**The Next Day — Table Read**
The rehearsal space was already buzzing when I arrived with my mother. The energy was different from last year—less nervous anticipation, more reunion excitement.
"Henry!" Rupert called out, waving me over to where he and Daniel were already sitting.
I made my way through the crowd, noting the familiar faces and the new additions. The adult cast was already assembled—Maggie Smith looking imperious as always, Alan Rickman reading his script with that intense focus, Richard Harris sitting quietly with a cup of tea.
And then I saw the new faces.
**Kenneth Branagh** had arrived and was holding court near the coffee station, gesturing dramatically while telling some story that had several crew members laughing. Gilderoy Lockhart personified, even out of costume. He caught my eye and winked.
**Mark Williams** was near the craft services table, already in conversation with Julie Walters. Arthur and Molly Weasley meeting for the first time. He had the kind of warm, approachable energy that made you immediately like him.
And there, standing slightly apart from the group, was Jason Isaacs.
He'd already been fitted with his new look—the long platinum blonde wig (properly made now, not tinfoil), flowing in a way that matched mine exactly. He was in costume too—dark robes that screamed wealth and status, the snake-headed walking stick in his hand.
He looked *magnificent*. Terrifying. Exactly right.
Our eyes met across the room, and he gave me a small nod of acknowledgment. Then, deliberately, he straightened his posture, lifted his chin with aristocratic disdain, and became Lucius Malfoy.
Even from across the room, even knowing he was acting, I felt a flicker of the fear Draco would feel.
*Perfect.*
"Henry!" Emma's voice cut through my thoughts. She was rushing over, Hermione costume already on, bushy hair even bushier than last year. "You're taller!"
"Puberty," I said dryly. "It happens."
"You look different. Older."
*That's the templates working. And it's only going to get more pronounced.*
"I'm thirteen now. Things change."
She was staring at me with that same breathless expression from last year, and I realized this was going to be an ongoing issue for the entire filming.
*Professional distance. Maintain professional distance.*
"How was your summer?" I asked, deliberately keeping my tone friendly but neutral.
Before she could answer, Chris Columbus called for everyone's attention.
"Alright, everyone! Welcome back to Hogwarts! As you can see, we have some new faces joining us this year. Kenneth Branagh will be playing Gilderoy Lockhart, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher—"
Kenneth took an elaborate bow that was so perfectly Lockhart that several people applauded.
"Mark Williams will be Arthur Weasley, and we'll be seeing much more of the Weasley family dynamics this year—"
Mark waved genially, looking like he'd been born to play the role.
"And last but certainly not least, Jason Isaacs will be playing Lucius Malfoy, Draco's father—"
Jason didn't bow or wave. He simply stood, radiating aristocratic menace, the snake-headed cane in his hand catching the light.
The room went quiet for a moment.
*Good,* I thought. *That's the reaction Lucius should get.*
"Now then," Chris continued, "let's begin with scene one. Chamber of Secrets opens in the Burrow, with the Weasley family..."
As the reading began, I watched Jason carefully.
He'd fully inhabited Lucius—every word dripped with contempt and superiority. When he delivered the line about Muggles and Mudbloods, there was such casual cruelty in his voice that even knowing he was acting, I felt uncomfortable.
*That's what I need to react to,* I realized. *That's the father Draco learned everything from.*
When we reached the Flourish and Blotts scene—the first interaction between Lucius and Draco—I felt myself shifting into character automatically.
**Jason/Lucius**: "Draco, come here. Now."
The command in his voice was absolute. I stood immediately, moving to where Jason sat, and I let my body language show Draco's desperate need for approval mixed with fear of disappointing.
**Me/Draco**: "Father."
**Jason/Lucius**: "Touch nothing, Draco. Particularly those dreadful books."
The disdain was perfect. The contempt for anything associated with Muggles or lesser wizards. And underneath it, the absolute certainty that his son would obey.
**Me/Draco**: "I thought you were going to buy me something."
I let just a hint of petulance into the line—the spoiled child accustomed to getting what he wants, but still anxious about pushing too far.
**Jason/Lucius**: "I said I would buy you a racing broom, and I will. But not here."
The dismissal was absolute. Draco's wants were important, but only in the context of what reflected well on the Malfoy name.
