Making It One

July 30, 2000 | Mill Grove, London

POV Oliver

Oliver sat at the breakfast table, still processing the fact that his life was going to turn out very differently from what he had planned. Now that the audition was over, he was officially "Harry Potter".

He'd be lying if he claimed he hadn't envied the superstars in his previous life. Money to burn, parties and women – beautiful women.

"Here, the paper," Margaret said, interrupting Oliver's plans of conquest – er, thoughts.

"Financial Times?" he asked, looking at the newspaper disdainfully. "We don't need that anymore. I'm Harry Potter now – I need People Magazine or something," he mocked, taking the paper anyway.

"Say that again after you've read the front page," she replied dryly.

Oliver gave her a sceptical look and opened the newspaper.

QUALCOMM SURGES 150% AS WIRELESS FRENZY GRIPS MARKETS

Qualcomm shares currently seem to know only one direction. After several days of massive gains, the stock has practically exploded – and so far, there are no signs of the rally losing momentum.

"What the fuck!" Oliver blurted out, not even realising at first that he had just used the F-word in front of Margaret.

"Indeed," Margaret agreed.

Oliver stared at the article in disbelief and couldn't shake the feeling that someone, or something, was playing with him. He'd been waiting for the stock to explode for over a year, and nothing had happened – and now, one day after selling his soul, he opened the newspaper and discovered that the thing he'd been waiting for all this time had finally happened.

"Oliver? Are you okay?" Margaret asked, looking at him with concern.

"Well, at least we can afford a car to go with our driver now," he said eventually.

It didn't change anything – he'd signed the contract, and for the next seven years he was going to be Harry Potter, with everything that came with it.

And that included the meeting with his new agent, which was scheduled for just under an hour from now.

Oliver finished the rest of his tea and got up from the breakfast table. They didn't have much time anyway if they wanted to be in central London on time.

"Shall we go?" he asked, looking at Margaret with determination.

It was late July, and the weather was sunny and warm, at least by English standards. It didn't take Margaret and him long to get ready, and before long they were sitting in a taxi that would take them into central London.

Oliver gazed thoughtfully out of the window, watching the heavy traffic and crowded pavements, and found himself thinking about the first time he had travelled through London after his time travel.

Six years had passed since then. Back then, the differences had immediately stood out to him. People had talked to each other at bus stops, businessmen had read newspapers or hurried from one place to another.

Now, six years later, the scene already reminded him more of the future he had come from than of 1994. People at bus stops no longer just talked to each other; they spoke on their mobile phones. Between the businessmen who still hurried through the streets, teenagers wandered along the pavements with headphones in their ears.

He knew what was coming, and he knew what it meant for him.

Today, he could still walk through the streets of London unnoticed and disappear into the crowd. But in only a year, that might never be possible again – not if he became even remotely as successful as Daniel Radcliffe had been.

"Margaret, let's do a bit of shopping after the meeting. We're rich now, after all," he said, almost melancholically.

"Oliver, I am in the service of the Lord. Every nun takes a vow of poverty when she enters the religious life," she said, pausing briefly. "But after seventy years in the Lord's service, I'm sure He'll overlook one thing or another," she joked.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from NovelPhoenix; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Oliver had to laugh. The old bat was still exactly the same woman he had met all those years ago. The world around them might change, but Margaret remained exactly as she was.

"Sister, we're here!" the taxi driver said as he pulled up in front of an impressive townhouse.

Oliver looked up through the window. The building was four storeys high, with a pale stone façade and tall, evenly spaced windows. Beside the dark entrance was nothing more than a small brass plaque bearing the agency's name.

No enormous logo, no film posters and nothing to suggest that the careers of famous actors were being managed behind those walls.

Margaret paid the driver, and she and Oliver got out. They climbed the few steps to the entrance and went inside.

They had barely made it through the door when an older man came towards them. His grey hair was carefully combed back, and his dark suit fit impeccably, even if Oliver could clearly see his age.

"Oliver Bennett. Sister Margaret," he greeted them, offering his hand first to Margaret and then to Oliver. "Richard Ashford. A pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," Oliver replied, studying his new agent.

