The ExCeL London exhibition centre smelled strongly of damp wool, instant coffee, and sheer, unfiltered anxiety.
Outside, an unseasonably cold late May rain was coming down in sheets, turning the pavement into a massive grey puddle. The terrible weather hadn't stopped the line, though. It wrapped around the massive building twice. Thousands of kids, flanked by stressed-out parents holding umbrellas, were waiting for their shot.
Inside Hall 4, the setup was ruthlessly barebones. The high-budget, cutting-edge VFX landscape of 2029 meant they were going to be working with massive LED volumes and heavy CGI elements later on, which would make the movie look way more visually appealing than the Harry Potter of Earth-199, but right now, the process was entirely analog. A long plastic folding table, three uncomfortable metal chairs, a 8K camera rigged to a tripod, and a harsh lighting stand.
Daniel sat behind the table, rubbing his temples.
Next to him, Tom Wiley let his head thud heavily against the plastic table.
"I can't do it anymore," Tom groaned, his voice muffled by the surface. "I'm going to hear the Hogwarts sorting hat speech in my actual nightmares, Dan. We've seen three hundred kids today. Half of them are completely frozen with fear, and the other half are acting like they're trying to sell me toothpaste."
"We keep going," Daniel said, taking a sip of his lukewarm coffee. "The entire franchise rests on finding these three. The budget is massive. The graphics are going to be top-tier. But if we screw up the casting now, no amount of CGI in the world is going to save the movie. Send in the next one."
Tom lifted his head and yelled toward the production assistant standing by the heavy acoustic doors. "Next up!"
The door opened, and an eleven-year-old girl walked in.
She wore a simple yellow jumper and jeans. She looked nervous, but she held a neat little folder against her chest. She marched right up to the tape mark on the floor.
"Hi," she said, her voice clear. "I'm Emma Watson."
"Hey, Emma. I'm Daniel, this is Tom," Daniel said, offering a relaxed smile to disarm the tension. "Where are you from?"
At this point Daniel had gotten used to seeing familiar faces from Earth-199. Now he cared more about who would fit more for a role than who originally acted in it.
"Oxfordshire," Emma replied, keeping her hands clasped tightly over her folder. "I do the drama club at school. Mum brought me down on the train this morning."
She didn't have that polished, terrifyingly rehearsed stage-kid vibe. She just seemed like a smart, normal kid who had practiced her lines in her bedroom mirror a hundred times.
"Alright, Emma. You're reading for Hermione," Daniel said, glancing at the headshot she had handed the PA. "We're going to do the scene on the Hogwarts Express where she meets the boys. Whenever you're ready."
Tom picked up his script to read the opposite lines.
Emma took a deep breath. "Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one."
Tom gave a flat reply. "No."
"Oh, are you doing magic?" Emma pushed forward. She delivered the lines quickly, her posture rigid, making sure she hit every single syllable perfectly. "Let's see it, then."
Daniel held up a hand. "Hold on. Let's stop there."
Emma froze, her shoulders dropping slightly. "Did I mess it up?"
"No, you hit the lines perfectly," Daniel assured her. "I want to talk about Hermione for a second. The script says she's smart. But think about why she's acting like this. She's muggle-born. She just found out magic is real a month ago. She is completely out of her depth, and she's terrified someone is going to realize she doesn't belong here. So she overcompensates. She acts bossy because she's trying to prove she deserves a seat on that train. She's hiding how scared she is."
Emma listened carefully, her brow furrowing as she absorbed the direction.
"Don't just recite the textbook," Daniel told her gently. "Show me the girl who is desperate to prove she's not a fraud. Try it again. Loosen your shoulders."
Emma nodded. She shook her arms out, took a breath, and completely changed her posture.
"Has anyone seen a toad?" Emma asked again. The rigid perfection was gone. There was a slightly defensive edge to her voice, a subtle, nervous energy. She looked at Tom like she was actively sizing him up, her chin tilted up just a fraction to hide the nerves. "Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then."
It was a total shift. It was a girl hiding her insecurities behind a wall of intellect.
Tom looked over at Daniel, raising an eyebrow. Daniel gave a barely perceptible nod.
"Brilliant," Daniel smiled. "Thanks, Emma. We'll be in touch."
