounted to a fancy bulb on a string retracted overhead and illuminated us like a spotlight in the dingy, dimly lit, dilapidated dungeon that was the Gaunt house.
Floating motes of dust danced in the light, obscuring our vision almost as much as the darkness itself. I squinted directly into the lens pressed nearly to my face as I painfully adjusted to the fresh sting of light.
The only sound joining the silent choir of the eerie creaks and groans of rotting wood was the starchy crunching of the fine gray powder that caked just about every surface in the house.
“Mind your step, Harry. It shan’t do to give our dear house-elves more work than necessary. Revealing charm only, Harry, we’ve yet to decipher the consequences of a hastily cast spell.”
His knobby wand twirled in complicated patterns as he murmured even more complex spells under his breath.
Since my repertoire was still only building, I had no choice but to stick to the simple stuff. “Revelio…” even my whisper echoed in the emptiness. Brandishing my wand, I carefully scanned any and all nooks and crannies I came across. Each tense step I took was traced by the camera on a Jimmy jib, closely monitoring every second of my anxious progress.
Despite the cool weather outside, it wasn’t yet freezing enough for snow to fall or my breath to fog. The air conditioners were working overtime.
Hung on the wall was a mirror, too grimy to see through and too shattered for a full image. But as I brought my sleeve up to clear the reflection, I saw everything that I needed to through the trail the swipe left. And it made me panic.
Angled just right, the camera and crew were invisible to the lens as the mirror displayed my eyes suddenly widening. While in the background, over my shoulder with his back facing me, Dumbledore stood deathly still across the room. Dark gray vapour billowing from something he seemed to be holding in his grasp. I exhaled a startled breath that misted the mirror.
Both the camera and I whipped away from the wall. Whatever Dumbledore was holding was pumping out more and more smoke, which in turn meant that the production crew in the rafters of the set rained more and more powdery dust onto the scene.
Fine gray flecks settled on and peppered my hair, shoulders, and eyelashes. “Professor…” a hitch and itch in my throat as I barely stalled a cough. Cautious steps left deep divots in the dust as I approached the bewitched wizard.
“It’s the third… The last enemy… I can hear her!” He spoke to someone that wasn’t there. He spoke to himself.
Cryptic. The audience wouldn’t yet know that he was talking about the hallows and the resurrection stone. And neither did I as Harry. I halted myself from saying it’s the second. The diary and the ring made two horcruxes. But twisted as it was, Dumbledore wasn’t wrong. I, as Harry, was very much the third, and I was standing right next to him. Funny how that worked out.
Circling his left shoulder, my eyes swam between his distant gaze and Tom Riddle’s ring, delightfully drowning us in detritus. “Professor, you’re not thinking straight.” The camera that had circled his other side zoomed in just as I caught Dumbledore’s darting wrist before he could try to put the ring - the horcrux - on. “We can take it back to Hogwarts. There’s no need to touch it anymore.” Sweat pooled on my upper lip, the tickle of which forced me to purse it between my teeth
He blinked away whatever miasma had taken hold. A shuddering sigh slipped out of me. He stopped straining in my grip; the warm touch of his hand, still holding his wand, fell on my chest.
For the brief moment I had him back, I let a tiny, tired grin hook the side of my mouth. My hand relented its bruising grasp. “Glad to see you return to the land of the living.”
That was the worst thing I could have possibly said.
“Return…yes.” He was gone again. “Yes!” And he made sure I left, too.
Fingers played across my sternum, and while he didn’t push me, his biceps flexed. I knew what was coming, but I refused to brace myself because I didn’t want even a drop of surprise lost on the lens and robbed from the audience.
A little whiplash wouldn’t kill me.
The reel motor kicked on, the tether pulled, the harness dug into my skin, and Dumbledore’s banishing charm kicked me like a mule.
A canyon of ash parted in my wake until I crashed not only on, but through, the fabricated breakaway wall and successfully onto the crash mat.
I landed just right. The wand didn’t snap.
Do this enough times and you know if you’ve hurt yourself. Thankfully, I hadn’t. But that didn’t mean that the air knocked out of me took any less time to come back.
My cue was coming up, so I couldn’t do anything but power through it. Dumbledore’s voice exploded in a wail of agony. He’d slipped the ring on. I had to hit my mark.
Scrambling to my feet, I launched back out through the hole, but almost tripped on my still unsteady feet.
Fortunately, and unfortunately, I both caught and cut myself on a deceptively sharp edge on the breakaway threshold. I heard more than I felt my hand slice open, probably on account of my adrenal glands working overtime.
Dumbledore was on his knees clutching his green hand that the CGI would show withering away. This take was too good to waste.
Knees thoroughly knocked, I raced over to him on stumbling feet until they eventually gave out and I crashed next to him. My gashed up hand seized the sleeve of his writhing arm, leaving a dark red smear on the cloth. “The ring…” he desperately gargled the words out. Dumbledore wasn’t breaking character, so why should I?
With my unwounded hand, I snatched the hem of my sweater, wrapped it around the ring, and squeezed it off his finger. I’d seen what skin contact had done for him. I didn’t want the same.
As soon as it was off, Dumbledore took his wand in his offhand and cast a nonverbal spell on the cursed one that briefly halted its invasion. “It seems that I have… ungh-! Made yet another mistake.” His neck went limp, but I caught it before it could thud on the floor. Though I heard something splatter. Apparently, I’d put another one of the wardrobe department’s items in the red. “I had hoped to postpone this particular lesson till a more appropriate occasion,” his speech was coming out jilted and slurred. “But perhaps we should, as the saying goes, strike while the iron is hot. Get us back to the castle, Harry. And get…the…sword.”
“Fawkes!” Had to unclench my teeth for that yell.]
David Yates hadn’t even finished the monosyllabic cut before the two stand-by medics rushed onto the scene.
Gambon, in stark contrast to how he was just moments ago, spryly leapt onto his feet and got out of the way. The nurse snatched my wrist and got a quick look. “Gauze!” and applied pressure to stem the bleeding. “It’s deep, Bas. But not to worry, just a handful of sutures and I promise we’ll have you right as rain.” She did, however, throw a suspicious glance at the dusty set around us. “Probably best to give you a tetanus shot while we’re at it.”
As I watched her ensure my hand remained in one piece, only one question popped into my mind. “Did we get the shot at least?” There wasn’t a need to stare down the lens this time because the cinematographer brought his head out at my inquiry and looked at me like I was a complete moron.
“Did I or did I not say? Not an ounce of self preservation.”
Says the man wagging his chin without a drop of empathy. Natural reflexes activated, my good hand nabbed his faux beard, and whipped it like a dirty sheet, sending a plume of dust in his face. Not so easy to talk shit when you’re coughing it up, is it?
Unsurprisingly, a half eaten bourbon biscuit fell out.
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