We continued through the scene, and I could feel the dynamic building—Lucius's absolute authority, Draco's desperate need to please, the underlying tension that would eventually tear their relationship apart.
When the scene ended and we moved on to other characters' sections, Alan Rickman spoke from his position at the adult table.
"That," he said quietly, "was a masterclass in father-son dynamics. The desperation under Draco's obedience, the casual cruelty under Lucius's authority—both of you showed it without saying it explicitly."
Jason nodded at me. "The kid's good. Makes my job easier when I've got a scene partner who understands the subtext."
"I'm thirteen, not six," I said. "I can handle complex character dynamics."
"Clearly," Maggie Smith observed dryly. "Though I do wonder where a thirteen-year-old learns to portray such complicated family dysfunction."
*From living through thirty-four years of disappointment and failure in my previous life, but we're not going to talk about that.*
"I just think about what Draco wants and what he's afraid of," I said aloud. "Everything else follows from that."
Kenneth Branagh, who'd been watching the whole exchange with interest, spoke up: "You know, Henry, I've worked with many young actors over the years, and most of them approach their roles with enthusiasm but limited depth. You approach yours like you're solving a complex equation. It's quite remarkable."
"Thank you, Mr. Branagh."
"Kenneth, please. We're colleagues, after all." He grinned, and there was something of Lockhart's charming insecurity in it already. "Though I admit, I'm slightly intimidated. Oscar winner at twelve, working with Nolan and Spielberg, and now showing up the adults in table reads. What's next, directing?"
*Actually, yes, eventually. But not yet.*
"I just want to do good work," I said simply.
"Well, you're certainly achieving that."
---
After the table read ended and we broke for lunch, Jason found me near the craft services table.
"So," he said, leaning on his snake-headed cane, "that went well."
"The costume worked."
"The costume worked because you backed me up with Chris. I owe you one."
"You don't owe me anything. You were right about the character design. I just confirmed it."
He studied me for a moment. "You're an unusual kid, Henry Cavendish."
*Everyone keeps saying that.*
"I just care about getting it right."
"That much is obvious. So let me ask you something—what happens to Draco and Lucius later in the series? You said you'd read ahead."
*I know everything. I know Lucius gets sent to Azkaban. I know Draco has to take the Dark Mark. I know Lucius fails completely as a father when it matters most. I know Draco eventually shows more courage than Lucius ever does.*
"Things get complicated," I said carefully. "Lucius makes some bad choices. Draco has to deal with the consequences. Their relationship... strains."
"Strains how?"
"Lucius puts pressure on Draco that Draco isn't equipped to handle. And when everything falls apart, Draco has to figure out who he is beyond being Lucius Malfoy's son."
Jason was quiet for a moment. "That's going to be a hell of an arc to play."
"For both of us."
"You're really thinking about this long-term, aren't you? Eight films over a decade, watching these characters grow and change..."
"That's the job. And I want to do it right."
He smiled, and this time it was genuine, not Lucius's cold amusement. "I think we're going to work very well together, Henry. Very well indeed."
---
As I left the studio that evening with my mother, I thought about what lay ahead.
Seven more films. Ten more years of being Draco Malfoy.
But I wasn't just Draco. I was also Henry Cavendish—Oscar winner, rising star, soon-to-be musician.
The templates were working. The plan was progressing. Everything was falling into place.
*Chamber of Secrets* would film over the next six months. Then more projects, more opportunities, more strategic career building.
And in two years, I'd release my music and show the world that Henry Cavendish was more than just an actor.
*One step at a time,* I thought.
*One film at a time.*
*One calculated move at a time.*
*Until I'm exactly where I want to be.*
—
**October 2001 — Margaret's Office, London**
Margaret's office had gotten bigger since I'd first signed with her at six years old. The glass and chrome aesthetic remained, but now she had a corner suite with a view of the Thames, framed posters of her clients on the walls—including my Oscar moment from last March—and a assistant who screened calls with military efficiency.
"You're going to want to sit down for this one," she said, gesturing to the chair across from her desk.
