A fat man, Vernon Dursley, stood in front of his SUV, which had been packed to the brim with household items. Cardboard boxes were jammed into the boot, with cushions, lamp shades, and plastic-wrapped crockery visible through the back window. A trailer was attached to the back of the car that was filled with larger furniture.
"Come on, Petunia, Dudley!" he called out, his voice impatient.
Inside the house, Petunia Dursley stood motionless in the front hallway. The walls, once decorated with family portraits and framed certificates, were now bare. Her gaze drifted to the cupboard under the stairs, its door slightly ajar. It was the same cramped cupboard that had been her nephew Harry Potter's bedroom for nearly a decade.
I walked up behind her and spoke gently. "Uncle Vernon's been calling you."
"I know," she said, not turning to look at me. Her voice was thick with emotion. "I've lived in this house for twenty years, and suddenly I'm expected to leave it all behind."
"They will torture you, don't you understand?" I replied, my voice rising with frustration. "If they think for even a second that you know where I am, they'll stop at nothing to get that information."
She spun around, her eyes burning. "Do you think I don't know what they're capable of? You're not the only one who lost someone that night in Godric's Hollow. I lost a sister."
I placed my hand on the open cupboard door and looked inside meaningfully. "You made damn sure I didn't know that." My voice was cold, sharp with the resentment that had been simmering for years.
She choked back a sob, unable to offer any response.
Before the moment could unravel any further, footsteps echoed from the hallway as three people entered—Dudley, followed by Tonks and Remus. Dudley looked more mature now, his frame broader, his eyes more thoughtful.
"It's time to go, Mum," Dudley said softly.
Petunia wiped her tears quickly and gave a single nod. Dudley then glanced at me, confused. "Wait, why isn't he coming?"
Petunia's guilt deepened, visible in the trembling of her lips, but she remained silent.
"We'll keep him safe," Tonks assured him with a kind smile. She turned to me. "Doesn't your relatives know how good you are with a wand?"
I shrugged, my tone indifferent. "I don't care. They all think I'm a waste of space anyway."
An awkward silence fell over us.
Then, unexpectedly, Dudley stepped forward and extended his hand. "I don't think you're a waste of space."
I stared at him, seeing him in a new light, then reached out to clasp his hand. "Thanks, Big D." A ghost of a smile formed on my face.
Dudley gave a short nod and turned to leave. Petunia lingered for a moment longer, her eyes red and glassy as she looked at me. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
Without waiting for a reply, she followed her son outside. The front door closed behind them, and the three of us watched from the window as the car backed out of the driveway and disappeared down the street.
Remus placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. "You okay, Harry?"
I didn't answer. My eyes remained fixed on the street, though I wasn't really looking at anything.
Tonks broke the silence, her voice cheerful and warm. "Anyway… Remus and I wanted to share some big news with you."
I turned toward her, curious.
"We got married last week!"
The moment the words landed, my face lit up with joy. "That's great news, you two!" I stepped forward and wrapped Remus in a hug, then did the same with Tonks. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
They exchanged a brief, knowing look before Remus elaborated, his voice steady but subdued. "Because of the new anti-werewolf laws, I couldn't legally marry Tonks. So… we had a private ceremony in an old Muggle chapel."
The air seemed to shift, the earlier warmth fading. A moment that had just brought joy now carried the heavy weight of reality. The laws he mentioned were part of a recent wave of oppressive regulations passed by the Ministry of Magic, which had fallen under Voldemort's control. The new Minister of Magic was nothing more than a puppet, his strings pulled by the Dark Lord himself. These changes, and their chilling consequences, would later be shown to viewers through a rapid montage of Daily Prophet clippings at the beginning of the film—headlines that grew darker with each frame.
Tonks tried to ease the silence. "The others should be coming here any time," she said casually, just as a knock echoed through the room.
"Cut!"
The illusion shattered as Alfonso Cuarón's voice rang out from behind the camera. "Alright, everyone! That's a wrap for day 24 of 240!"
Applause and chatter followed across the set as crew members began moving around us. "We're already ten percent there!" Alfonso added with a grin, addressing the team enthusiastically.
