Chapter 33: High Tea (Patreon)

Chapter 33: High Tea

Bas’ Caravan, Leavesden. November 2007.

Over the past few weeks, when I wake up in the morning, it’s usually been me grumbling at the sunlight streaming in through my window when it hurts my eyes. 

But today, instead of the prospect of throwing punches at production bearing heavy on my mind, the only thing keeping me buried in bed was the cocooned warmth of my sheets and the comforting clanks of Cadbury cooking in the carriage kitchen. Toasty would best describe it - especially if what my nose was sniffing out was true. 

No more nonsense. With the same irritation that wearing an itchy cardigan inspires, I whipped off my blanket. 

Core engaged, knees to chest, and a final push off let me kip up and off my mattress. Ten outta ten for dismount. The crowd goes wild!

My attached and currently occupied kitchenette was pretty narrow, but Cadbury’s back was wide enough for me to drape myself across. “Look at you, Mr Rhys. Chipper this morning?” 

Resting my head on her shoulder, I watched her pour a spoonful of loose leaf black tea into a pot of boiling water. “Positively bubbly. And why wouldn’t I be? The world’s finally alright with me.”

“Freshen up. Breakfast will be done by then. You have a busy day ahead.” 

Arms stretched till my fingers were tickling the roof. I spun on my heel and made for the loo. “And I know it’s gonna be a lovely day.”

Now I could have taken the normal route and walked across the gravel path up to the sound stages, but a ray of light spilling across the ground felt like it was pointing me elsewhere. “Let’s take a shortcut.” Literally walking on sunshine, I chose instead to cut across the lawn for a quicker trip in my eagerness to get to work. 

Far from being the only one who had chosen to take advantage of this wonderful morning, a few of the other young actors who played the Hogwarts students spread across the grass and frolicked around. 

Matt Lewis, who played Crabbe, had once again gone through super puberty, was square in the middle of the route I was taking.

As I got closer, his hand went up, palm facing out. That could only mean one thing. I wasn’t about to deny myself the opportunity. “Good morning to you too, Matthew!” My feet left the ground and my hand landed on his with a nice, tight slap.

“Wha-?”

An excess of vim and a surge of vigour ran through me as I landed back on earth and continued my wide strides. Only the ample morning dew prevented any dust from trailing behind me.

“Not to dampen your mood, Mr Rhys, but I do believe that young man had his arm extended to catch a frisbee.”

“Don’t be silly, Cadbury.” Her mainframe seems to have received a comedienne update. “He was clearly waiting to give me a high-five.” 

“Ow! My nose!” What a funny girl my robot was.

“Quite.”

That one high-five turned into a full round of back thumps, tight hugs, and cheek kisses the minute I reached set. “Took its time this year, but now that you all are here, it finally feels like Harry Potter’s vacation is ending.” 

“You’re telling me, old boy. Almost missed the train this year, eh?” Richard Griffiths’ bright smile was visible even under Vernon Dursley’s lush whiskers. 

“Please. Like I’d do the movie without you guys.” David Heyman wasn’t a dummy - that was usually my job. He wasn’t about to just let the talent loose in the middle of a script dispute.

On the back burner might’ve been where the Dursleys had been deposited, but at least they were kept warm. Especially now that Harry wasn’t about to flirt with a random waitress in an underground train station cafe, (at Yates’ prior behest) I could appropriately abuse my actor colleagues.

“Flatterer!” Fiona Shaw’s freshly done manicure found purchase on my cheeks. Good chance I come out with dimples today. “What mischief have you been getting yourself into?” A serious far cry from Petunia’s usually manic mien. 

“The volcanic kind, from what the other kids were saying. But lookin’ at you now, I really don’t know what twaddle they were talking ‘bout. So is it true or not? Heard you’ve been dropping bombs on the director these days.” The guy actually named Harry - last name Melling - did the direct opposite of Dudley Dursley and took an interest in my life.

So I reciprocated. “Blown out of proportion, I assure you. There was a little turbulence at the beginning, but I promise it should be smoother than butter from here on out. Speaking of fat, where the hell is yours? I barely recognized you, mate. You’ve dropped more pounds than I have bombs. Congratulations, wow!” 

“Thanks, Bas. Too bad I’m getting shoved into a fat suit, though.”

“All that fanfare, and not even a simple hello for me. Astonishing to see where I stand in your eyes, dear boy.” Oh yeah, Michael Gambon was here too, still in the process of getting the horse hairs glued on to his face. 

“When it comes to the Dursleys, I’ve got to get my positive energy out before we film. In your case, I’m keeping my joy contained for our on camera reunion.” No Vick’s required.

“Fair enough. You are just about the giddiest I’ve ever seen you. I take it you found an adequate solution to your stress problem?” I wish. Nat Tena had recently put a band together, so she’d found someone else to strum her guitar.

“Nothing like that. I just… feel like I’ve turned a new leaf.”

“Is that what the youths are calling it nowadays?” Gambon brought his thumb and index finger in a circle to his pursed lips. “In my era, we used to call it the swami’s cigar.”

“No, we didn’t-!” Griffiths immediately clamped all five of his fingers over his loose lips.

“Richard!” Fiona found it particularly scandalous.

