Chapter 49.5: Upside Drown (Patreon)

Chapter 49.5: Upside Drown

Leavesden Studios, UK. October 2009.

“How’s the venue for my next pool party coming along?” Hogwarts’ hottest new nightclub is… the forbidden forest.

“Unless you plan on using floaties made of fiberglass and wax, terribly.” One of the many set designers out and about eroded all my excitement. The hem of her capris were rolled up to her knees, and her toes dipped into the water as she sanded down the rough edges of a fabricated ice sheet. I’d be swimming under that someday soon.

We were having an arts and crafts day today. My name wasn’t on any call sheet, but I thought I’d lend my presence to the art department. More than anyone, they appreciated a pretty sight - and what could be more aesthetic than my Vitruvian mien?

These poor souls usually toiled away within the confines of some corner warehouse. So, I thought I’d give them a treat, and organise a picnic. It was a strange impulse, but I went with it. And hey, I might even learn a few tricks while I’m at it; the crew could also pick up a few tips from me. “Anybody need a refill on the Turkish coffee? There’s plenty of hummus to go around.” Craft services had long since gotten used to my bribery and helped set the table. Fedex, of course, facilitated my back-alley dealings.

Vrrrm, a loud mechanical noise tore through the fake glade in answer. If I was any more of a dog than I was, I’d have been sent scampering at the vacuum like racket. A nozzle spewed a mixture of high-powered water and shredded paper. Boughs of holly weren’t decking these halls, just the Hollywood version of snow clinging to any edifice it was sprayed at. A second type of snow machine frothed out airy clouds of foam. 

Asbestos remained the king of faux winter. Unfortunately, it came with the teensy problem of causing every type of cancer imaginable. So, we made do. At least until the lights started flickering. 

The noise all stopped when the power failed. “Not again! This has been happening all sodding week. Call the electrician back, he hasn’t fixed shite. Council recommended my hairy fuckin’ arse!” But our foul-mouthed foremen didn’t let the silence settle. “Sorry folks, I’ve already installed a backup generator. Give it a mo’ to kick in.”

True enough, power was restored thirty seconds later. 

My next stop on the gallery tour was next to one of our lead artists, kneeling next to a massive round canvas in paint stained overalls. She was tracing the pencilled word ‘friends’ linked one to the other, over and around in gold paint like filigree. “That’s something special, eh?” The individual character portraits for Luna’s mural were yet to be completed, but I could understand why Harry would purposely break taboo to find out where Luna’d been snatched.” It was still a stupid move, but far less idiotic than him randomly blurting out Voldemort, and getting everyone caught by accident. “I can’t even colour inside the lines with crayon.” Though, what do I know? I’m st - double o - pid.

“Come sit,” she patted the spot next to her, “I can teach you.” Invitation accepted, I belly flopped beside her; nestling my chin between the palm of my hands, I kicked and fluttered my feet behind me. “This is still the easy bit. Making sure everyone looks like they do in Luna Lovegood’s mind is more of a task.”

“Can’t really comment on that, but I can help you in other ways. Need a model? I can even go nude if you’d like.” The reference pictures she’s had strewn about wouldn’t do me justice. 

Both her head and left eyebrow raised up in equivocal exasperation. “What a generous offer, Bas.” I rolled over and reclined like the Buddha reincarnated. It was the perfect pose to show off my Son Wukong, too bad I had pants on. “But I think I’ll do just fine without.”

“C’mon, don’t be shy. Paint me like one of your Welsh whores.” I am what I am and that’s all that I am - a filthy sailor-man who goes from port to port. An anchor tattoo wouldn’t suit me, but maybe I could get some spinach for dinner. I’ll avoid the seafood option though. 

“Don’t you dare disparage Titanic with your debauchery! That movie is sacred, so don’t expect me to participate in this pantomime - you’re no Kate Winslet.”

“Yeah? Well, you aren’t exactly Leo, either. If you were, I’d let you sink into the ocean, too!”

“Ah, I remember the days when I may have been spoken about in the same breath as you or Mr Dicaprio. Not so much anymore, though. The late eighties and early nineties are too far gone.” Cary Elwes found his way over to us. Fiona Weir, our casting director, had officially chosen him to play alongside Rachel Weisz as the Tonkses.  

“Now, now, chin up. I wager we stick you in a pair of tights again, and you’ll have princesses and brides running after you.”

“I’ll say.” Evidently, I wasn’t the artist’s type.

“No, these days I’m too old, too fat,” he gestured to the ragged clothes and corpsey makeup on him - someone had clearly been spending time at the face painting station, “or too dead for anyone to remember.” 

Since the forest of Dean had been chopped as a setting in this rendition of JK’s Hallows, the forbidden forest’s role had grown. 

Harry and Hermione would probe it as a potential secret pathway into Hogwarts (the shrieking shack was known to Snape) only to discover it as an internment camp for muggleborns. It had always been a place of punishment, so made sense. This is where we’d also stumble on to a dead Ted Tonks and Dean Thomas, among others. 

More importantly, it also served as the main stage for Snape luring Harry towards the sword of Gryffindor. Being the current headmaster of Hogwarts, as well as the death eater in charge, he’d be able to know if they entered his domain. In the original movies his doe patronus sort of just shows up, nothing is ever explained. In the original books, he’s able to find them because Harry and Hermione are astoundingly, and uncharacteristically careless with the constantly foreshadowed Phineas Nigellus portrait. 

JK Rowling’s favourite literary device was unequivocally Chekhov’s gun. Unfortunately, sometimes she waved it around too much, and was liable to shoot herself in the foot. 

Plus, it felt poetic that Snape’s doe patronus guides them to the same frozen pond where Harry first fires off his stag. My throat is still raw from yelling out, Expecto Patronum!

