….
[Red Studio's Warehouse]
….
The stillness was broken by the clang of the stage door, followed by the sound of boots - two distinct sets.
"Gwen, I got a call from Darren." Simon said as they entered, his voice low but edged with restrained excitement. "Apparently the fly test… was a success."
Gwendolyn didn't stop walking, but a small smile tugged at her lips. "Huh… Regal's probably grinning from tooth to tooth right about now."
Just the thought of him, arms crossed, failing to hide that lopsided smirk, made her want to see it herself.
Their conversation made a few people turn their heads as the grand hall enveloped Gwendolyn - one of the investors - entered and looked across the massive, dimly lit space.
Simon walked a few paces behind, hands overloaded - clipboard, binder, radio, but still carrying on a conversation mid-stride.
At the far end, they found the man they were looking for - Stuart Craig - the production designer for The Great Hall.
The man greeted the duo. "You found the place."
"We did." Gwendolyn said, approaching slowly.
Simon walked slower, already eyeing the chalk markings on the floor and the support columns rising from welded bases. He whistled low under his breath. "Looks more like a cathedral being born than a soundstage."
Stuart merely nodded, allowing everything to be absorbed by them.
"...." - "...." - "...."
In silence, they stood for a moment, eyes moving over the scale of the space.
The skeleton frame of scaffolding had begun to go up on one side, marking where the Grand Staircase would ascend, a steel superstructure reaching from the basement to the top of the soundstage. Down at the far end of the soundstage, construction workers were marking out the dimensions of the Great Hall, using chalk lines and an abundance of good sense to keep them from getting goofed up.
Simon took a breath and finally asked what had been sitting in his mind since they arrived.
"Stuart, be honest. Is this actually something we can do?"
It took Stuart a moment to respond.
His eyes drifted toward the rearmost part of the soundstage, where adjustments were being made to a gigantic lighting rig and orders were being shouted to a set of electricians who were busy hauling in cables.
He recalled being exactly here, this spot three months ago.
Only him, the sketch, and the empty space where anything could happen.
….
[Few Months Ago]
Stuart Craig, a man in his late forties stood alone in the cavernous emptiness of Soundstage K at Red Studios.
The space stretched before him like an aircraft hangar - which, in fact, it had been during the war.
Now it would become something else entirely, though he wasn't quite sure what yet.
He held in his worn hands a sheet of paper that had been opened and closed so often its folds were wearing thin…
The initial design of The Great Hall was flawless.
Regal was the one who provided him with the reference.
But for him? "Reference" was an odd word to use.
Because it looked perfect.
Like - Regal has actually visited the place personally.
The Great Hall wasn't just a large hall with four long tables where students sat during the day and at mealtimes. It is also the place that unintentionally portrays the beauty and awesomeness of the magic the world encompasses.
"How can I possibly do this?" The words escaped his lips in a whisper that echoed off the concrete walls.
Just the thought of handling the enchanted ceiling which mimics the night sky, complete with floating candles, is something that requires extensive human power, and not to mention to maintain it.
Remembering the situation, he recalled that phrase echoing through his mind: A project that is a dream for an architect is a nightmare for the engineer.
For more than two decades, Stuart had been doing the design work on film sets.
He had built Roman forums, Victorian London streets, and alien landscapes.
But this felt different.
This wasn't just about creating a believable environment - this was about bringing to life a world that existed in the imaginations of millions of readers.
He walked the perimeter of the soundstage, his footsteps echoing, trying to visualize how Regal scribbled lines could translate into physical space.
The Great Hall alone would need to accommodate four hundred students.
Regal had originally written about nine hundred, but they had deemed that impossible to film effectively….
…and of course he agreed to it as well.
Even the number four hundred was intimidating.
In his hands, the sketch quivered just a bit.
Of course he was scared - every Harry Potter fan in the world would judge his interpretation of this place.
Every child who had dreamed of receiving their Hogwarts letter would compare his creation to the castle in their mind.
But as he stared at those messy, wonderful lines, something clicked.
"Without this little map." He murmured, carefully folding the sketch and tucking it away. "I would never have dared to entertain this absurdity…"
….
That was three months ago.
Now, the Red studio workshops had been transformed into something closely resembling the sketch Regal had provided.
The model-making department occupied an entire warehouse, filled with the constant sounds of tiny saws cutting miniature timber, brushes applying paint to surfaces no bigger than postage stamps, and the quiet conversations of artists debating the proper shade of grey for castle stonework.
….
Acknowledging Stuart's work, Gwendolyn and Simon moved deeper into the warehouse of workshops…
That is when they met Marcus Whitfield.
His eyes were locked on a tiny turret as he adjusted its base with a pair of long, slender tweezers.
Unlike The Hogwarts Great Hall, the set of The Hogwarts School is still mid-construction.
Well, not the entire school, just the outer model - and various classrooms, the Hogwarts Express interior, and few more interiors that were not found in the real locations - were still under mid construction or only required touch ups.
Marcus finally noticed them through a halo of plaster dust and lamplight.
"Well, if it isn't the Ms. Owlsworth and Line Producer Simon." He said dryly, nodding at Gwendolyn and Simon as he wiped his hands on his work apron.
