The rain in Oxfordshire didn't fall so much as it just hung in the air, a permanent, freezing mist that seeped right into your bones.
Daniel stood in the doorway of the massive kitchen, holding a mug of coffee, just watching the chaos unfold.
When they decided to officially relocate to the UK for the pre-production of the wizarding world, Daniel had explicitly vetoed the idea of a luxury penthouse in central London. The paparazzi would have turned their lobby into a circus within twenty-four hours. Instead, Marcus had quietly leased them an eighteenth-century manor house in the deep countryside. It sat on forty acres of dense private woods, surrounded by high stone walls and a wrought-iron gate that looked like it could stop a tank. It was completely secluded, completely quiet, and entirely unequipped for modern domestic life.
"I swear to god, if this thing doesn't light, I'm burning the whole house down," Margot muttered from the adjacent living room.
Daniel leaned against the doorframe and watched her. She was kneeling on the massive stone hearth, wearing thick wool socks and a pair of his grey sweatpants, angrily striking a long match against a brick. A pathetic, tiny wisp of smoke curled up from the damp firewood before immediately dying out.
"You have to open the flue, Margot," Florence called out from the kitchen island.
Florence was wearing a massive, chunky knit sweater, her blonde hair tied up in a messy knot with a wooden chopstick. She was currently staring at the kitchen's Aga stove with a look of profound, hostile confusion. The stove was a massive cast-iron antique that apparently stayed on all the time and radiated a terrifying amount of heat.
"I did open the flue," Margot yelled back, tossing the dead match onto the stone. "The wood is wet. The air is wet. The whole damn country is basically a swamp. How did you people conquer half the world when you can't even light a fire?"
"Through sheer, miserable stubbornness," Florence replied easily. She poked at a mound of flour on the butcher block counter. "Dan, how the hell do I turn this oven down? The dial is just numbers from one to four. What does a three mean in Celsius? I'm trying to bake a pie, not forge a sword."
Daniel took a sip of his coffee and smiled. "I'm a director, Flo, not a blacksmith. You might just have to guess."
"Very helpful, darling," Florence sighed, wiping a streak of flour off her cheek with the back of her wrist. "If it comes out black and tastes like charcoal, you're eating it anyway."
"Deal," Daniel said.
He walked into the living room, setting his mug down on the heavy oak coffee table. He crouched down next to Margot, reaching past her to grab a crumpled-up piece of yesterday's newspaper from the basket. He shoved it under the iron grate, right beneath the driest logs he could find, and struck a match.
The paper caught immediately, the orange flames licking up and finally catching the bark of the wood. A warm, crackling heat started to push out into the drafty room.
Margot let out a dramatic sigh, slumping back onto the thick rug. "Show off."
"You just have to know how to talk to it," Daniel teased, sitting back on his heels.
Margot leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder, watching the fire finally start to roar. The damp, freezing chill of the English countryside slowly started to retreat.
It was a quiet, domestic moment, entirely detached from the multi-billion-dollar empire waiting for him back in Los Angeles. Out here, hidden behind the stone walls, they were just three people trying to figure out how to live in a drafty old house. It was exactly what he needed before diving into the absolute madness of the studio lot.
"You heading to the hangars today?" Margot asked, her voice quiet and sleepy from the warmth of the fire.
"Yeah," Daniel nodded, checking his watch. "The trio is coming in for their first actual meeting together. And Dante wants to walk me through the Great Hall blueprints."
"Have fun," Margot murmured, closing her eyes. "If I'm frozen solid when you get back, tell my agent I loved her."
Daniel laughed, kissing the top of her head before standing up. He walked back through the kitchen, grabbing his heavy wool coat off the rack by the back door. Florence walked over, dusted the flour off her hands, and pulled him in for a quick, flour-smudged kiss.
"Bring back decent tea," Florence demanded against his lips. "The stuff they stocked the pantry with is absolute rubbish."
"I'll see what I can steal from catering," Daniel promised.