I sat, noting the particularly thick script sitting between us. The cover was unmarked except for: *CONFIDENTIAL - PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN.*
"Disney sent this over yesterday," Margaret continued, picking up the script with both hands like it weighed more than paper should. "Jerry Bruckheimer is producing. Gore Verbinski directing. They're planning a massive summer tentpole—Pirates of the Caribbean, based on the theme park ride."
I kept my expression neutral, but internally I was screaming.
*Pirates of the Caribbean. The film that would launch a franchise. The film that would make Orlando Bloom a heartthrob and Johnny Depp a megastar. The film that would redefine what a pirate movie could be.*
"What role?" I asked calmly.
"Will Turner. The male romantic lead opposite Elizabeth Swann, who they're still casting. It's a star-making role, Henry—the kind of thing that could launch you into a different stratosphere of fame."
She slid the script across the desk. I picked it up, already knowing the story by heart from my previous life, but needing to appear like I was discovering it for the first time.
"The character is a blacksmith who's secretly the son of a pirate," Margaret continued. "Skilled with a sword, romantic, heroic. Disney specifically requested you after seeing your work in *Harry Potter*. They want someone who can handle action, romance, and has that classical leading man quality."
I flipped through the script, letting my eyes scan dialogue I already knew. *"This is either madness or brilliance." "It's remarkable how often those two traits coincide."* Classic Jack and Will banter.
"There's something else," Margaret said, her tone shifting to cautious. "Keira Knightley is their top choice for Elizabeth Swann."
My head snapped up. "Keira?"
"You two worked together on that BBC film five years ago, didn't you? *The Winter's Tale*? The casting director remembered the chemistry between you two, even as children. They think you'd work well together again."
*Keira Knightley. Elizabeth Swann. The role that would make her a household name and establish her as one of the defining actresses of our generation.*
I thought about the ten-year-old girl I'd met at that audition, confident and talented even then. Now she'd be sixteen, nearly seventeen. And they wanted us to play romantic leads.
"When would filming be?" I asked, already knowing this was going to be complicated.
Margaret pulled out her calendar. "That's the issue. They're looking at a spring 2002 start date with shooting through summer. Four months on location in the Caribbean, then additional filming in Los Angeles."
I did the mental math immediately. "*Chamber of Secrets* wraps in December. *Prisoner of Azkaban* starts pre-production in February 2003. So theoretically, the timing works."
"Theoretically," Margaret agreed. "But Henry, you need to think about this carefully. You'll be filming back-to-back—finishing one major franchise film and immediately starting another. That's exhausting even for adult actors."
"I can handle it."
"I know you *can*. The question is whether you *should*." She leaned forward, her expression serious. "You're thirteen years old. You've already done more than most actors do in a lifetime. You have an Oscar. You're in the biggest film franchise in the world. You're recording music that could launch a second career. How much is too much?"
*There is no such thing as too much. Not for me. Not when I know exactly what opportunities are worth taking.*
"What about the hair?" I asked, changing the subject strategically. "I have to maintain platinum blonde for Draco. Will Turner has dark hair."
Margaret grimaced. "That's the other complication. They want you to let your natural color grow out, which means—"
"I'd have to stop bleaching it right after we wrap *Chamber of Secrets*," I finished. "Then bleach it again before *Azkaban* starts filming. That's two major color changes in less than two years."
"Your hair stylist said it's manageable but not ideal. The bleaching process every ten days is already harsh. Adding a grow-out period and then re-bleaching..." She shook her head. "Sarah's worried about long-term damage."
I thought about Tom Felton, who'd done exactly this for a decade and ended up with significant hair damage. But I also knew that with the physical templates, my hair would recover better than a normal person's. The ROB had designed me to be able to handle this kind of thing.
"What if we use a wig for one of them?" I suggested. "Either a dark wig for Will Turner or maintain the blonde and wig it for *Azkaban*."
"Disney wants your real hair. They're doing extensive water work and they want everything to look natural when wet. A wig would be too obvious." Margaret sighed. "And Warner Bros. specifically contracted for your natural bleached hair for Draco. They're very particular about maintaining visual consistency."
*So I'm trapped between two massive franchises and a hair color.*
"Let me read the full script," I said. "And I want to know who else is cast. You said Johnny Depp?"
