Chapter 16.5: Funny Face

Leavesden Studios, UK. April 2005.

“Turn to the left, then turn to the right. Now strike a pose.” You’d think with filming now completely and totally finished, there wouldn’t be so many cameras pointed in my face.

Snap, snap, snap! The shuttering lens of the photographer’s camera clicked out louder than rapid fire artillery.

Oops the owl, one of the seven snowy owls that played Hedwig, flapped his wings irritably, nearly knocking the patterned cloth off my head. “You are scaring the bird, Bas. Hold it more gently.”

Motherfucker, this was your fault! “The thrashing had less to do with me and more to do with that cannon blasting in our direction.” My patience was running thinner than the band of protective leather around my forearm, stopping an angry raptor from digging into my tender flesh.

“Canon? But I am using a Sony.” I would have paid to see that thing flash her blind. No such luck though, because she was a little too good at her job.

The deal between Warner Bros. and Uniqlo was hot out of the oven and ready to serve. But before I could get my slice of that cake, we’d have to put a little bit of icing on it. Which is precisely what this Harry Potter themed photoshoot for the new line of Uniqlo fall catalogue being shot was.

Me taking first billing also tended to mean that I’d be the first up for slaughter. 

So here I was, a dinosaur in one hand and a wooden stick in the other, posing while frolicking in an artificial forest in an advertisement for the new line of sleepwear, which included the hooded robe I was wearing with tiny graphics like lightning bolts, glasses, snitches, and other various runic symbols - being stylized as the invisibility cloak.

“Now for the closeup.” I did my best blue steel for the camera as she zoomed in to get an excellent shot of the gold wire frames perched halfway down my nose. “None of that. Just smile.”

I tucked my wand behind my ear, hooked one finger on the inside of my cheek, and stretched it out. How’s that for a smile?

Schadenfreude was the word of the day. I very much was deriving joy from watching my co-stars suffer through the same fate that I had been.

Any child actor who would be on screen for over 10 seconds had been drafted. 

Next in line were the sports jerseys, which would have four specific variations according to the different Hogwarts houses. And who better to showcase that than Harry Potter’s quidditch team? The three chaser girls, me and the twins, were beaten into position.

The six of us stood in the narrow tunnel that was the entrance to the quidditch pitch, with our flying brooms in hand.

We were all decked out in a pair of white track pants with red and gold lettering spelling out Gryffindor all the way down the side of the leg. Up top, we were wearing red sweatshirts emblazoned with the house crest on the front and the different quidditch positions arched across the back. Seeker, beater, chaser, and keeper. 

Mine, though, was a little different and had sprung a leak in my colleagues’ egos. Streaked across the length between my shoulder-blades was ‘Potter’ in bold letters. 

Oliver Phelps leaned on his broom and addressed his brother. “Reckon we ought to pants him again?” Good thing I hadn’t gone commando today.

Twin number two, James teased the waist of my sweats with the bristles of his broom. “Nah, mate. I wanted a laugh, but the way the girls back there giggled wasn’t what I was looking for. Couldn’t keep their eyes off Mr Tight Arse over here.”

“Liked what they saw, huh?” I swatted the prop away.

“Yes, we did - I mean no, we didn’t-! We didn’t linger, ok!” The actress playing Katie Bell fumbled over herself. 

The catcalls and wolf whistles that descended on the poor girl suddenly transformed the shoot into a zoo. My voice included. What? I needn’t be the (literal) butt of every joke, must I?

The flashing lights of the camera strobed as we moved this Gryffindor party to the common room.

The dress code at this shindig was lounge and leisure. Hoodies, shorts, loose fit home clothes, and the sort of clothes most would wear on a day-to-day basis. Not a single cut of fabric without the loud reminders that these clothes were indeed Harry Potter themed.

Though Harry Potter wasn’t the only one here.

Front and center were the two youngest Weasleys, who were very much the focus of this particular scene.

Rupert and Karen Gillan were stood on a table placed in front of the fireplace, in what were obviously Weasley sweaters. 

Another offering being made available in all twenty-six letters of the alphabet.

The pair of redheads dynamically play dueled each other with their wands while the rest of us in the peanut gallery pretended to have a good time. 

This included any student at Hogwarts who had a named part, from Alicia Spinnet to Zacharias Smith, and the Patil twins sandwiched in-between. I threw my arm over Dan Radcliffe next to me as we listened to the awkward shuffling of the duo’s feet. “I wish they’d at least play some music over the speakers.” 

“Wouldn’t have helped. Remember the dance lessons? These two couldn’t find a beat by accident.”

Karen pinned me with a glare, “if you weren’t the reason we’re all getting paid for this, I’d toss my boot at you.”