He walked out into the misty rain, climbed into the black Range Rover waiting in the gravel driveway, and started the hour-long drive toward Leavesden Studios.
The contrast between the quiet Oxfordshire manor and the studio lot was jarring.
Leavesden wasn't a magical world yet. It was a sprawling, chaotic, freezing industrial complex. The old aircraft hangars were echoing with the deafening sounds of circular saws, heavy machinery, and men yelling over the noise. Hundreds of carpenters, painters, and riggers were swarming the massive spaces, frantically trying to build a castle from the ground up.
Daniel parked near Hangar A and walked inside. The sheer scale of the place always hit him like a physical weight. The hangar was so large it had its own internal weather system; it was somehow colder inside the metal building than it was out in the rain.
Waiting for him in the center of the massive, empty concrete floor was Dante Ferretti.
Dante was a legend on Earth-199. And he had become one here too. He had been with Miller Studios since the very beginning. He was the production designer who had built the gritty, practical sets for Star Wars, and the sleek, high-tech labs for Iron Man. Daniel trusted him more than almost anyone else in the industry. Daniel didn't need to micromanage every single visual detail because he made sure he hired geniuses like Dante to do it for him.
"Daniel," Dante called out, his thick accent echoing off the high metal ceiling. He was standing over a massive wooden drafting table covered in sprawling blueprints. "Come look at this."
Daniel walked over, shaking the man's hand. "How's it looking, Dante?"
"It is a nightmare," Dante said cheerfully, gesturing broadly around the empty hangar. "But a beautiful nightmare. We are laying out the footprint for the Great Hall. The VFX guys are setting up the tracking markers for the ceiling. They'll handle the floating candles and the enchanted sky in post, their tech is incredible right now. But down here, where the cameras actually live... I need a favor."
"Name it," Daniel said, leaning over to look at the incredibly detailed floor plans.
"The studio accountants sent me a memo," Dante sighed, pulling off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. "They want us to use a high-density molded linoleum for the flooring. It paints up nice, it looks like stone on a camera monitor, and it's cheap to lay down."
"No," Daniel said immediately.
Dante smiled, a massive grin breaking through his exhaustion. "Exactly. It is a terrible idea. When an actor walks on linoleum, their feet slide. The sound of their shoes is hollow. They carry themselves like they are walking through a high school cafeteria. If we want them to feel the gravity of this world, they need to feel it under their boots."
"What do you want to use?" Daniel asked.
"Real York stone," Dante said, tapping a heavy finger on the blueprint. "Thick, heavy slabs. It will cost five times as much, and it will take my crew two weeks to lay it down and level it properly. But when those kids walk into this room, the acoustics will bounce off the stone. It will be freezing cold, it will echo, and they won't have to act like they are in a thousand-year-old castle. They will just be in one."
Daniel didn't even hesitate. A competent director knew when to let his department heads cook.
"Order the stone, Dante," Daniel said. "Throw the accountant's memo in the trash. Build the tables out of real oak while you're at it. No plywood."
"You are a good man, boss," Dante laughed, rolling the blueprints back up. "I will make them bleed."
Daniel left Dante to his work and walked out of the hangar, heading toward the temporary cluster of luxury trailers set up near the production offices.
It was time to face the real challenge.
Inside Trailer 3, the air was thick with absolute, suffocating awkwardness.
Daniel quietly opened the door and stepped inside. The three kids were sitting on the plush leather sofas, completely failing to interact with each other.
Emma Watson was sitting perfectly upright, her knees pressed tightly together. She had a massive, heavy hardcover copy of the first book sitting open on her lap, and she was actively highlighting lines with a yellow marker, looking incredibly severe and focused.
Rupert Grint was sprawled out on the opposite sofa, wearing a faded football jersey. He was violently fidgeting, tapping his foot against the floor and looking around the trailer like he was waiting for someone to jump out and yell that this was all a prank.