"Captain Jack Sparrow. It's his film as much as Will and Elizabeth's. Geoffrey Rush is playing the villain, Barbossa. They're building an incredible ensemble."
*Geoffrey Rush. Oscar winner. One of the finest actors of his generation. And Johnny Depp, who would create one of the most iconic characters in cinema history with Jack Sparrow.*
This wasn't just a good opportunity. This was a *career-defining* opportunity.
But so was *Harry Potter*.
"I need to think about this," I said finally. "Can we set up a meeting with the *Pirates* team? I want to talk to Gore Verbinski, understand his vision for Will Turner."
"Already arranged. They're flying in next week specifically to meet with you." Margaret paused. "Henry, they're also meeting with Orlando Bloom."
*There it is. Orlando Bloom—the actor who'd played Will Turner in my previous timeline. Tall, dark-haired, classically handsome. He'd been perfect for the role.*
"How old is he?"
"Twenty-four. He just finished *Lord of the Rings* as Legolas, so he's got the action experience and he's about to be very famous when that trilogy releases."
*Of course. Orlando's about to become a massive star from LOTR. Disney would be smart to cast him—instant recognition, proven ability with fantasy action, and he's got the look.*
"So I'm competing against an adult actor with a major franchise credit who doesn't have scheduling conflicts."
"Essentially, yes." Margaret's expression was sympathetic. "But you have something he doesn't—you're younger, which makes the romance with Keira more age-appropriate. You have the Oscar. And frankly, you're a better actor."
I appreciated her confidence, even if it was her job to be confident in me.
"Set up the meeting," I said. "Let me talk to them, read with Keira if she's available, and make an informed decision."
"And if they offer it to you?"
*If they offer it, I take it. Pirates of the Caribbean is too big to pass up. I'll figure out the scheduling. I'll manage the hair situation. I'll make it work because that's what I do.*
"If they offer it to me, and if the scheduling truly works with *Harry Potter*, and if Warner Bros. approves the hair situation... then yes. I'll do it."
Margaret made notes on her pad. "I'll reach out to Warner Bros. today, get their position on you doing another major film between *Potter* movies. If they object—"
"They won't," I said with confidence I didn't entirely feel. "I'm a supporting character in *Harry Potter*. I'm not needed for every day of filming like Daniel, Emma, and Rupert. And doing a Disney franchise only raises my profile, which benefits *Potter* by extension."
"That's a good argument. I'll use it." She closed her notebook and looked at me seriously. "Henry, I want you to really think about this. Not as a strategic career move, but as a person. You'll be filming two of the biggest franchises in cinema, recording music, maintaining your education, and going through puberty. That's a lot."
*Puberty. Right. I'll be fifteen when Pirates films. The templates will be in full effect by then. The sex appeal template will be activating. I'll be playing a romantic lead opposite Keira Knightley—who I remember from my previous life had incredible chemistry with Orlando.*
*Can I replicate that? Can I be better?*
*Of course I can. I have forty-four years of life experience, cosmic templates, and the knowledge of exactly how this story plays out.*
"I appreciate your concern," I said genuinely. "But Margaret, this is what I want. This is what I've been working toward. Not just fame or success, but the opportunity to do great work in projects that matter. *Pirates* could be that."
She studied me for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Alright. Meeting next week. In the meantime, read the script, think about Will Turner, and prepare yourself for the possibility that you might be playing two iconic characters simultaneously."
"That's the goal, isn't it?" I said with a slight smile. "Multiple iconic characters. Multiple franchises. Multiple career paths."
"Most people would be satisfied with one iconic character."
"I'm not most people."
"No," Margaret agreed, something like wonder in her voice. "You're really not."
I stood to leave, the *Pirates* script in hand, already planning how I'd approach the character, how I'd make Will Turner mine the way I'd made Draco mine.
"Henry?" Margaret called as I reached the door.
"Yeah?"
"For what it's worth, I think you'd be brilliant as Will Turner. Just... don't lose yourself in all this ambition. You're thirteen. Remember to be thirteen sometimes."
*I'm forty-four. I'll never be thirteen again, not really.*
But what I said was: "I'll try."
As I left her office, script tucked under my arm, I thought about the road ahead.