As she walked out, Tom made a heavy checkmark next to her name on the roster. "She takes direction fast. She didn't argue, just locked onto the note and flipped the switch."
"Put her in the callback pile," Daniel said. "Bring in the next block."
She was Hermione Granger. It wasn't even a question.
Two hours later, the door opened for a kid reading for Ron Weasley.
Daniel raised his eyebrows. It was another familiar face.
Rupert Grint ambled into the room. He was a red-headed kid from Essex, wearing a slightly faded football shirt and worn-out trainers. He didn't have a neat folder. He actually looked like he had been dragged here by his mum and decided to just roll with it.
"Alright, mate?" Rupert asked, giving them a casual wave as he found the tape mark on the floor.
"Hey, Rupert. I'm Daniel," Daniel said, genuinely amused by the kid's completely relaxed energy. "You do much acting?"
"Nah, not really," Rupert shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Did a school play once. Played a fish. Mum thought this would be a bit of a laugh, so we hopped on the tube."
Tom chuckled, looking at the kid's resume, which was completely blank except for his name and height. "Well, let's give it a go. We're doing the chess scene from the third act. I'll read Harry."
Rupert pulled a crumpled script page out of his pocket.
"You've got to let me be taken," Rupert read. His delivery was okay, but he sounded like he was trying to do a dramatic movie voice, lowering his pitch artificially. "It's the only way you can get to the stone."
"Stop right there," Daniel interrupted.
Rupert dropped the page, looking a bit sheepish. "Bit rubbish, wasn't it?"
"A bit," Daniel laughed. "Listen, Rupert. Let's forget the dramatic voice. The books we're adapting here... they aren't treating Ron like a joke. A lot of people read the script and think Ron is just the goofy sidekick who eats a lot of food and gets scared."
Rupert nodded. "Yeah, he seems a bit thick sometimes."
"He's not," Daniel said firmly, leaning forward. "Ron grew up in this world. Harry and Hermione don't know anything about magic, but Ron knows the stakes. He's a tactician. He's the guy playing the long game on the chessboard. In this scene, he's not trying to be a hero for the glory. He's looking at the board, realizing his best friend needs to survive, and making a calculated sacrifice. He's terrified, but he's brave anyway. Play the guy making the tough call."
Rupert stared at Daniel for a few seconds. The casual, cheeky Essex attitude dropped entirely.
"Right," Rupert said quietly. "I get it."
"Read it again," Daniel instructed. "Just talk to him. You're talking to your mate."
Rupert didn't look at the script page this time. He looked directly at Tom.
"You've got to let me be taken," Rupert said. His voice cracked slightly, but he didn't try to cover it up with a fake, deep tone. It sounded incredibly raw, filled with a reluctant, stubborn loyalty. "It's the only way you can get to the stone."
The delivery landed with a heavy, grounded thud in the quiet room. It was the exact tone of a kid who was entirely willing to take a hit for his friend.
"Spot on," Daniel said quietly.
Rupert instantly broke into a massive, relieved grin. "Cheers."
"We'll call you, Rupert," Tom said, circling the kid's name heavily on his sheet.
By the time the afternoon rolled into evening, the rain outside was finally letting up, but the exhaustion inside the room was peaking. They had found strong contenders for Hermione and Ron, but the anchor of the movie was still missing.
"Next up is Colin Morgan," the PA called out from the door.
Another familiar name.
Colin walked in. He was a skinny, pale kid from Armagh, Northern Ireland. He looked absolutely wrecked. He and his mother had clearly taken the overnight ferry to get to London, and the sheer scale of the convention center had visibly intimidated him. He stood on the tape mark, looking at the massive 8K cameras and the heavy lighting rigs like they were loaded weapons.
"Hi, Colin. I'm Daniel," Daniel said.
"Hello," Colin replied. His Irish accent was thick, but he was actively trying to suppress it, flattening his vowels out to sound like a posh Londoner.
"You don't need to hide the accent, mate," Daniel told him gently. After all, he was an actor too. "Just use your natural voice. Soften it a bit if you need to, but don't force the English posh thing."
Colin nodded stiffly, his hands balling into tight fists at his sides.
"We're reading the scene where Harry gets his wand at Ollivanders," Tom said, reading from the script. "I'll read for Ollivander. 'I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter.'"