Colin Morgan was sitting in a recliner in the corner. He looked pale, incredibly small, and completely overwhelmed. He was staring at his own hands, occasionally glancing up at Emma and Rupert before quickly looking away.
"Alright," Daniel said, letting the door click shut behind him.
All three of them jumped slightly, their heads snapping toward him.
"Hi," Emma said quickly, closing her book with a loud thud.
"Alright, mate," Rupert offered, giving a weak, nervous wave.
Colin just nodded, his throat visibly bobbing as he swallowed.
Daniel looked at them. They had insane individual talent, but right now, they had zero chemistry. They were just three terrified kids sitting in a room with a billionaire director.
"Put the book away, Emma," Daniel said gently, walking further into the trailer. "You already have the part. You don't need to study right now."
Emma hesitated, then slowly slid the book into her backpack. "I just wanted to make sure I understood the exact tone of the train scene."
"We aren't doing any scenes today," Daniel told them. He looked between the three of them. "Have you guys actually talked to each other yet?"
"Yeah," Rupert said quickly. "I asked Colin if he liked football."
"And?" Daniel asked.
"He said no," Rupert muttered. "Then it got real quiet."
Daniel laughed. It was a genuine, warm laugh that instantly lowered the temperature in the room. He didn't look at them like a boss; he looked at them like a guy who completely understood how weird this all was.
"Grab your coats," Daniel told them, turning back toward the door. "We aren't doing a read-through today. I want to show you guys something."
They scrambled to grab their jackets, following Daniel out of the trailer and across the wet, bustling studio lot. Daniel led them away from the massive hangars and toward a smaller, quieter brick building near the back of the property.
He pushed the door open, and the smell of sawdust, lacquer, and burning metal hit them instantly.
It was the prop manufacturing workshop.
The room was filled with long wooden workbenches covered in incredibly detailed, handcrafted items. Stacks of heavy brass scales, intricate glass potion bottles, stacks of leather-bound books that looked centuries old, and piles of parchment.
But Daniel walked them past all of that, leading them to a massive table in the very back of the room.
The table was covered in hundreds of wooden sticks.
Some were dark and twisted, looking like gnarled roots. Some were pale and perfectly smooth. Some had intricate carvings on the handles, while others looked rough and unpolished.
The kids stopped at the edge of the table, their eyes going wide.
"The prop team has been carving these by hand for two months," Daniel explained, leaning against a nearby workbench and crossing his arms. "They're made from real willow, oak, mahogany, and ash. Before we start filming, you three need to pick yours."
Emma stepped forward immediately, hovering her hands over the table. "Is there a specific one assigned to us in the script? Based on the character's core traits?"
"Nope," Daniel lied smoothly. He knew exactly which wands the characters were supposed to have, but he wanted to see what they would do. "You just pick the one that feels right."
Emma frowned, clearly uncomfortable with the lack of rules, and started meticulously analyzing the wood grains.
Colin stayed hanging back near the edge of the room, looking terrified to touch anything.
Rupert, however, didn't hesitate. He reached out and grabbed a long, slightly crooked wand made of dark wood. He picked it up, gave it a little experimental swish through the air.
Crack.
The top three inches of the wooden wand snapped clean off, hitting the concrete floor with a sharp sound.
The entire room went dead silent.
Rupert froze. The blood drained completely out of his face, leaving his freckles standing out in stark relief. He stared at the broken stick in his hand, looking like he was about to cry or throw up. He looked slowly over at Daniel.
"I'm so sorry, mate," Rupert whispered, his voice cracking with absolute panic. "I didn't mean to. I just flicked it. I'm sorry."
Colin looked horrified. Emma gasped softly, stepping back from the table like it was rigged with explosives.
Daniel didn't yell. He didn't even look annoyed.
He pushed off the workbench, walked over to the table, and picked up a beautifully carved, polished mahogany wand. It looked expensive. It looked like it took hours to make.
Daniel looked at Rupert, smiled, and casually snapped the wand in half over his knee.
Rupert flinched.