*Pirates of the Caribbean*. Playing opposite Keira Knightley. Working with Johnny Depp and Geoffrey Rush. Creating another franchise character that could define a generation.
But first, I had to convince Disney I was the right choice.
And then I had to convince Warner Bros. to let me do it.
And then I had to figure out how to manage my hair, my schedule, and two massive film franchises without burning out.
*No pressure.*
I smiled to myself as I stepped out into the London afternoon.
*Just another day in the life of Henry Cavendish.*
*Oscar winner. Draco Malfoy. And soon, maybe, Will Turner.*
*Let's make some magic.*
—
**October 2001 — The Dorchester Hotel, London**
The suite where Disney had set up their casting sessions was absurdly luxurious—all cream-colored furniture, fresh flowers, and a view of Hyde Park that probably cost more per night than most people made in a month.
I arrived with Margaret and my mother, dressed carefully in what I'd come to think of as my "serious actor" uniform: dark jeans, crisp white shirt, blazer. My platinum blonde hair was slicked back as always, though I'd asked Sarah to style it slightly softer today. I needed to show them I could look like Will Turner, not just Draco Malfoy.
I'd turned fourteen just ten days ago—October 15th, celebrated with a quiet family dinner while deep into *Chamber of Secrets* filming. No big party this year. No time.
"Remember," Margaret said quietly as we waited, "Gore Verbinski is directing, but Jerry Bruckheimer is the real power here. If Jerry likes you, you're in. If he doesn't, it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks."
"Noted."
"And Henry?" She looked at me seriously. "They've already met with Orlando Bloom twice. They like him. So you're not just auditioning—you're competing against someone they already want."
*I know. Orlando Bloom, fresh off playing Legolas, classically handsome, and without any of my scheduling complications.*
*But I have something he doesn't: I know exactly how this story goes, and I know how to play Will Turner better than anyone.*
The door opened, and an assistant appeared. "Mr. Cavendish? They're ready for you."
I stood, straightened my blazer, and walked into the suite's main room with the confidence of someone who'd already won an Oscar.
The room was dominated by three people:
**Jerry Bruckheimer** sat in an armchair like a king on a throne—mid-fifties, silver hair, expensive suit, the kind of producer who could greenlight a hundred-million-dollar film with a phone call.
**Gore Verbinski** was standing by the window, younger than Jerry, dressed more casually, holding a coffee cup and looking like he'd already had too much caffeine.
And sitting on the couch, script in hand and looking nervous: **Keira Knightley**.
She'd changed since I'd last seen her five years ago. At sixteen, she was taller, her features had matured, and she had that striking combination of classical beauty and modern edge that would make her perfect for Elizabeth Swann.
"Henry Cavendish," Jerry said, standing to shake my hand. His grip was firm, assessing. "Thanks for coming in. You know Gore, and I believe you've worked with Keira before?"
"Once, when we were both much younger," I said, turning to Keira with a smile. "Good to see you again."
"You too," she said, and I caught something in her expression—curiosity mixed with relief. She'd been sitting here nervous and alone, and now there was someone she knew.
*Good. That works in my favor.*
"Sit, please," Jerry gestured to the couch next to Keira. "We want to talk about Will Turner, and then we'll have you two read some scenes together."
I sat, maintaining proper distance from Keira—close enough to show we could work together, far enough to be professional.
Gore moved from the window, perching on the arm of Jerry's chair. "So, Henry. You've read the script. What do you think of Will Turner?"
*Here we go. This is where I need to show them I understand the character better than they do.*
"Will Turner is the heart of the film," I said without hesitation. "Jack Sparrow is the flash and the entertainment, Elizabeth is the brains and the defiance, but Will is the emotional core. He's the character the audience is supposed to relate to—the everyman who gets pulled into this adventure and discovers he's meant for more."
Jerry and Gore exchanged glances.
"Go on," Jerry said.
"Will thinks he's just a blacksmith. He's spent his whole life believing he's ordinary, that the best he can hope for is to maybe earn enough to be worthy of Elizabeth's attention. But he's secretly the son of Bootstrap Bill Turner—a pirate. That's his internal conflict. He's torn between the respectable life he thinks he should want and the adventure, the danger, the freedom that's in his blood."