Done with reassuring myself that the narrative changes caused by my arrival were poignant and pertinent, I soothed Cary as well. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. This is your second mutual project with me - you aren’t doing too bad at all, if that’s the case.” 

“Second?”

I flipped on to my back, brought my knees to my chest, engaged my core, and kipped up to full height, “hup!” A dusting of fake snow fell around me like an angelic halo. Because I was one. I put my hand out for a shake, and he grabbed it with confused courtesy. “Pierre Desperuax, allow me to introduce myself. Hassenfeffer. I believe we have a couple of bumbling sleuths in common.”

“Oh! Psych, of course! Loved that show and loved bantering with those two boys. I’ll definitely be going back, if they’ll have me.”

 “Me, too.”

“I hope you’ll forgive me if I try not to share an episode with you. Something tells me, dealing with you three together might make me lose hair. Despite my age, my luscious locks are one thing I can proudly say I still have.”

“No, I don’t blame you. I have a tendency to make people go grey early.”

–

Forbidden Forest Set, Leavesden. October 2009.

Every last inch of my body was drenched in water, yet I still burned.

One-hundred-nineteen, one-hundred-twenty, one-hundred-twenty-one. I crossed the two-minute mark. Each second after, felt like forever. I pushed off the bottom, craned my head up, and through my blurred vision, sought the blue tinted spotlight marking the hole where I should surface.

A splash, a gasp, and I was breathing again. I politely shooed off the stage hands running over to hand me a towel. No point getting dry, just to jump back in a minute later. “You’re consistently crossing ninety seconds, Bas. That’s all we need. Shall we try for a real take?” 

“Let’s do it.” Came my assent, ready to descend.

The stunt coordinator gave one last security yank to the tether wrapped around my waist as the clapper tagged in. “Scene 86, Gryffindor’s sword, take one!” Clack!

“Places everybody, places! Quiet on set, and… action!” I dived on David’s direction.

[Ten seconds. I sunk to the bottom, assumed my position, the prop sword just barely out of reach. 

Forty-five seconds. I waited for the bubbles to leave. My kung-fu dugong and emergency air supply batted away the last of them, and backed away so that the frame was totally clear for the shot.

Eighty seconds. I performed my unsynchronised swimming. Pretending as if the horcrux had come alive to see me dead, I thrashed about and scratched at my jerking neck.

Ninety seconds. The winch spooled, and I was dragged upwards in the direction of the tether, still acting like the horcrux had a death hold on me-!]

All the lights suddenly cut out. The pulley system slacked, uncoiled, and the combined weight of the rope and myself dragged me back to the bottom. 

The power dropped again. One-hundred seconds.

No need to panic, I can manage - I have enough oxygen. I opened my eyes. Much to my chagrin, the pair of fake glasses still miraculously attached to my face were an exceedingly poor substitute for swimming goggles. Needless to say, I couldn’t see shit. My designated rescuer couldn’t either. They were scrabbling; I heard the scuba gear aspirate heavily as they searched for me through the impenetrable darkness. My chest started convulsing. One-hundred-ten seconds.

My bare feet found purchase on the floor, my heel nicked the blunt edge of the sword. Bending my knees, I jumped, aiming for the hole I’d come in through. There wasn’t a light there anymore; I missed. Worry creeped in. The burning was back. One-hundred-twenty seconds. 

A dull thunk. My hands shot up, nails scraped across the waxy layer of tough fiberglass. My lungs were molten lead. Unbearably hot, and heavier than the pressure dragging me down. Cramps clutched at my diaphragm, clawing at me to get something, anything.

I reached my limit. One-hundred-thirty seconds. 

I grit my teeth. Water seeped into my mouth. My body stopped listening to me. I breathed. It was wet - but cool. So cool. The burning went away. How many seconds?

The blue light returned. Oh, the generator was working again. That was good. My vision went black. 

Peace.

Pain.

“-pen airway! Keep up the compressions!” My sense snapped into focus in a torrent of torment. Thump, thump, thump! There was a sledgehammer beating my ribs. Hurt. There was so much noise, too much light. 

Adrenaline flooded in. Strength returned. I swiped away the hammer. Urging myself onto my hands and knees, I puked. Even through the agony of my bruising sternum, my body heaved and heaved until it expelled every drop of water out of my windpipe.

I could breathe. 

“-Bas! Can you hear me, Bas?-” Consciousness came swimming back. My eyes refocused. I saw the growing puddle of sick beneath me; it was surprisingly clean, if a little frothy. I tried to stand up. “Scialla, Bas, relax.” A firm hand on my back wouldn’t let me. Then it began rubbing circles. Who was doing that? I turned to my right and saw Fedex. I’d never seen her be anything but unflappable. Now? She was on the verge of tears. 

Huh. Guess I knew what it took to draw out her emotions. I should do this more often. 

Another gasp involuntarily escaped me. The medic brought out his stethoscope. “Take slow, deep breaths. You’re alright, mate.” Tell that to everyone else, Fed still hadn’t let me go.

I inhaled, sat back straight on my haunches, and breathed in the sighs of relief around me. The cramp was still there, but I held in my wince. A circle of concerned faces had me surrounded. The Davids, both Yates and Heyman, looked green enough to retch more than I had. 

No, no, no, this just wouldn’t do. This isn’t how people should look at me. I can’t stand genuine frowns in my direction - it aches more than my creaking chest did.

Even though the rest of my body tried to rebel, I eked out a smile. “So whe-” cough. One more raspy, wheezy breath. “When’s take two?” Fearful expressions turned dumbfounded. Better than a dummy found dead, at least!