A few people from the continuity department hurried over with cameras, snapping photographs of me, Natalia, and David—our costumes slightly rumpled from the emotional scene. These shots would ensure everything matched perfectly when we returned to shoot the rest of the scene, which involved the Order of the Phoenix arriving to escort Harry away from the Dursley home.
As I watched Alfonso chat animatedly with the assistant director, I couldn't help but think about the scale of this production. Dad and the other Warner Bros. producers had estimated the shoot would span 240 days. But with the pace Alfonso was moving, it wouldn't shock me if we wrapped up a full month earlier. His style was sharp, efficient, and yet never rushed—precisely what a project like [Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows] needed.
While I loved Harry Potter to death, It couldn't compare to working on [The Dark Knight] set because of the breathing room I had there. On that set, I wasn't needed every single day. But in Harry Potter, everything centered around Harry. That meant more screen time for me than for the next three actors combined. Even on days when someone else was filming, I was often still called in for insert shots, promos, or photo sessions.
"Troy," Natalia Tena said, walking up beside me. "That was some great acting."
Was it? It had felt like a fairly standard scene to me. Still, I smiled. "Thanks. You two were amazing as well."
Natalia leaned forward eagerly and continued, "I just watched [The Dark Knight] yesterday, and my God," she shook her head in disbelief. "I still can't believe that was you."
"It was me," I replied with a small grin.
"It was one of the finest villain performances I've ever seen," David added quietly. He didn't speak much, but when he did, he made sure it mattered.
I nodded at him in appreciation. "Thank you."
"So… will there be any sequels?" Natalia asked curiously, hoping for inside information.
"There could be," I said. "But I haven't seen any scripts yet. Until I do, I won't say for sure. I'm a little picky about what movie I do next."
She gave a thoughtful nod. "Well, someone in your position has every right to be. Character actors like David and I scramble for whatever roles we can get our hands on."
I already saw where this conversation was headed.
"Speaking of that," she added, her tone hopeful but cautious, "do you think you could help me get a role after Harry Potter is over?"
I glanced over at David Thewlis, hoping to read his reaction, but the man gave no indication of wanting the same thing. Then again, he was a seasoned actor with decades of work behind him, and unlike Natalia, he was being paid significantly more for his role in the film. He could afford to stay unemployed for a few years after this movie. She couldn't.
"I can put in a word with my mother. She's working on a few TV shows at the moment. Would that be acceptable to you?" I offered.
"Definitely!" Natalia beamed, clearly thrilled. "Thank you."
I had gotten quite used to such behaviour with people over the years. Ever since news came out about my real net worth, such requests have only amplified. With so many people asking me for jobs, from actors to writers to directors, I would just send recommendations to my team to see if there is a role for them. Unlike my close friends, like Jamie Bell or Michael B. Jordan, everyone else has to give an audition for any role they are selected for.
I waved off Natalia's gratitude casually. "I'd love to chat more, but I have a concert to prepare for tomorrow. Are you guys coming?"
It was something I had promised my fans early in my career—that I would hold at least one concert in whichever city I was filming in, if possible. This time, it happened to be London—my home turf. Tickets sold out quickly every time, but I always kept a handful reserved for the cast and crew. Not once had a single reserved ticket gone unclaimed.
"We are," Natalia said enthusiastically. "I love your music. Though I think you could add a little accordion to it to make it even better. I volunteer my services if you want."
I laughed. It was a running joke between us ever since [Echoes of You] was released. Natalia was a professional accordion player and was thus interested in playing the instrument in one of my songs.
"I'll keep that under advisement," I said with amusement, before stepping off the set. I really did have a concert to get ready for.
(Break)
"Do we need to audition for this role?" I joked, leaning back slightly in my chair. That got a laugh out of the two men seated across from me.
Scarlett, seated beside me, chuckled. "I'm pretty sure they didn't fly across the Atlantic just to take our audition."
"We didn't," said Nathan Greno, the younger of the two directors. "The moment I heard that you two were interested in hearing a pitch for the film, the roles were already yours. At least as far as we're concerned."
"Exactly," Byron Howard added with a nod. "We're mostly here to give you a narration—so you don't end up with Dreamworks, our biggest competitor."
I grinned. "Someone has good connections to have that information."
Byron responded with a casual shrug, his expression unreadable.