Daniel tossed the broken pieces onto the table. Then he picked up another one and snapped that one too, tossing the splinters aside.
"They're just sticks, Rupert," Daniel said, his voice totally calm and light. "We have three hundred of them in boxes in the back room. You're going to break a dozen of them during filming just by sitting on them by accident. It doesn't matter."
Rupert let out a massive, shuddering breath, the absolute terror leaving his body all at once. "Oh. Right. Yeah, okay."
"The magic doesn't actually come from the wood, guys," Daniel told them, looking at all three of them. "It's a movie. The VFX guys are going to add the sparks and the light later. The magic comes from you. It comes from how you hold it. It comes from the fact that you believe you're holding something powerful."
Daniel picked up a simple, slightly rough wand and held it out toward Colin.
"Come here, Colin," Daniel said quietly.
Colin hesitated, then shuffled forward. He took the wand from Daniel's hand.
"Don't hold it like it's made of glass," Daniel instructed him. "Grip it. It's yours. It's a tool."
Colin tightened his grip.
"Now," Daniel said, stepping back. "Look at Rupert. Point the wand at him and tell him his shoes are untied, but say it like you're about to blow him up."
Rupert looked down at his feet. "My shoes are untied?"
"Just go with it," Emma whispered, actually cracking a tiny, nervous smile.
Colin took a breath. He raised the wand, pointing it squarely at Rupert's chest. The quiet, terrified Irish kid disappeared for a second. He squared his shoulders, narrowed his eyes, and lowered his voice.
"Your shoes are untied," Colin delivered the line with a shocking amount of intense, focused gravity.
Rupert actually took a half step back, his eyes going wide. "Bloody hell, alright mate, keep your hair on."
Emma burst out laughing. It wasn't a polite, rehearsed chuckle; it was a loud, sudden snort of genuine amusement.
Rupert looked over at her, a massive, cheeky grin spreading across his face. "Did you just snort, Hermione?"
"Shut up," Emma laughed, her cheeks turning bright red as she grabbed a wand off the table and pointed it at him. "Or I'll actually hex you."
Colin finally cracked a smile, lowering his wand.
Daniel stood back and watched them. The ice was entirely broken. They weren't actors waiting for a cue anymore; they were just three kids messing around in a room full of wooden sticks, laughing at each other. The chemistry was real, and it was bubbling to the surface exactly the way he needed it to.
He quietly slipped out of the prop room, leaving them alone to argue over who got which wand.
As he walked back out into the chilly air of the lot, his phone vibrated heavily in his pocket.
He pulled it out. It was Marcus.
"Hey," Daniel answered, walking toward the production trailers. "I just left the kids. They're bonding."
"That's great," Marcus said, his voice incredibly tight and completely devoid of its usual calm. "Because we have a massive fucking problem, Dan."
Daniel stopped walking. "What is it?"
"The British tabloids," Marcus spat the words like venom. "I knew they were bad, but they are absolutely ruthless. They aren't like the paparazzi in LA. We just found out someone on the exterior construction crew got bribed. A reporter from The Sun got long-lens photos of the Privet Drive sets on the backlot. They published them online ten minutes ago."
"It's just a set," Daniel said, his brow furrowing. "It's annoying, but it's not a disaster."
"That's not the disaster," Marcus corrected him. "The disaster is that the leak came with names. They have the identities of the kids, Dan. They know it's Colin, Emma, and Rupert. The media blackout is officially broken."
Daniel felt a cold spike of anger hit his chest.
"Are they swarming the lot?" Daniel asked, his voice dropping into a dangerous, commanding register.
"Not yet, studio security has the gates locked down," Marcus said. "But the tabloids are already dispatching photographers to the kids' actual homes, Dan. They're going to camp out on their lawns. They're going to follow their parents to the grocery store. They're eleven years old, and the press is going to eat them alive."
Daniel didn't even blink. He didn't panic. He just shifted immediately into wartime logistics.