"Most actors see Will as the straight man," Gore observed. "The serious one while Jack gets to be funny."
"That's a mistake," I said firmly. "Will has humor—it's just dryer, more subtle. He's witty, not silly. And yes, he's serious about honor and doing the right thing, but that's what makes him interesting opposite Jack. Jack has no rules. Will has too many rules. The arc is about Will learning when to break his own rules."
Jerry leaned forward slightly. "You've thought about this."
"I've thought about everything I do," I said. "I don't audition for roles I don't understand."
"You're fourteen," Gore said, not challenging but curious. "Will Turner is supposed to be early twenties. How do you plan to play someone nearly a decade older?"
*Because I'm actually forty-five, but we're not going to discuss that.*
"By the time you film, I'll be fifteen," I said. "Nearly sixteen depending on when you schedule my scenes. And you're not filming a documentary—you're filming a fantasy adventure. Age matters less than presence and performance. Can I hold the screen against Johnny Depp and Geoffrey Rush? Can I make the audience believe in Will and Elizabeth's romance? Can I handle the sword fighting and the physical demands? Those are the real questions."
"Fair point," Jerry conceded. "And for what it's worth, your work in *The Poet's Son* showed you can play older than your age. But there's another issue." He gestured to my hair. "Draco Malfoy is blonde. Will Turner is dark-haired. You're locked into *Harry Potter* for the next decade."
"I'm aware. And I've discussed it with my hair stylist. Here's what I'm proposing: I stop bleaching the moment we wrap *Chamber of Secrets* in December. That gives me four months to let my natural color grow back before filming starts in April. We do *Pirates* with my natural dark hair. Then in October, before *Prisoner of Azkaban* starts filming, I bleach it back to platinum for Draco."
"Your hair can handle that kind of abuse?" Gore asked skeptically.
"It'll be managed carefully. And honestly, the bleaching isn't as harsh as people think if you have good professionals doing it." *And if you have cosmic templates that make your hair stronger than normal human hair, which I do.*
"What about Warner Bros.? Have they approved this?"
"Margaret is negotiating with them now. They're being cautious, but I'm a supporting character in *Potter*. I'm not needed every day of filming like Daniel Radcliffe. There's room in my schedule."
Jerry sat back, studying me with those sharp producer eyes. "You've got answers for everything, don't you?"
"I'm prepared. That's different from having all the answers."
He smiled slightly. "We've also been meeting with Orlando Bloom. Do you know who that is?"
*Of course I do. He played Will Turner in my previous timeline and did it brilliantly.*
"Legolas in *Lord of the Rings*," I said. "I've heard the footage from that is incredible. He's a talented actor and he'd be excellent for Will Turner."
Keira made a small sound of surprise at my honesty.
"But?" Jerry prompted.
"But he's twenty-four. Keira's sixteen. That's an eight-year age gap. When you film romantic scenes, when they're supposed to be childhood friends who've grown up with unspoken feelings, that age difference shows. The audience can feel it." I turned slightly toward Keira. "How old is Will Turner supposed to be in your mind?"
She blinked, clearly not expecting to be brought into the conversation. "Um... nineteen? Twenty? Young enough that he and Elizabeth feel like peers, not like he's significantly older."
"Exactly," I said, turning back to Jerry and Gore. "Orlando Bloom is brilliant, but he reads as a man. I can read as a young man—barely more than a boy—which is what Will Turner actually is. He's not a worldly adult. He's someone who's never left Port Royal, who's never been on a real adventure, who still believes in fairy tale concepts of honor and heroism."
"You're saying you can play naive better than Orlando," Gore said, amusement in his voice.
"I'm saying I can play the specific kind of naive optimism that Will Turner needs. The belief that if you're good and honorable and brave, everything will work out. Orlando has lived more life—he brings more world-weariness to his roles whether he means to or not. That works for Legolas, an elf who's centuries old. It doesn't work for Will Turner."
Jerry and Gore were both leaning forward now, fully engaged.
"There's also the practical consideration," I continued. "You're planning a franchise, right? Multiple films?"
"That's the hope," Jerry said carefully.