Warner had actually assigned him an agent who had probably been thinking about retirement before Oliver had even been reincarnated.

"Come with me," Ashford said, gesturing down the corridor. "We have quite a bit to discuss."

"Warner has temporarily put me in charge of representing you until you and Sister Margaret decide how you want to handle things in the long term," Ashford explained. "Until then, I'll take care of the business side of things, coordinate your schedule and sort out everything with Oxford and your school that needs to be arranged because of filming."

Oliver nodded. At least it sounded as though he wouldn't have to deal with the boring parts of his new career himself.

"What about my money?" he asked.

Ashford glanced briefly at Margaret before answering. "It belongs to you, of course. But since you're a minor, you can't simply have unrestricted access to it. We'll arrange the appropriate financial management for you."

"I've already invested money in shares," Oliver cut in. "If I can't access it myself anyway, I want fifty per cent of my income invested."

Ashford looked at him in surprise. "Fifty per cent?"

"In shares I choose myself."

For a moment, Ashford simply stared at him. Apparently, when Warner had handed him a ten-year-old client, he hadn't expected the boy to demand at their first meeting that half of his future income be invested on the stock market according to his own instructions.

His gaze shifted to Margaret, who merely shrugged.

"His last investment was Qualcomm," she said. "After this morning's newspaper, I'm hardly going to be the one to advise him against it."

Ashford studied the two of them sceptically for another moment, but quickly seemed to realise that arguing about it wasn't going to get him very far.

"Very well. I'll arrange it accordingly," Ashford said at last, making a note. "And the other half?"

Oliver pointed his thumb at Margaret. "That's funding the nun's retirement and my new bodyguard."

Margaret immediately gave him a stern look. Ashford looked between the two of them and apparently decided against commenting.

"Then that covers the most important things for now. From this point on, you don't deal with Warner, appointments or any of the paperwork yourself. If someone wants something from you, it comes through me first." He leaned back and looked seriously at Oliver. "You carry on with your life as usual. Go to Oxford, see your friends and do whatever a boy your age normally does. I'll take care of the rest."

Oliver strongly doubted Ashford wanted to know what he normally did, but decided not to mention it.

"You'll also be working regularly with an acting coach until filming begins," Ashford continued. "I'll arrange those appointments as well."

Oliver could live with that. Basically, he was now paying someone to deal with all the things he couldn't be bothered dealing with himself anyway.

Finally, Ashford opened a drawer in his desk and placed a small box in front of Oliver.

"And this is for you."

Oliver opened it and found himself looking at a Nokia 3210.

"A mobile?"

"My number is already saved. If you need anything, call me. And if I need you, I want to be able to reach you." Ashford pushed the box towards him. "But be careful with it. Those things break more easily than you'd think."

Oliver stared at him in disbelief for a moment before taking the Nokia out of the box.

Break? This man has no idea what this brick can take. I could hammer nails in with this thing and still make a call afterwards.

Compared with the last iPhone he'd owned, it felt as though the floor should be more worried than the phone if he dropped it.

Oliver slipped the Nokia into his pocket and followed Margaret out of the office. As they walked down the corridor together, he still couldn't quite get over how absurdly his life had changed within the space of just a few days.

Now he had an agent, an acting coach, a bodyguard and a contract that would determine the next seven years of his life.

Harry Potter.

The thought alone made him grin. For almost three years, he had seriously wondered whether he had somehow been reincarnated into that world of all places.

And then, eventually, he had held that damned book in his hands.

Oliver still remembered the relief he had felt back then. Harry Potter was fiction. Hogwarts didn't exist. No wizards, no owls and no Voldemort who would eventually try to kill him.

This wasn't the world of Harry Potter.

Oliver chuckled quietly at the thought, causing Margaret to glance at him questioningly.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing," he replied, still grinning as he shook his head.

She had no idea how absurd the whole thing really was.

Oliver had been right back then.

This isn't the world of Harry Potter.

But now I'm going to make it one!

Arc 2 End