The Maker: Hollywood

The heavy, rhythmic chugging of the steam engine echoed off the corrugated metal walls of Hangar F, vibrating right through the soles of Daniel’s boots.

It was April 15th of 2030, and the English spring outside was delivering a miserable, freezing drizzle, but inside the hangar, it was a picture-perfect Scottish afternoon. Dante Ferretti and his crew had outdone themselves for the final set. They hadn’t just built a train platform; they had laid down a hundred yards of actual iron track and hauled in a massive, fully restored steam locomotive painted in brilliant, gleaming crimson.

Thick, white steam hissed from the undercarriage, curling around the heavy iron wheels and rolling across the platform. The ground was covered in a pristine layer of fake snow—a biodegradable paper mixture that crunched perfectly underfoot.

Bob Elswit was perched on a camera crane hovering just above the crowd of extras, aggressively chewing a piece of gum. He was directing his gaffers over a headset, tweaking the massive overhead lighting rigs to cut through the train steam and hit the kids’ faces with a warm, golden backlight.

Daniel stood at the video village, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket, watching the high-resolution monitors.

They were setting up the very last shot of principal photography.

It had been six months. Six grueling, relentless months of twelve-hour days, tutoring schedules, and massive set pieces. And through it all, Daniel had kept the lot an absolute fortress. The British tabloids had thrown everything they had at Leavesden. They had tried launching camera drones over the fences, bribing the catering companies, and parking unmarked vans at the ends of the kids’ driveways.

Apex Security had flattened them. The ex-military contractors had set up a perimeter so tight a stray dog couldn’t get onto the lot without a background check. The kids were shuttled in daily using a rotating fleet of tinted SUVs with decoy cars. For half a year, Rupert, Emma, and Colin had been allowed to just go to work, mess around, eat too many snacks, and make a movie without a single flashbulb going off in their faces. Daniel had starved the press completely.

”Lighting is set, Dan,” Bob called down from the crane, pulling his eye away from the viewfinder. ”We got the golden hour look. Steam is catching it beautifully.”

”Thanks, Bob,” Daniel said, picking up his microphone. ”Alright, everyone, let’s settle down. We’re on a clock with this steam pressure.”

Out on the platform, Colin, Emma, and Rupert were standing near the open door of a train carriage. They were wearing their heavy winter cloaks, scarves wrapped tight.

”This snow is incredibly itchy,” Rupert complained loudly, scratching at his ankle. ”It got in my socks during the last take. Feels like I’m walking on fiberglass.”

”Stop complaining and hit your mark, Rupert,” Emma sighed, though she was shivering slightly, shifting her weight to stay warm. ”You’re standing on my cloak.”

”I am not standing on your cloak, you just have it dragging on the floor,” Rupert shot back, immediately stepping to the side anyway.

Colin was standing a few feet away, looking up at Robbie Coltrane. Robbie was wearing the massive, sweltering Hagrid suit, sweating profusely under the hot studio lights, but he gave Colin a warm, massive wink.

”Places,” the First AD yelled, his voice echoing over the hiss of the train.

Daniel looked at the monitors. The framing was gorgeous.

”Roll sound,” Daniel ordered.

”Sound speeds.”

”Cameras.”

”Rolling.”

”Action.”

Colin stepped forward, moving away from Emma and Rupert, walking over to the massive, towering figure of Hagrid.

Robbie reached into his massive, oversized moleskin overcoat. He pulled out a heavy, leather-bound book and held it out.

”Thought you’d like this,” Robbie delivered the line, his deep, rumbling Scottish accent cutting through the ambient noise of the train. ”Made it for you.”

Colin took the book. He opened the cover. The props department had filled it with moving photographs—mostly green-screen placeholders that the VFX team would animate later—but Colin didn’t need to fake the emotion. He ran his fingers over the pages, looking up at Robbie. The awe on his face was entirely genuine.

”Thanks, Hagrid,” Colin said, his voice quiet, carrying exactly the right amount of weight.

Robbie offered him a massive, gentle smile. ”Go on. On with you. Or the train will leave without you.”

Colin turned back around, rejoining Emma and Rupert at the carriage door.

Daniel let the camera roll for another ten seconds, capturing the silent, atmospheric shots of the kids looking out over the fake snow, the steam wrapping around them. He wanted the raw, unscripted moments of them just existing in the space.