"If you cast someone who's fourteen now, you can age them up across multiple films and it works naturally. We can grow with the characters. I'll be seventeen by the time the first film releases, nineteen or twenty by a potential sequel. That timeline works. If you cast someone who's twenty-four now, by the third or fourth film, they're pushing thirty. That's harder to sell as a young romantic lead."
"Assuming we want to make multiple films," Jerry said, but his tone suggested I'd hit on something they'd been discussing.
"Mr. Bruckheimer, you're Jerry Bruckheimer. You don't make one-off films. You make franchises. *Pirates* has franchise written all over it—the mythology, the characters, the world-building. You're already thinking three, four, maybe five films ahead. And you need actors who can grow with that."
Gore laughed outright. "He's got your number, Jerry."
Jerry's expression was unreadable. "Alright, Henry Cavendish. You talk a good game. Let's see if you can back it up. Gore, you want to set up the scene?"
Gore pulled out a script. "We're doing the jail cell scene—Will and Elizabeth meeting again after she's been captured, before Will knows she's been used as leverage. It's their first real conversation as adults, all the childhood feelings bubbling under the surface."
He handed scripts to both Keira and me. "Take a few minutes to look it over, then we'll run it."
Keira and I moved to the side of the room, scripts in hand.
"You're different than I remember," she said quietly.
"We were ten and nine. Everyone's different from when they were ten."
"No, I mean... you're very confident. You walked in here and basically told Jerry Bruckheimer how to cast his film."
"I told him why I'm the right choice. There's a difference."
She studied me for a moment. "Are you always like this?"
"Like what?"
"So... sure of yourself."
*Yes. Because I've lived an entire lifetime already and I know exactly what I'm capable of.*
"I'm sure of my abilities," I said. "That's not the same as being arrogant. I know what I can do, and I know when I'm right for a role. Will Turner? I'm right for this."
"What about us?" She gestured between us with the script. "The chemistry that's supposedly so important?"
I looked at her directly, and for the first time since entering the room, I let a bit of the sex appeal template activate—just a hint, just enough to make her breath catch slightly.
"I think we'll manage," I said quietly.
She stared at me for a beat longer than necessary, then looked away, color rising in her cheeks.
*Got her attention. Good.*
"Alright," Gore called. "Whenever you're ready."
We took positions in the center of the room. The scene started with Will approaching Elizabeth's cell, seeing her for the first time since they were children.
I let myself become Will Turner—not the confident actor Henry Cavendish, but the blacksmith's apprentice who'd spent years worshipping Elizabeth Swann from afar, never believing she'd see him as anything more than a childhood friend.
**Me/Will**: "Elizabeth." (Said with wonder, barely able to believe she's real)
**Keira/Elizabeth**: "Will? Will Turner?"
**Me/Will**: "It's me." (Stepping closer to the bars, drinking in the sight of her)
**Keira/Elizabeth**: "How did you get here?"
**Me/Will**: "That's not important. I came to save you."
The scene continued, and I let every look carry weight—the longing Will had never expressed, the desperate need to prove himself worthy of her attention, the fear that he's not good enough.
When Will realizes Elizabeth remembers him from childhood, I let pure joy and disbelief flash across my face.
**Me/Will**: "You remember me?"
**Keira/Elizabeth**: "Of course I remember you. I thought you'd become a blacksmith."
**Me/Will**: "I did. But today, I'm something more." (Said with quiet determination, the boy trying to be a man)
We reached the end of the scene, and I held Keira's gaze for a moment longer than necessary, letting the unspoken feelings hang in the air.
"Cut," Gore said quietly.
The room was silent.
Jerry Bruckheimer was staring at us with an expression I couldn't quite read.
Gore Verbinski had set down his coffee cup and was leaning forward, completely focused.
"Do it again," Jerry said. "Same scene, but this time, Keira, be more skeptical. You're not sure you can trust Will's promises. Henry, you're trying to convince her you're not the same naive boy she knew."
We ran it again, adjusting the dynamic. This time Will was more desperate, more aware that he might fail, and Elizabeth was harder to crack.
"Again," Jerry said. "This time, make it about the things they're not saying. The childhood feelings, the unspoken longing, the fear of rejection."