Out of all the animated film ideas Benji had shortlisted for me, I'd narrowed it down to two—[How to Train Your Dragon] and [Rapunzel]. In another timeline, the latter would eventually be retitled as [Tangled], but for now, it still bore the name of the classic fairytale heroine. When I told Scarlett that I wanted to do a family-friendly movie, something my little sister could enjoy, she expressed a desire to be part of it.
I'd contacted both Disney and Dreamworks to feel out the two projects, but Disney made the first move, expressing strong interest in casting us as Rapunzel and Flynn Rider.
"I'm sure you're familiar with the classic tale of Rapunzel?" Byron asked.
"Sure," I replied. "If you mean the one where she gets ousted from her tower for getting pregnant with the prince's child? And the prince ends up blind after falling from the tower into thorns? I have a feeling Disney might want a more kid-friendly version."
Nathan smiled. "We do. It's not a direct adaptation of the original fairy tale, for obvious reasons. We've taken creative liberties to make the story more engaging and more suited to Disney's tone and style. I've got the script here."
Nathan pulled out two copies of the script from his bag and handed one each to Scarlett and me. I took mine carefully.
"Now, shall we begin the narration?" Byron asked, ready to launch into it.
I raised a hand to stop him. "Before that, there's a condition we'd like written into our contracts if we go forward with this film."
Both men paused. I took a moment before continuing.
"I'm doing this film for my little sister. She would love to see Scarlett and me in a Disney princess movie like this. And keeping the target audience in mind, the marketing should focus primarily on Rapunzel."
I motioned toward Scarlett, whose long golden hair mirrored the character she would be portraying.
"Of course," Nathan said with a nod. "It's titled Rapunzel, after all."
"It is," I agreed, "but I know how this industry works. If I'm voicing a prince in a fairytale, people might assume it's a supporting role, which I'm fine with. But someone in marketing might decide to rebrand the film with something 'neutral' like [Unbraided], [Tangled], or even [Rapunzel and the Prince]."
Byron frowned at the idea. "If they do that, they'd be stupid. You don't make a film as iconic as [Rapunzel] and then give it a name that's vague or forgettable."
"Exactly," I said. "You're making the movie, and I trust you'll do a fantastic job. But I want a clause in the contract stating that the title will remain [Rapunzel]—and that it won't be changed without agreement from both Scarlett and me."
Byron and Nathan exchanged a look. Nathan finally responded, "I'm sure we can convince our superiors to accept that condition."
I nodded. "As long as that's clear, go ahead with the narration."
The next hour flew by. As the story unfolded, it became clearer and clearer that this was the same magical film I had loved in my first life. The tone, the humor, the heart—it was all there. Naturally, I said yes to the project.
Byron and Nathan left not long after, satisfied with the meeting. Everything seemed perfect. But as soon as they left, I sensed something was off.
We sat on the couch in my living room, a quiet warmth between us. I had my arm around Scarlett's shoulders, her back to my chest as she idly changed channels on TV without stopping for anything.
"You seem conflicted," I said gently. "Everything alright?"
She didn't answer immediately. Then she exhaled softly. "When I said yes to the movie, I hadn't realized it was a musical…"
I waited for her to elaborate, but when she stayed quiet, I asked, "So? I still don't see the problem."
She sighed again. "Of course you don't. I… I'm not as good a singer as you. And I'm supposed to be the lead in this film. Shouldn't they cast someone who can sing better?"
I gave her a disbelieving look. "Have you smoked something? You have a beautiful voice."
She shook her head, her expression serious. "A music label offered me a deal last year to launch my debut album. I turned it down. I knew I couldn't match someone like you vocally. So I decided it's better to stick to what I'm good at—acting."
"Thank God you hate my acting then," I said sarcastically. "Or you'd stop doing that too, just because you think I'm better than you."
"Of course you're a better actor than me," she shot back without hesitation. "But that's different because…"
She trailed off, her voice faltering. I didn't say a word, letting the silence sit between us. Letting her connect the dots on her own. A few moments passed, thick with tension, before I leaned forward, cupped her face in my hands, and kissed her fiercely. She returned the kiss just as hungrily.
When we pulled apart, I looked her straight in the eye. "You are one big dummy," I said slowly, then gave her nose a playful pinch.
