Chapter 1: Warn A Brother

Cardiff, Wales. January 2000.

Transmigrating twenty-two years in the past into the body of a seven-year-old may seem like a massive inconvenience, but to the ill-prepared mind, re-life was the next great adventure. The mechanics of my arrival in the time-stream would remain a mystery till my dying day. 

My last memory of my past (technically the defunct future) was an overwhelming impulse to sneeze - an impulse I readily capitulated to and suddenly found myself in a younger world, occupying a more youthful body. No amount of sneezing again launched me elsewhere or returned me, so the only choice was to roll with it. No moral dilemma required or wanted.

When I arrived here two years ago, all I had on me was a wad of cash and a student ID that helpfully provided my new name, Bas Rhys. Eight-years-old, 1998 class of primary four, Cardiff Public School, Wales.

Acclimating into this new environment was smooth. Being an orphan in boarding meant my dorm master, Mrs Stephens, regimented and handled my existence. And life went on for the next two years.

One thing I didn't mention, however, is my little cheat that came with transmigration. It wasn’t a system, but the very next best thing - regardless of device, I could access the internet in its 2020 state.

I am unaware whether this acquisition was from happenstance, a gift from the divine, or something I sold my soul for. What I do know is that I plan to exploit it for all it’s worth.

“Bas! Bas!” An excited knocking thundered at my bedroom door. I’d be seeing the first of my ill-gotten gains. 

I opened the door, letting in my guardian, Mrs Stephens, “is it my O-levels results?” She hurriedly thrust the already-opened letter containing my transcripts into my hands.

I’d gotten all eleven A* I knew, but humoured my over eager guardian.

We celebrated my success; Mrs Stephens gushed in pride at my prodigious accomplishment. And while adult comprehension made studying a breeze, cheating was a guaranteed outcome. Past papers for 2000 GCSE exams were readily available on 2020s internet.

“Oh! But this is such wonderful, wonderful news!” I reached over and grabbed her trembling hands. 

“It is Mrs Stephens, and I couldn’t possibly have done it without you.” 

She glomped on me after that, failing to hold back her tears. “Oh, you dear sweet boy. We must think about your next steps carefully now. No doubt 6th form colleges and perhaps even universities will line up to grab you!”

They sure would try. Unfortunately, I wasn’t truthfully a wunderkind, just someone with an accessible exploit. There wasn’t any way I’d be able to carry this level of performance into advanced academia. Best nip that in the bud. I had no intention of wasting away this chance at a new life by relegating myself into becoming a faceless cog for a multinational conglomerate. I desired money, power, and fame - not to mention the ass that would come along as a fringe benefit. 

These were the precise facets of either a celebrity or political career. I wasn’t totally morally bankrupt, so a political career was very far from my mind. And as the saying goes, there’s no business like show business.

“If they reach out, I’d be delighted to contact them. But we both know the admissions cycle won’t begin for another six months.” I wriggled out of her grasp, hurried over to my work desk, and pulled out a bulky envelope from the drawer. “In the meantime, I’d like your help to post this for me, please.”

She inspected the package curiously, turning it over in her hand to feel for what was inside the package. “This feels like a disc. To whom are you sending a DVD?”

“Hopefully, my future employers.” I showed her the printed advert for the casting call, put out to the World only a few days ago. Wanted: young British Muggle with a lightning-bolt scar.

Los Angeles, California. January 2000.

Chris Columbus sat irritated on his chair at the Warner Brothers offices. It was going to be another long, slogfest of a day poring over mediocre video submissions for the Harry Potter movie casting. 

Mercifully, they finished casting the adults months ago. It was just the child actors they had to fill out. The studio couldn’t afford anymore delays past filming commencing this July, or the project - or maybe just his position in it, just might be scrapped. 

Truthfully, he didn’t see the point of coming in to review the tapes today. He’d got his Hermione locked. They had discovered the young Watson girl on their school tours across the UK, and they also had a good pile to choose from for Ron Weasley - he especially liked the ginger kid who rapped in his audition video. What a dopey character, pretty spot on for his vision of Ron. 

The problem that was plaguing him, though, was that of Harry. 