Harry’s glasses slid on to the bridge of my nose; and for the first time since October, I feel like him. Even though we’ve been actively shooting, I’ve ironically held the impression that I’ve done more acting off the stage than on it. “Man, I missed you guys!”

“Action!” Time to get back to work. I couldn’t be happier about it.

[A clock’s loud ticking was the only sound inside the room as I sat on Harry’s messy cot. 

The camera did a slow pan of my packed trunk, Hedwig’s empty cage, and all the different prophet editions strewn about the place until it focused on Dumbledore’s signed letter held loosely in my grip.

The camera pulled back with a reverse dolly zoom, revealing the full tableau as I sat in a dark room with only the lights masquerading as street lamps outside my window. The lights highlighted the very edge of my figure and reflected off my glasses as I staunchly stared outside.

Suddenly, one by one, lamps turned off, drowning everything in jet blackness. The doorbell rang. Dumbledore was here.

We shifted to a secondary rig after I reached my marker at the top of the house stairs. 

I was well out of frame for the moment as the focus was on a distressed and rapidly purpling Vernon struggling to shut his stalwartly stuck door as Dumbledore casually walked into the home in unashamedly wizardy regalia. “Good evening. You must be Mr. Dursley. I daresay, judging by your look of stunned disbelief, Harry did not warn you that I was coming.” Dumbledore dipped his head and peered up at me from above his half-moon specs. The camera rotated and snapped to me. “Doubtful that I would turn up, Harry?”

“Force of habit, Professor.” Just twisting the knife. If he could take a bite out of the Dursleys, then I could do the same to him. 

“It is a long time since my last visit.” Dumbles took that in the same stride as his confident march deeper into the home. By this time, and because of the commotion, both Dudley and Petunia poked their heads out from their respective corners like a couple of startled meerkats. “Petunia, we have corresponded, of course. Ah, and this must be your son, Dudley?” Dumbledore continued to move past them and into the sitting room. “Shall we assume you have invited me inside?” And made himself cozy in Vernon’s favourite chair.

I thundered down the stairs just as nonchalantly and joined him, leaving the gaping Dursleys a step slower to enter. “Aren’t we leaving, sir?”

“Indeed, we are, Harry. We shall trespass on your aunt and uncle’s hospitality only a little longer.”

“Oh. Well, they’re used to unwanted guests.” Me as a prime example.

Vernon ignored my comment with practiced ease. “You will, will you?”

“Yes, I shall.” Dumbledore gently brandished his knobby wand from inside his cavernous sleeve and held it in his (as of yet) untarnished hand; which would look far more gnarly soon. “We may as well be comfortable.” He flicked the wand, and the two green guys holding the couch, which itself was on rails, burst into motion. The sofa swerved around the huddled form of the Dursleys standing in their marker and swept them off their feet and on to the cushions before zooming back into its original position. “I would assume that you were going to offer me refreshment, but the evidence so far suggests that that would be optimistic to the point of foolishness.” Another flick of his wand summoned a second batch of boys in green morph suits - this time rushing in from the kitchen carrying Petunia’s prized tea set. Three men floated three cups and began buzzing and bonking the cutlery around the Dursley’s heads.

The Dursleys ducked and covered their noggins at the abrupt porcelain assault. “Get these ruddy things off us.” Neither Dumbledore nor I took heed. 

“Well, Harry, there are a few matters we need to discuss pertaining to the Order and your inheritance through Sirius.” Dumbledore began.

“Inheritance!?” Given the pitch they’d been squawking at, it could have been any of them.

“Not here.” Kreacher could have his conniption at the Burrow. The Dursleys were distressed to my satisfaction - I still had to return to Privet next summer after all. 

“Just one last thing, then.” And he turned to speak to the Dursleys once more. They quieted down, and the cups stopped being Hufflepuffs, too (because badgering). 

“They won’t care, you know?” My tone carried fifteen years of resigned acceptance.

Dumbledore pushed on with fifteen years of regret. “Harry, whom Lord Voldemort has already attempted to kill on a number of occasions, is in even greater danger now than the day when I left him upon your doorstep fifteen years ago, with a letter explaining about his parents’ murder and expressing the hope that you would care for him as though he were your own. You did not do as I asked. He has known nothing but neglect and often cruelty at your hands. The magic I evoked fifteen years ago means that Harry has powerful protection while he can still call this house ‘home.’ However miserable he has been here, however unwelcome, however badly treated, you have at least, grudgingly, allowed him houseroom. This magic will cease to operate the moment that Harry turns seventeen. I ask only this: that you allow Harry to return, once more, to this house, before his seventeenth birthday, which will ensure that the protection continues until that time.”

None of the Dursleys said anything. So I spoke for them. “This isn’t Hogwarts, sir. Brick walls don’t talk back here. We should get going.”

“Very well, Harry.” Dumbledore turned away from the Dursleys and threw me one last apologetic glance before donning his more jovial mask again. We both rose together. He stuck out his unblemished hand for me to take, which I did without complaint. “Let us step out and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure. The first of many of which we begin together tonight.” Bye Dursleys, hello Slughorn.

 The CGI would end the scene with a loud crack as we apparated right from where we were stood in front of the Dursleys.]