"Singing isn't just about your voice. It's about your technique. I've heard singers with voices that sound like gravel when they talk, but when they sing? Pure magic. And it's because they practice. That's all you need—practice. And knowing you, I've got no doubt you'll be incredible in no time."
She hesitated, biting her lower lip. Then she gave a reluctant nod. "Alright… I'll try."
I smiled, proud of her for accepting that. But she still looked uncertain. So I decided to do something that might lift her mood.
Carefully, I slipped out from behind her on the couch. She let out a little groan of protest as my warmth left her back, but I only grinned as I crossed the room to the far wall.
There, mounted just above my vinyl collection, hung my emergency guitar. I called it Emergency for a reason—you never knew when inspiration would strike, and this one had saved more tunes than I could count. I walked back to her and turned off the TV.
"What're you doing?" she asked, watching me curiously.
"Showing you how much you mean to me," I replied seriously as I unhooked the guitar and checked the tuning. "I'm singing this tonight at the concert, but I didn't want to ambush you with it in front of everyone like last time."
I gave the strings a gentle strum, the melody blooming in the quiet room. Then I began to sing, my newest song, one meant just for her. At least for now.
[Beautiful Things - Benson Boone]
~For a while there, it was rough
But lately, I've been doin' better
Than the last four cold Decembers I recall
And I see my family every month
I found a girl my parents love
She'll come and stay the night, and I think I might have it all
And I thank God every day
For the girl He sent my way
But I know the things He gives me, He can take away
And I hold you every night
And that's a feeling I wanna get used to
But there's no man as terrified as the man who stands to lose you~
Her grin widened with every lyric. Her eyes sparkled, even as they brimmed with tears. And when I finished the final chord, she stood up, crossed the room in two strides, and pulled me into a kiss that was anything but subtle.
The impromptu snogging session that followed told me everything I needed to know: she didn't just like the song—she loved it.
(Break)
~Oh, I hope I don't losе you
Mm, please stay
I want you, I need you, oh God
Don't take
Thеse beautiful things that I've got~
In honor of the original singer of the song, I executed a perfect backflip just as the final note faded into the night. The crowd erupted, their cheers soaring above the music, and the sea of glowing xylobands pulsed brighter in response.
I ended the performance on a high note—both musically and emotionally—and I knew then and there that this song would be my next number-one. There was no doubt in my mind.
"Thank you, everyone!" I called out to the roaring crowd, breathless but elated. "That's all for tonight! I had an amazing time, and I hope you did too!"
The audience responded with a thunderous roar, waving their light-up wristbands in synchronized motion.
"My team is working on bringing more shows to the city," I added. "As soon as I get a little more time away from the madness that is the final [Harry Potter] film, I'll definitely be back for another concert."
That promise was met with even louder cheers, and I gave a final wave before stepping off the stage.
Once backstage, I unclipped the mic from my shirt and made a beeline for my dressing room. The adrenaline was still coursing through me, but exhaustion was beginning to seep into my limbs. Performing with that level of energy after six straight days of filming was brutal. All I wanted now was to lie down, go home, and sleep like a log. I made a mental note to message Alfonso and ask if he could push my scenes later tomorrow.
Just as the thought crossed my mind, there was a knock at the door.
Benji peeked in a second later. His expression was unreadable, but something in his eyes caught my attention—maybe a mix of nerves and awe?
I didn't move from the couch, just raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"
"Troy, we've got a few VIP guests who'd like to meet you. And I think… you should," he said, his voice measured.
There was something in his tone. Was it deference? Unease? Or something else?
"Who is it?" I asked, rubbing my eyes tiredly.
Benji lowered his voice, as if not wanting to be heard by the said guests, "Prince William, Kate Middleton, and Prince Harry."
Oh.
Well, that was awkward.
Thanks to their disgraced uncle, Prince Andrew, things between me and the royal family were… complicated, to say the least. I'd never mentioned him publicly by name, but anyone with a brain could piece together the timeline. In the original world, he'd walked away without consequence. In this one, he technically still had—but not without some serious dents in his reputation that came much earlier. Dents I had helped hammer in.
I sat up, my fatigue vanishing like mist. "Alright. Bring them in."
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AN: Visit my personal website to read ahead, or check out my second Hollywood story set in the 80s.
Link: www(dot)fablefic(dot)com