"And you sold the wand that gave me this scar," Colin delivered the line loudly. He puffed his chest out slightly, squaring his shoulders. He was trying to sound fierce and brave, but it just came off as aggressive and totally robotic.
Tom let out a very quiet, tired sigh, his hand hovering over the rejection pile.
"Hold on," Daniel said. He stood up from his chair.
"Sorry," Colin said quickly, looking panicked. "I can do it louder."
"You don't need to do it louder," Daniel said. He walked around the long plastic table. "Tom, give us the room for a minute. Cut the cameras."
Tom nodded, hitting the power switch on the camera rig and stepping out into the hallway, pulling the heavy acoustic door shut behind him.
The room was suddenly very quiet. It was just Daniel and Colin.
Daniel didn't stand over the kid. He walked over and sat down right on the carpeted floor, leaning his back against the wall. He patted the floor next to him.
Colin hesitated, then walked over and sat down, pulling his knees up to his chest.
"You're terrified," Daniel said, stating it as a simple fact, not an accusation.
"It's massive out there," Colin admitted, his Irish lilt coming back naturally now that he wasn't trying to act. "There's kids out there who have been on the telly. I've only ever done stuff in my backyard. I feel like a total idiot."
"You aren't an idiot," Daniel told him, keeping his voice low and casual. "But you're trying to play Harry like he's a superhero. You're puffing your chest out because you think he's the 'Chosen One' and he's supposed to be brave."
Colin looked at him. "Isn't he?"
"Not yet," Daniel shook his head. "Think about where he came from. He's an abused kid. He slept in a cupboard under the stairs for ten years. His aunt and uncle hated him. His cousin beat him up. He doesn't have any friends. And suddenly, a giant breaks down a door and tells him he's famous in a world he didn't even know existed. He doesn't feel brave, Colin. He feels completely out of place. He feels exactly like you feel right now."
Colin blinked, the realization slowly washing over his face.
"Stop trying to act tough," Daniel advised him quietly. "When Ollivander tells you about the wand that killed your parents, you aren't angry. You're just a lonely kid realizing that the worst thing that ever happened to you is connected to this crazy new world. Channel that feeling of being an outsider. Let it be small."
Daniel stood up and offered a hand, pulling Colin to his feet.
"I'll read Ollivander," Daniel said, standing a few feet away, not going back behind the intimidating table. "'I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Potter. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather. Just one other.'"
Colin didn't puff his chest out this time. His shoulders slumped slightly. He looked down at his hands, then slowly looked up at Daniel.
"And you sold the wand that gave me this scar," Colin said.
His voice wasn't loud. It was incredibly quiet, trembling just a fraction. It was filled with a tragic, heavy vulnerability, a kid desperately trying to understand a trauma he didn't ask for.
It was perfect. The raw, unpolished talent was absolutely undeniable.
Daniel smiled, a massive wave of relief washing over him. "That's the one, Colin. You nailed it."
Colin let out a shaky breath, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through his nerves.
Daniel walked over to the door and pulled it open. Tom was standing in the hallway holding two fresh cups of coffee.
"We got him," Daniel told Tom. "Lock the contracts down. We have the trio."
---
Three days later, the massive open call was officially closed.
The media was going absolutely crazy. British tabloids and Hollywood trades were publishing dozens of articles a day, throwing out wild guesses about who had secured the roles. Paparazzi were staking out the Miller Studios offices in London, hoping to catch a glimpse of the kids walking in to sign contracts.
Daniel shut it all down immediately.
He was sitting in the back of a black town car driving through the rainy streets of Soho, on the phone with Elena Palmer back in Los Angeles.
"Lock the NDAs up completely, Elena," Daniel ordered, watching the London traffic roll past the tinted windows. "The parents sign them, the kids sign them, the studio staff signs them. Nobody leaks the names. The press gets absolutely nothing."
"The trades are offering crazy money for an exclusive reveal, Dan," Elena warned him over the line. "We could get the cover of Vanity Fair for the trio announcement. It would break the internet again."
"No," Daniel said firmly. "They are eleven years old. The second we put their faces on a magazine cover, the tabloids are going to start following them to school and camping outside their houses. I am keeping them out of the media machine for as long as physically possible. Let the press guess. Let them write rumors. We don't confirm anything until the week the movie premieres."