”Cut,” Daniel said into the microphone.

He took his headset off and set it gently on the console. He looked around the massive hangar, at Dante leaning against a lighting stand, at Bob climbing down from the crane, at the hundreds of crew members who had been living in these trenches with him since the fall.

Daniel picked the microphone back up.

”That is a picture wrap on Colin Morgan, Emma Watson, and Rupert Grint,” Daniel announced, his voice booming over the speakers.

The hangar absolutely erupted.

Three hundred crew members started clapping, cheering, and whistling. The grips banged heavy wrenches against the metal scaffolding. The ADs threw their schedules into the air.

On the platform, the kids just froze for a second, the reality hitting them. Then Rupert threw his hands up in the air and yelled, ”Yes! I’m taking these boots off!”

Emma instantly covered her face with her hands, letting out a sharp, overwhelmed sob, before turning and pulling both Colin and Rupert into a massive, clumsy hug. Robbie Coltrane laughed, reaching down with one of his giant, animatronic-gloved hands to pat all three of them on the head.

Daniel walked out onto the set, weaving through the camera tracks. The crew parted for him, offering high-fives and handshakes as he made his way to the platform.

He stepped over the fake snow and walked up to the kids.

Emma wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her robes, leaving a streak of fake dirt across her cheek. ”I’m not crying. It’s the steam. It got in my eyes.”

”Yeah, okay,” Rupert grinned, shoving her shoulder playfully. ”You’re a mess.”

Daniel laughed, pulling the three of them into a quick group hug. ”You guys killed it. I am incredibly proud of you. Now go get out of those robes.”

As the kids turned to head toward the wardrobe trailers, Daniel caught the AD’s eye and gave him a quick nod.

”Hold up, nobody move!” the AD yelled into a megaphone.

The hangar quieted down.

From behind the massive train engine, two guys from the catering department walked out, pushing a heavy metal cart. Sitting on top of the cart was a massive, three-tier birthday cake covered in thick, chaotic pink frosting, sparklers shooting sparks a foot into the air.

”It’s April 15th,” Daniel said, turning to look at Emma, who was staring at the cake with her jaw practically on the floor. ”We already did Colin’s massive chocolate cake back on New Year’s Day, and there was no way we were letting you get out of here without a sugar coma, Em. Happy twelfth birthday.”

The entire crew launched into a loud, incredibly off-key rendition of ’Happy Birthday’.

Emma turned bright red, burying her face in her hands again, completely mortified but grinning ear to ear.

When the song ended, she blew out the sparklers.

Daniel walked over to a nearby equipment case and grabbed two large, brightly wrapped boxes. He carried them over and handed them to Emma.

She wasn’t expecting gifts. She looked at the boxes, tearing into the wrapping paper on the smaller one first.

She pulled out a brand-new, top-of-the-line Polaroid camera. It was a sleek, limited-edition model, painted in bright, metallic colors. Daniel had completely bypassed the profound, meaningful gifts. Emma was a twelve-year-old girl. She wanted to take goofy pictures with her friends.

”There’s a crate of film for that being loaded into your mom’s car right now,” Daniel told her as she held the camera up, her eyes wide. ”Take it to school. Drive your teachers crazy with the flash.”

”This is brilliant,” Emma gasped, instantly trying to figure out how to load the film cartridge.

”Open the big one,” Rupert urged, looking at the massive, heavy box sitting on the platform floor.

Emma tore the paper off the big box.

Inside was a high-end, custom-built electric scooter. It had thick, durable street tires, a massive battery pack, and a frame that Dante’s prop team had custom-painted in gleaming Gryffindor crimson and gold.

”No way,” Colin breathed, stepping closer to look at the motor.

”It goes twenty miles an hour,” Daniel warned, looking directly at Emma’s mother, who was standing off-camera, currently looking horrified. ”It comes with a helmet. Wear the helmet, Emma, or I’ll re-cast you in the sequel.”

”I love it,” Emma squealed, gripping the handlebars. ”I’m riding it home.”

”You are absolutely putting that in the trunk of the car,” her mother called out, pushing through the crowd.

The hangar devolved into a massive, unstructured party. Cake was cut and passed out on paper plates. The crew relaxed, the intense pressure of the schedule completely dissipating.

Daniel grabbed a slice of cake and walked over to Bob and Dante.