We ran it a third time, and this one was different. This time I let every glance carry layers—Will looking at Elizabeth like she was something precious he might break, like he'd spent years memorizing her face, like seeing her now was both the best and worst thing that could happen.
Keira matched me beat for beat, her Elizabeth fighting to maintain composure while clearly affected by Will's presence.
When we finished, the silence stretched longer.
Finally, Jerry spoke: "Gore, thoughts?"
"The chemistry is there," Gore said immediately. "More than there—it's electric. They read as peers, as equals, as two people with history. And Henry—" he turned to me, "—you were right. You don't play Will as naive. You play him as idealistic, which is different. There's intelligence behind his choices, even when they're reckless."
Jerry nodded slowly, then looked at Keira. "What did you think?"
"He's good," she said simply. "Really good. And it felt... natural. Like we've known each other for years."
"We have," I pointed out. "Just not recently."
Jerry stood, and everyone in the room tensed slightly. This was the moment.
"Henry Cavendish," he said, "you make a compelling case. Your understanding of Will Turner is sophisticated. Your chemistry with Keira is undeniable. And frankly, your arguments about age and franchise potential are valid."
My heart was racing, but I kept my expression neutral.
"However," Jerry continued, "we still have concerns. The scheduling with *Harry Potter*. The hair situation. Your age—you'll be sixteen when we film, playing a character who's supposed to be twenty. That's still a gap."
"With respect, Mr. Bruckheimer, you just said the chemistry works. The audience won't care about real ages if the performance sells it."
"Maybe. But Disney is risking a lot of money on this film. They need to know their lead actor can handle the pressure, the physical demands, the media attention that comes with a summer tentpole."
"I won an Oscar at twelve," I said flatly. "I've handled Christopher Hampton, Christopher Nolan, and Steven Spielberg. I'm playing Draco Malfoy in the biggest film franchise in the world. With respect, sir, pressure is what I do."
Jerry's lips twitched. "You don't lack for confidence."
"I don't lack for experience either."
He turned to Gore. "Your call. You're the director."
Gore looked at me for a long moment, then at Keira, then back to me.
"I want him," he said simply. "Orlando is talented, but Henry's right—he's too old for what we need. Will Turner needs to be someone still becoming who he's meant to be. Henry can give us that journey. Plus—" he grinned, "—I like working with actors who fight for their roles. Shows they care."
Jerry nodded slowly, then extended his hand to me. "Alright, Mr. Cavendish. Pending approval from Warner Bros. on the scheduling, pending your parents signing off on the contract terms, pending you not screwing up your hair so badly we have to reshoot everything—welcome to *Pirates of the Caribbean*. You're Will Turner."
I shook his hand, keeping my expression professional even though internally I was screaming with triumph.
*I did it. I got Will Turner. I'm in Pirates of the Caribbean.*
"Thank you for the opportunity," I said. "I won't let you down."
"See that you don't. Gore will be in touch about sword fighting training, stunt work, all the physical prep. We start filming April 2002. You'll need to be in Los Angeles by March for training."
As Margaret and I left the suite twenty minutes later—after discussing contract specifics, scheduling, and about a dozen other logistical details—I felt the weight of what I'd just committed to.
*Harry Potter and Pirates of the Caribbean simultaneously.*
*Two massive franchises.*
*Two iconic characters.*
*Everything I'd been working toward.*
"You did it," Margaret said in the elevator, and there was genuine pride in her voice. "You actually convinced Jerry Bruckheimer to cast a fourteen-year-old over a twenty-four-year-old adult actor."
"I convinced him I was the right choice. There's a difference."
"Henry, do you understand what you just signed up for? The next five years of your life are going to be consumed by these two franchises."
*I know. I know exactly what I signed up for. Because I've seen how this story ends, and I'm going to make sure it ends even better this time.*
"I understand," I said. "And I'm ready."
As we stepped out onto the London street, my phone buzzed. A text from David Chen: *Heard the news. You're insane. But also brilliant. Let's talk about the music timeline—we need to adjust.*
I smiled.
*Henry Cavendish: Oscar winner. Draco Malfoy. Will Turner. And soon, musician.*
*Fourteen years old and playing in two of the biggest franchises in cinema history.*
*Phase Four was ahead of schedule.*
*And I was just getting started.*
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