"Alright," Elena agreed, recognizing the absolute finality in his voice. "Total media blackout on the kids. I'll handle it."
Daniel hung up the phone as the car pulled up to a high-end, discreet brick building in Soho. He and Tom had rented a private suite of offices to handle the casting for the adult heavyweights. The circus of the convention center was over; now they were dealing with established veterans.
Tom was already waiting in the lounge upstairs, reviewing the day's schedule.
"First up is Robbie Coltrane," Tom said as Daniel walked in, shaking the rain off his coat. "His agent said he was a bit hesitant. He mostly does gritty stuff—crime dramas, pub theatre. He thinks he's too rough for a family movie."
The door to the lounge opened, and Robbie Coltrane walked in. The man was a physical mountain, a massive, imposing Scottish actor with a heavy beard and a sharp, cynical look in his eye. He looked like he belonged in a bare-knuckle boxing ring, not a magical castle.
"Daniel," Robbie grunted, shaking his hand with a grip like a vise. "Tom. Thanks for the train ticket down, but I'll be honest with you lads. I read the brief. It sounds like you want a magical Santa Claus. I don't do jolly."
"I don't want jolly, Robbie," Daniel said, motioning for him to take a seat on the leather sofa. "I want Hagrid. Hagrid drinks too much heavy ale. He gets into brawls in dodgy pubs over dragon eggs. He got expelled from school and lives in a wooden hut on the edge of a deadly forest. He isn't Santa Claus. He's a rough, damaged guy who happens to be fiercely protective of the people he loves."
Robbie paused, his thick eyebrows knitting together. "He's a bruiser?"
"He's a bruiser with a massive heart," Daniel corrected him. "He's the only father figure Harry has. Let's run the scene on the island. You just kicked the door down. The Dursleys are screaming at you. You look at the kid."
Robbie didn't even look at the script. He leaned forward, his massive frame suddenly radiating a completely different energy. The harsh, cynical edge vanished.
"Yer a wizard, Harry," Robbie delivered the line. His thick Scottish brogue was deep and rumbling, but it was incredibly warm. It sounded like a massive, protective bear wrapping a kid in a heavy blanket.
Tom blinked, genuinely caught off guard by the immediate shift.
Daniel grinned. "See? You're Hagrid. You're hired, Robbie. See you at costume fittings next week."
Robbie let out a booming laugh, slapping his hands on his knees. "Brilliant. Let's go terrorize some kids."
As Robbie left, the door opened again exactly five minutes later.
Maggie Smith walked in.
She didn't wait for introductions. She was already a legendary stage actress in this world. She walked into the room wearing a sharp tweed coat, carrying a leather handbag. She took one look at Tom Wiley's messy hair and untucked shirt, and looked at him over the top of her spectacles with a look of severe, aristocratic disappointment.
Tom actually sat up straighter, intimidated without her saying a single word.
Daniel had already confirmed her for the role, she only had to show up today as formality.
Maggie turned her gaze to Daniel and offered a tiny, incredibly polite, and utterly commanding smile.
"Mr. Miller," Maggie said, her voice crisp and perfectly enunciated. "I assume you don't need me to read lines for you. I read the books. Minerva McGonagall is strict, she does not suffer fools, and she would die before letting anyone harm her students. When do we begin shooting?"
Daniel let out a laugh, entirely charmed by the absolute authority she carried into the room.
"We start set construction in Leavesden next month, Maggie," Daniel told her. "Welcome aboard."
"Grand," she said smoothly. "I require a decent trailer and a proper cup of tea on set. None of that bagged rubbish. Good day."
She turned and walked out, the door clicking shut behind her.
"I feel like I just got detention," Tom muttered, rubbing his neck.
"She's perfect," Daniel said, grabbing his coat.
"Where are you going?" Tom asked, checking the schedule. "We still have the Snape casting."
"I'm not doing the Snape casting in this office," Daniel said, checking his watch. "I'm taking the train up to Stratford-upon-Avon. Alan Rickman is doing a play there right now. He hates Hollywood, he hates studio executives, and he absolutely hates playing cartoon villains. If we call him to an office in London, he's going to turn the role down flat."
"So you're going to ambush him at his theatre?" Tom asked.
"I'm going to pitch him," Daniel corrected.