”We survived,” Bob said, taking a bite of the pink frosting and immediately wincing at how sweet it was. ”I’m going to sleep for a week. A solid week. Do not call my phone, Dan.”

”You have two days off,” Daniel grinned, leaning against a lighting stand. ”Then I need you in Burbank. The VFX renders are coming in hot and we need to color-grade the Quidditch match.”

Bob groaned loudly, tossing his paper plate into a nearby trash can. ”You’re a tyrant. I’m calling my union rep.”

Dante laughed, wrapping his scarf tighter. ”I am leaving this damp island tomorrow. The Italians know how to build buildings that actually keep the heat inside. You want me for the second movie, you give me a month on a beach first.”

”You earned it, Dante,” Daniel said, raising his plastic fork in a salute. ”The sets were incredible. The train looks flawless.”

”Of course it does,” Dante said simply.

The real celebration wasn’t happening on the hangar floor.

Wrap parties for massive studio blockbusters were traditionally held at exclusive, high-end nightclubs in Soho. They involved open bars, loud house music, and press photographers swarming the entrances.

Daniel had scrapped that completely. His lead actors couldn’t legally drink, and half the supporting cast were teenagers.

Instead, Marcus Blackwood had rented out a massive, sprawling indoor entertainment complex about five miles down the road from the lot. It was a giant warehouse that housed an indoor trampoline park, a laser tag arena, and dozens of arcade cabinets. They had brought in five different food trucks—pizza, tacos, burgers, and an entire van dedicated to cotton candy and funnel cakes.

Daniel pulled up to the venue around seven o’clock that night. The parking lot was packed with crew vehicles, but the perimeter was securely locked down by Apex guards.

He walked inside. The noise was deafening. Arcade machines were chiming, pop music was blasting over the overhead speakers, and a hundred crew members were running around acting like they were twelve years old.

Daniel grabbed a bottle of water from a cooler near the entrance and walked into the main arcade area.

He spotted Margot and Florence immediately.

They had flown into London the night before. Over the last six months, Daniel’s schedule had been a relentless grind, but they hadn’t let it isolate them. Florence had been shooting a massive indie feature in Europe, and Margot had been bouncing between LA and Paris for high-end fashion campaigns, but they always made it work. They flew in for long weekends, staying at the Oxfordshire manor, bringing chaos and normalcy back into Daniel’s orbit.

Tonight, they were completely off duty.

Florence was wearing a faded vintage band tee and jeans, her hair pulled up in a messy knot. She was currently standing at the dual basketball shootout game, violently throwing basketballs at the hoop. Standing next to her, intensely focused and sweating slightly, was Dante Ferretti.

”You’re going down, old man,” Florence trash-talked, swishing a shot. The digital scoreboard chimed loudly. ”I grew up on these machines.”

”I build sets with my bare hands, child,” Dante yelled back, aggressively banking a shot off the backboard. ”My geometry is flawless!”

Margot was a few feet away, wearing an oversized hoodie, standing at one of the massive claw machines. Rupert was next to her, his face pressed against the glass.

”Drop it now,” Rupert urged, pointing at a giant, ridiculously ugly stuffed bear sitting near the chute.

”It’s rigged, Rupert,” Margot explained, her hand resting on the joystick. ”These things only have a strong grip every fifteenth try. We have to swing it. Get the momentum going, clip the ear, and knock it into the hole.”

”That’s cheating,” Colin pointed out, standing behind them eating a slice of pizza.

”It’s not cheating, it’s physics,” Margot countered. She slammed the big red button. The metal claw dropped, swung wildly, completely missed the bear, and grabbed a tiny, pathetic-looking stuffed keychain instead.

Margot stared at the machine in absolute disgust.

”Physics, yeah?” Rupert laughed, grabbing the keychain out of the chute.

Daniel walked over, wrapping an arm around Margot’s waist and pulling her in close.

”Losing to a machine?” Daniel teased, kissing the side of her head.

”It’s a scam,” Margot grumbled, leaning back into him. ”I’m going to buy the whole machine and smash it with a hammer.”

Florence walked over, looking victorious, leaving Dante cursing in Italian at the basketball game. She grabbed Daniel’s water bottle out of his hand, took a long drink, and bumped her hip against his.

”Dante is a sore loser,” Florence announced, grinning. ”How’s the boss doing? You survive the last day?”