“Shoe won’t get through that thick skull of his. I’ve got something better.” Rupert, with the grace of a luchador, leapt from the table. 

I wasn’t sure if the snaps that followed were from the cameras or from the rattling furniture.

Gryffindor wasn’t the only house being advertised. The purposeful strike of clacks as polished shoes met stone steps debuted the Slytherins’ time in the limelight.

Uniqlo was also launching a selection of formal wear. Crisp shirts, sleek trousers, dark jackets, and the aforementioned shiny shoes.

Felton condescendingly buffed his nails on his jacket while being surrounded by Draco’s posse. 

The actress playing Pansy draped herself over him. She lifted her leg a little to show off the Slytherin skirts and stockings. Goyle and Crabbe sat by their legs at the foot of the Hogwarts staircase. 

There wasn’t a pastier rap group in all the world. It was missing just the one thing.

“Needs more leather!” Felton flinched. I’d taken great pleasure in introducing him to the latest fan fiction craze that was leather pants Draco.

Poor guy had yet to recover from the horrors of discovering that particular trope. 

“I’m going to find the highest point on Leavesden, and throw you off of it, Bas.”

Speaking of high places, the next stop on our photography tour ended up being at the owlery set, for a more intimate set of photographs. The dozens of wide eyes staring at them, none of which belong to predatory birds, heavily stymied any real potential for romance, I imagine.

But as Pattinson had proven earlier, and I knew would prove in the future too, he was a pro. He ignored everything and with affected affection placed his palm on Katie Leung’s cheek just below her ear to highlight her Ravenclaw themed earrings. 

Katie as Cho was an important inclusion in the photo set not only because she was one of the few prominent Ravenclaws in the story so far but also because she was the soul, token, Asian character who could be used for representation in Uniqlo’s currently established Asian markets as well. The two looked mighty cozy as she pretended to adjust Cedric’s Hufflepuff themed scarf around his collar.

While watching the fake couple, I couldn't help but feel sorry for China, as they had only just managed to prevent a SARS outbreak, but now faced the unstoppable spread of yellow fever.

But as far as Hogwarts’ heartstrings were concerned, no one could tug them harder than Hermione.

I knew I featured on the pin boards of teen girls everywhere, but I wasn’t oblivious or arrogant enough to believe that the number of people who had Emma’s face plastered on their wall didn’t absolutely dwarf mine.

Like the rows and shelves of tomes behind us, Rupert and I were little better than background decoration for the focus shot on Emma as Hermione. 

A Hogwarts themed school bag was propped up on some library books in the foreground while Emma tried and failed to act cutesy. 

Despite its relative simplicity out of all the sessions so far, this set of photos was taking the longest. Like the wand she was chewing on, Emma’s smile was wooden.

Rupert had taken his own rucksack, fluffed it, and unceremoniously dropped his head on it and made the bag a makeshift pillow. You’d think the photographer would have smacked him awake, but they’d only praised his character work and happily let the little bugger take a nap on the job.

Which was not a privilege I was allowed to experience.

The only thing serving as a distraction was the quill in my hand, but by now I’d fiddled with it as much as I could, short of stabbing myself with its pointy end to keep me awake.

I rested one side of my face in my palm and stared at Emma as she tried to show off the clips in her hair. My eyes drifted to the nape of her neck. Completely undefended. My gaze darted to the feathered quill I was twirling between my fingers.

How could I possibly resist?

I did something I wasn’t supposed to do and stared into the camera lens. This immediately caught the photographer’s attention. She frowned at me and tilted her head in confusion.

I put one finger over my lips and silently urged everyone to keep quiet so that Emma wouldn’t notice.

With zero decibels and less professionalism, I mouthed the words ‘Take the picture.’

Even though her brain might not have fully caught up, I knew well that the photographer’s trigger finger was itchier than the feather I tickled Emma’s neck with.

“Ah!” Emma gasped. Her hand clamped over the spot. She recoiled, and her eyes and mouth opened in wide circles.

Click!

Quicker than a whip, she turned to face me. I taunted her by waving the feather. Her brows fell and her lips pouted as she set her expression in a cute scowl.

Click!

The way her wavy locks flew, I’m sure the clips would be far more noticeable.

Her free hand struck out as she tried to snatch the quill away from me. I rocked back in my chair, tore my hand out of reach, and allowed a broad, toothy smirk to spill out.

With no other form of retribution available to her, Emma defaulted to her last resort. She stuck her tongue out at me.

Click!

“Why do you have to bully me all the time?”

“I don’t have to, Emma. I just choose to.”

“Ugh! you’re such a boy. Now we’ll have to take the pictures all over again!”

I wiggled the feather in front of her face and gestured to the staff, who were eagerly poring over the latest batch of images that they’d sneakily captured. “Au contraire. Something tells me we’re done.”

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