Three hours later, Daniel was standing in the damp, drafty backstage hallway of the Royal Shakespeare Theatre. The play had just ended. Stagehands were carrying props past him, yelling at each other in thick accents.
Daniel found a dressing room with a star on the door and knocked twice.
"It's open," a deep, slow, incredibly resonant voice called out.
Daniel pushed the door open. Alan Rickman was sitting in front of a mirror, wiping stage makeup off his face with a towel. He saw Daniel in the reflection and paused, his dark eyes narrowing slightly.
"Daniel Miller," Alan noted, his voice a slow, deliberate drawl. "You're a long way from Los Angeles. If you're here to offer me an action movie where I fall off a building again, you can save your breath."
"I'm not," Daniel said, stepping into the room and closing the door. "I'm directing the adaptation of Harry Potter. I want you to play Severus Snape."
Alan threw the dirty towel onto the counter. He turned his chair around to face Daniel.
"I've read the first book," Alan said dismissively, crossing his legs. "He is a pantomime villain. He sweeps around in a black cape, bullies children, and scowls. I am a theatre actor, Daniel. I do not play one-dimensional caricatures. Find someone else to wear the cape."
"He's not a villain," Daniel said calmly.
Alan raised an eyebrow. "He certainly reads like one."
"That's because you've only read the first book," Daniel said. He pulled up a chair and sat down directly across from the veteran actor. "I wrote the entire skeleton for the series, Alan. The books that are out right now are just the setup. I know how the story ends. And I need an actor who can play a decade-long long con."
Alan stopped looking dismissive. The mention of a complex, long-term character arc caught his attention. He leaned forward slightly. "Go on."
Daniel leaned in closer, dropping his voice even though the dressing room was empty.
"I'm going to tell you a secret that nobody else in the world knows right now," Daniel said. "Not the studio, not the fans, not even the kids we just cast. Snape isn't working for Voldemort. He's a double agent for Dumbledore. He was in love with Harry's mother, Lily, since they were children. When she was killed, his heart completely broke. Everything he does—every cruel remark, every scowl—is a cover to protect Harry from the shadows. His entire life is defined by a tragic, unrequited love, and he dies in the end to save the boy."
Alan stared at Daniel. The deep, heavy silence in the dressing room stretched out for a long, heavy minute.
Alan processed the information. The layers of the character completely shifted in his mind. The one-dimensional bully suddenly transformed into a deeply tortured, complex, tragic anti-hero. It was exactly the kind of material a classically trained actor lived for.
A very slow, incredibly subtle smile touched the corner of Alan's mouth.
"A double agent," Alan murmured, his deep voice rolling the words around like expensive wine. "Playing the monster to protect the child. That is... surprisingly brilliant writing, Daniel."
"I need someone who can play the villain in the first movie, but leave enough subtle micro-expressions in the performance so that when the twist happens in movie seven, the audience can look back and realize the truth was there the whole time," Daniel told him. "You're the only actor alive who can pull that off."
Alan Rickman stood up. He walked over to the coat rack and pulled his heavy overcoat off the hook, slipping it on over his shoulders.
He looked back at Daniel, the dark, intense gravity of Severus Snape already settling into his posture.
"Send the contract to my agent," Alan said softly. "I will see you at Leavesden."
Daniel smiled, shaking the man's hand before stepping out of the dressing room.
As he walked out of the Royal Shakespeare Theatre and back into the cool May evening, his phone vibrated in his coat pocket. He pulled it out. It was Elena Palmer.
"Hey," Daniel answered, walking down the quiet cobblestone street toward his waiting car.
"Just keeping you in the loop," Elena's voice came through crisply. "Benny finished the final sound mixing on the full theatrical trailer for Vice City. We're cleared to launch it globally next week. Theaters, MovieFlix, YouTube, everywhere."
Daniel stopped walking for a second, looking up at the cloudy sky. He had spent the last two weeks deeply immersed in wands, castles, and children. The shift back to the violent, neon-soaked Miami underworld was a sharp right turn, but it was exactly what the studio needed to keep its dominance.
"Yes, launch it in a week," Daniel said, a grin touching his face.
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A/N: Read ahead on Patreon: patreon.com/AmaanS
P.S. Before u come to me to slit my throat, I really like Daniel Radcliffe and I think he's a very good actor. But I think he only became a good actor in his post-Harry Potter career. Harry could have been played better.