”We survived,” Daniel said, looking around the massive warehouse. Emma was currently organizing a massive, highly competitive game of laser tag with the camera department. Robbie Coltrane was sitting at a picnic table eating a funnel cake. The stress of the production had completely evaporated. ”It’s done. Now it just lives in the computers.”

”Good,” Margot said, turning around and wrapping her arms loosely around his neck. ”Because I am sick of the rain. We are going back to California and we are sitting by the pool for three days straight. You aren’t allowed to look at a script or a monitor.”

”Deal,” Daniel promised.

They stayed at the party for hours. Daniel didn’t give any massive, formal speeches. He didn’t stand on a table and talk about the journey. He just played a few rounds of air hockey with the kids, ate the somehow terrible arcade pizza, and hung out with the people who had built his world.

Three days later, the grey, oppressive weather of England was officially in the rearview mirror.

The Miller Studios private Gulfstream jet sat on the tarmac at Heathrow.

The kids were already back at their normal schools, stepping out of the Hollywood bubble and trying to adjust back to reality.

Daniel walked up the airstairs, followed closely by Florence, Margot, Bob Elswit, and Tom Wiley.

The inside of the jet was quiet, comfortable, and warm. Daniel dropped his heavy leather jacket onto a plush leather seat. Florence and Margot immediately claimed the large sofa in the back of the cabin, pulling a cashmere blanket over their laps and instantly starting a movie on the cabin monitor.

Bob slumped into a seat across the aisle from Daniel, pulling his baseball cap down over his eyes. ”Wake me up when we land. If the plane goes down, don’t wake me up. Just let it happen.”

Daniel laughed, sitting down and buckling his seatbelt.

The jet engines whined, spooling up to full power, and the plane rocketed down the runway, piercing through the thick grey cloud cover and breaking out into the bright, blinding sunlight above the Atlantic.

The flight took eleven hours. Daniel spent most of it reading, occasionally wandering to the back to sit with Margot and Florence, stealing their snacks and enjoying the absolute quiet of the pressurized cabin.

When the jet finally touched down on the private runway at LAX, the change in atmosphere was violently abrupt.

The heavy cabin doors opened, and the intense, dry, ninety-degree heat of Southern California rushed inside. The sky was an aggressive, perfect blue. There wasn’t a cloud in sight.

”Oh, thank god,” Margot breathed as she stepped off the airstairs, pulling her sunglasses down over her eyes and lifting her face to the sun. ”I forgot what warmth felt like. I’m thawing out.”

Florence stretched her arms over her head, grinning as a warm breeze hit them. ”I need a smoothie. A real one, not those weird bottled things they sell in London.”

A fleet of black SUVs was waiting for them on the tarmac. The luggage was quickly loaded into the back of the lead car.

Daniel, Florence, and Margot climbed into the back of the main SUV. Tom Wiley slid into the front passenger seat next to the driver.

As the car pulled off the runway and merged onto the chaotic 405 freeway, Tom reached into his leather messenger bag.

He didn’t turn around. He just reached his hand over the center console, holding a thick, bound folder.

Daniel took the folder. He opened it.

It was the master post-production schedule for the Burbank facility.

The pages were packed with dense grids. VFX review sessions with Industrial Light & Magic. Color grading timelines. Sound mixing dates at the dubbing stages. ADR sessions to re-record the kids’ dialogue. Final scoring cuts with John Williams.

Principal photography was just the raw material. The actual movie was made in the dark, windowless rooms of Burbank. The real war was just starting.

Daniel looked at the schedule for a long minute. The sheer volume of work was staggering.

He closed the folder and tossed it onto the empty seat next to him.

He slid his arm around Florence, pulling her close, while his other hand found Margot’s, lacing their fingers together. The SUV climbed the winding, sun-drenched roads of the hills, the massive iron gates of the Bel Air estate waiting for them at the top.

”Three days,” Daniel said, looking out the tinted window at the city sprawling out below them. ”Three days by the pool. Then I lock myself in the edit bay.”

”Three days,” Margot agreed, resting her head against his shoulder. ”We hold you to it.”

Daniel leaned back against the leather seats, taking a deep, clean breath of Los Angeles air, his empire humming perfectly beneath his feet.

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A/N: Read ahead on Patreon: /AmaanS