After all, it is more than difficult making a movie without the titular character - no matter how much Steve Kloves, their screenwriter, would have preferred the movie to be titled ‘The Adventures of Hermione Granger’. 

An incomplete script without a concrete protagonist, yet the shoot was only a handful of months away. What a mess.

Chris sighed and rubbed his head. “Alright, that’s enough.” Chris turned over to the casting director, and David Heyman, the producer of the film. “Thoughts?”

The casting director gave a firm no, David made a so-so hand gesture. “I think let’s work from the shortlist we already have. I know we’ve got that Felton kid and Maggie Smith’s recommendation - the Radcliffe boy. He’s even acted before in Copperfield.”

Chris nodded in agreement. “Sounds good to me. Let’s finish up here so we can finally move on to the next step.” He gestured to his assistant to swap out the CD for a last one. 

By this point, most had checked out of the process. Chris himself rested his face on his hand, idly watching the grainy film on the CRT come to life. 

“Hi! My name is Bas Rhys, age ten, from Cardiff, Wales.” Chris’ eyebrow rose. The boy was decent to look at and fit the part - a little more latte than vanilla shake, but still acceptable. His deep black hair was a nest and on point, but most striking were his green, green eyes. Not a terrible start.

“I’d also like to introduce my audition partner,” the boy bent over and lifted a cardboard cutout of the Michelin Man. “We don’t have many chubsters at the orphanage, so the Michelin man seems like an appropriate stand-in for the Dursleys, I feel.” David Heyman chuckled, and sat a little straighter in his chair. Even his ever erstwhile casting director had a small smile on her lips. The boy was funny - clever too, mentioning his orphan status. Promising. More so when he’s so far been able to follow the simple instructions they’d sent out with the casting call - state your name, age, tell a joke, and read a paragraph from the books. Many failed to follow simple guidelines. Kids he could forgive, but their parents?

The boy - Bas Rhys - Chris committed to memory, enacted a scene from the first book; of a dialogue between Dudley and Harry. “No thanks, the toilet’s never had anything as horrible as your head down it - it might be sick.” Oh, this guy had the sass down. 

He thought back to the other candidates he had in mind for Harry; Radcliffe had a certain damaged intensity that he liked, but this kid had a chip on his shoulder that he’d not really seen from anyone else yet - must be a quality real orphans shared. Not quite what Kloves’ script was asking for - but if Chris was honest with himself, did more justice to the book character than the current screenplay did. 

Given his colleagues’ conspiratorial glances between each other, they were thinking the same thing. Bas Rhys was looking like a promising prospect. But, Chris himself, didn’t quite see a USP yet - that ‘It factor’. 

Then the boy did something borderline insane.

The screen cut to black, shifted to a top-down view of a public swimming pool with a diving board at the bottom of the shot. They were clearly very up high on a diving platform. Young Mr Rhys crouched down and waved a squeegee at the screen, “This isn’t the Nimbus 2000, but I thought I’d provide a quick flight test to show you how I might look during the quidditch scen-”

An off-screen voice abruptly interrupted with a shout. “Oi! Get down from there, you absolute nutter! That’s for adults only!” Bas Rhys turned to the camera one last time and looked determined, nodded, and walked off-screen. “Well, better get on with it before the pool rozzers catch me.”

Chris leaned forward and glued his eyes to the monitor - no was he going to - Bas ran back in view, squeegee between his legs as he took a flying leap off the board. He’d positioned the camera perfectly to capture the fall all the way down till he crashed head (and broom) first into the water with an enormous splash.

The DVD ejected. David was full on laughing as Chris himself just remained shocked at the asinine antics of the ten-year-old. This was it, this was ‘IT’. The movie had a lot of scenes where Harry does stupid and reckless things; this was the first and only audition that precisely provided the sensation that watching someone undertake death-defying stunts should give. 

“Yesterday.” Chris voiced to the room. “Send this kid a ticket and book his hotel. I want him to audition in front of me yesterday!”

My Active Fics: I'm on TV! - A Harry Potter x Real World SI / Witch Weekly - A collection of smutty HP oneshots and miniseries.

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