"Marcus. You really are doing a pretty good job." Simon greeted as Gwendolyn nodded.
"Haa, it's nothing. Just wait until it is finished." Marcus Whitfield - the head of the miniature department laughed.
Despite his humble words they could tell he is proud of the compliment, and they understand where it is coming from.
Eighty-six artists worked in carefully orchestrated shifts around three tables that held the growing Hogwarts model.
What had started as a collection of foam blocks and wooden armatures was now beginning to resemble Regal's vision - towers rising in organic spirals, bridges spanning impossible distances, gardens tucked into courtyards that suggested centuries of magical cultivation.
"You know, if only one man was working on this damn thing." Marcus told a visiting reporter, wiping plaster dust from his hands. "It would take him over seventy-four years to finish it."
Simon let out a low whistle. "That's… specific."
"We did the math." Marcus said with a shrug.
The number wasn't hyperbole.
They had actually calculated it, breaking down each hour they had put in, and the result was staggering.
Nearly three-quarters of a century of human labor compressed into six months through the dedication of dozens of artists working sixteen-hour days.
A silence fell.
Not somber - more reverent.
Around them, the artists kept working - Few carefully brushed aging pigment onto a stone wall. Another threaded the tiniest bit of wire into a lantern the size of a coin.
Simon clapped Marcus gently on the back. "We will leave you to it, but damn, mate - this is something else."
"Tell that to my spine." Marcus muttered, waving them off with a plaster-covered hand. "And if you see Regal, tell him the Astronomy Tower's nearly ready for final paint. I want him to sign off before we do the outer shell."
Gwendolyn gave a nod without slowing down, Rock trailing just behind her, flipping through the production notes on his clipboard as they weaved through the tight lanes of the workshop floor.
It was warmer here than outside, but no quieter.
The model room buzzed with the sound of fine sandpaper, faint drills, and brushes against foam, making the place smell like sawdust and glue.
Crouched over the Astronomy Tower was Sarah Chen, bending in a way that would have, by lunchtime, surely crippled most people.
Under her command, people kept brushing thin lines of shadow between the carved stones that were scarcely the size of a lentil.
For two weeks, and likely two more to come, they had been on that tower as by now everyone understood what this degree of detail was about.
Things were really coming out…
They could see it.
….
.
Now standing at the upper railing, Gwendolyn and Simon paused - just watching.
They would do the rounds soon, walk every corner of the floor like they always did. But for now, from up here, the full scale of it revealed itself.
The sheer scope of it all hit them at once.
Below, the studio moved like a living organism.
On one end, they could see the soft glow of fiber optics being laced into the walls - dozens of cables, hair-thin, slowly being guided through the foam stonework by a small team hunched over in concentration
This wasn't something you built in a week, or even a month.
It had to grow - one layer at a time, one detail folded into the next.
Just like the castle it was meant to become.
Gwen leaned slightly on the railing, letting her eyes roam across the floor, and whispered without looking at Simon.
"It's insane."
Simon nodded once, still staring.
...as people were working there were no loud commands given.
The mutual obsession of the group allowed them to work with the fluidity of clock hands passing each other.
They had long since ceased to care what would actually be projected onto the screen.
…and they were sure that the camera would pick up something and that they would not be the ones to make it look any less than something to be proud of.
Helene Parker stood at a table close to the wall, lightly pressing the base of Ravenclaw Tower with a cloth soaked in tea, soot, and ingredients she didn't find necessary to label.
The stones had been carved last Thursday, but under her brush, they looked like they'd been there since the Dark Ages.
Water stains, heat discoloration, the weird green wash you only see on stone when magic has been soaking through it for centuries - they all appeared under her fingers, layer by layer.
What she was doing, she never explained.
Because most of them didn't, either...
You just worked until the thing in front of you felt as if it were right, and when it didn't, you stripped it back and started again.
The castle itself grew like a living thing.
New wings bloomed off the main structure whenever the script called for it.
If Regal wanted a shot from a bridge that didn't exist, the bridge would get added.
If a corridor needed a visual through-line to tie together a dialogue scene, a turret would appear like it had always been there.
The model occupied a space that was essentially the size of an apartment with two bedrooms.
It had heft, girth and it even had something else good models need, not just in appearance but in actuality: standing before it, you could tell it was an entity meant to be taken seriously.
Even people who had never read the Harry Potter books would feel an urge to revere what was before them, whether they went all the way to just acknowledging the thing was a capstone of model-making or stopped shy of picturing it as a way unto the book's author.
Little gargoyles sitting on the roof corners.
A garden the size of a cereal bowl with real moss and dirt in it.
The stone bridges had uneven arches, with random stones knocked slightly out of line, as if time itself had touched them.
Every day, Stuart Craig passed through, half in his coat, sketch in hand, walking slowly as if to not startle the castle.
Often, he would stop to adjust a roof tile with one finger.
Other times, he would just stand and watch a painter for twenty minutes or more, before moving on.
When Stuart was around, it meant things were going right.
And behind it all, the original drawing by Regal - now creased, stained, and slightly torn from constant use - was still pinned to the board in the design office.
.
….
[To be continued…]
★─────⇌•★•⇋─────★
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