"Call Apex Security," Daniel ordered, his voice hard as iron.
Apex was the elite, high-end private military contractor the studio used for extreme situations. They weren't mall cops; they were ex-military professionals who knew exactly how to handle aggressive crowds and invasive threats.
"I'm putting them on the lot?" Marcus asked.
"Put a detail on the lot," Daniel confirmed. "But more importantly, dispatch teams to their homes right now. Today. Three separate details. I want unmarked SUVs parked outside their houses 24/7. I want escorts for their parents. If a photographer steps onto their property, Apex removes them physically. I am not letting the press terrorize these kids."
"It's going to cost a fortune to keep private security on three different families around the clock," Marcus warned him.
"I don't care what it costs," Daniel snapped. "Pay it out of my personal account. Nobody touches my cast. Lock it down, Marcus."
"Consider it done," Marcus said, hanging up.
Daniel put his phone back in his pocket. The reality of the franchise was crashing down on him. This wasn't just a movie anymore. It was a massive, cultural monolith, and he was the one responsible for keeping the people inside it safe from the blast radius.
By the time Daniel finally drove back to the Oxfordshire manor that night, it was past ten o'clock.
He was completely exhausted. His mind was buzzing with blueprints, security protocols, and shooting schedules.
He parked the Rover, unlocked the heavy front door, and stepped into the quiet warmth of the house. The smell of fried batter and vinegar hit him instantly.
He walked into the massive, wood-paneled library. The fire Margot had started earlier was now a massive, roaring blaze, casting a warm orange glow across the dark leather furniture.
Margot and Florence were curled up together on the huge Chesterfield sofa. They were sharing a bottle of expensive red wine, and sitting between them on the coffee table was a massive, greasy bundle of newspaper filled with local fish and chips.
They looked up as he walked in.
"You look like hell, darling," Florence observed softly, sliding over to make room for him.
"I feel like hell," Daniel admitted. He dropped his keys onto the table, took his coat off, and slumped heavily onto the sofa between them. He let his head fall back against the leather. "The press leaked the kids' names. I had to put Apex details on their houses to keep the paparazzi away."
Margot stopped eating. She reached over, grabbed a greasy, perfectly fried chip, and held it up to his mouth.
Daniel ate it blindly, closing his eyes.
"They're fine, Dan," Margot said quietly, resting her hand on his knee. "You protected them. They're safe."
"It's just the beginning," Daniel sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. "When the movie comes out, it's going to be a thousand times worse. The pressure on those three is going to be astronomical."
Florence reached over and ran her fingers gently through his hair, untangling the knots the cold wind had put there.
"It's the nature of the beast, Daniel," Florence murmured. "You're building one of the most popular franchises in the world. Of course it's going to be loud."
Margot took a sip of her wine, looking at him with a very clear, grounded expression.
"You know, you've had the crown for a while now," Margot said softly, the playful teasing completely gone from her voice. "You changed the industry. Vice City proved you own the adult market. You're the king of Hollywood. Everyone knows that."
Daniel opened his eyes, turning his head to look at her in the dim firelight.
"But this?" Margot continued, gesturing vaguely toward the window, out toward where Leavesden sat in the dark. "This is different. You aren't just making a blockbuster. You're building childhoods. When this movie hits... you aren't just going to be the king of the studios anymore, Dan. You're going to be a god to an entire generation of kids."
The absolute, heavy truth of her words settled over the quiet room.
It wasn't a compliment. It was a warning about the sheer, suffocating weight of the legacy he was currently building.
Daniel looked at the fire. He listened to the rain lashing against the thick glass of the antique windows. He felt Florence's hand in his hair, and Margot's warmth pressing against his side.
He had started this journey with nothing but a system in his head and a desperate need to survive. Now, he was holding the cultural imagination of the entire world in his hands.
"I know," Daniel said quietly, his voice barely louder than the crackling logs. "I'm ready."
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A/N: Read ahead on Patreon: patreon.com/AmaanS