Monday, July 18

From the folks behind Oval Office Space, a treatment of Harry, the not-yet-written book by Stephen King.

As one of the three remaining people on earth who have never read any of the Harry Potter books, I'm probably in no position to make fun here, and maybe I'm just a sicko anyway, but when I read this . . .

LONDON -- J.K. Rowling, whose literary creation Harry Potter has drawn millions of fans of all ages worldwide, is filled with dread at the thought of ending her popular series when the seventh and final edition is released.

. . .

As for writing non-Harry Potter fiction, she hinted she might consider a pen name.

"A fake name is very attractive," Rowling said. "I'll have less pressure and I can write any old thing I want and people won't be clamoring for it and that might be nice."

. . .

Rowling said she has no complaints, though she is sometimes nostalgic for the days before she was famous.

"But one of my regrets would be that I will never again have the pleasure of sneaking into a cafe ? any cafe I like ? sitting down and diving into my world and no one knowing what I am doing and no one bothering about me and being totally anonymous, that was fantastic."

. . . the first thought that popped into my head was this:


The sky is a riot of white snowflakes swirling around a particularly desolate stretch of road winding through the Highlands of northern Scotland. Even though it's mid-afternoon, what little light we can see is mostly created by the headlights of a lone JAGUAR XJ8 motoring along the windswept road.

Cut to the car's interior, where internationally famous children's author J.K. ROWLING, stylishly dressed and looking younger than her 40 years, wears a nervous expression as she grips the steering wheel with nervous, white-knuckled hands. Outside she can just barely make out a sign that reads "Curved Road, Next 13 Miles."

The sign isn't kidding around, for just beyond it is a sweeping but sudden left-hander that catches ROWLING by surprise. She pounces on the brakes perhaps a little too hard, and we see the back wheels of the JAGUAR skid out of line to the right. The car fights for traction, crabbed at a frightening angle as it shoots around the bend, and ROWLING overcorrects just enough to send the car into an irreversible spin. The JAGUAR goes flying off the outer edge of the curve and rockets into the void.

The JAGUAR crunches sickeningly into the snow and starts to roll down a tree-lined slope. It finally slams to a stop against a huge pine tree, wheels still spinning.

Inside, ROWLING's eyes are open. She's alive, but we -- and she -- can tell time is running out.

CU on ROWLING as her eyelids flutter, then close.

Almost no sooner have they closed, though, than there is a scraping sound at the driver's door, then a groan of metal being twisted against its will as the door is ripped open. Pull back to reveal a BUNDLED-UP YOUNG MAN, features obscured by the swirling snow. The YOUNG MAN crouches down and reaches into the car.


ROWLING's eyes flutter open again, and we see she is in a bed in a rustic mountain cabin. One arm has an IV in it; the other is bandaged and in a sling. The YOUNG MAN who rescued ROWLING from her car is standing beside the bed, looking concerned; his name is SAMMY WILKINSON, and he can't be more than 10 years old.

ROWLING. (hoarse whisper) Where . . . am I?

SAMMY. Shhh . . . just a couple hours south of Inverness.

ROWLING. How long . . . ?

SAMMY. You've been here two days. You're going to be OK. My name is Sammy Wilkinson, and I'm --

ROWLING. -- My number-one fan. Are your parents home?

SAMMY. (looks down at his feet) My mum's dead, and my dad spends all his time at the pub.

ROWLING. Oh. I'm sorry to hear that, Sammy. But I'm incredibly grateful to you for rescuing me.

SAMMY smiles, relieved.


ROWLING is looking a little more alert than she did the previous day, but still very weak. SAMMY brings a steaming spoonful of chicken soup up to ROWLING's lips, and she eats.

ROWLING. I guess it was kind of a miracle that you found me . . .

SAMMY. Oh, no, it wasn't a miracle at all. I was sort of following you, like.

ROWLING. You were?

SAMMY. Well, it wasn't any secret to me that you were staying in Inverness over the weekend, seeing as how I'm your number-one fan and all. Some nights I'd just look up at the window of your hotel room and . . . try to imagine what was going on in the room of the world's greatest writer.

ROWLING. You mean that?

SAMMY. Oh, I do. I practically know all of your books by heart, Ms. Rowling, all six of them. I love them so.

ROWLING. You're very kind . . .

SAMMY. And you're very brilliant, and you must be a good person, or you could never have created such a wonderful person as Harry Potter.

ROWLING. When do you think the phone lines will be back up? I want to call my agent in London and let him know I'm OK.

SAMMY. It shouldn't be too much longer. I'll keep trying the phone, in the meantime. (suddenly shy) Um . . . can I ask you a favor? I noticed in your briefcase there was a new Harry Potter book, and . . . I was wondering if maybe . . .

ROWLING. You want to read it?

SAMMY. Well . . . yes. If it's all right with you.

ROWLING. You've saved my life, Sammy. It's the least I can do.

SAMMY. (his eyes light up) Ms. Rowling, this is the greatest gift anyone has ever given me.


ROWLING is now able to sit up by herself in bed and feed herself. She picks at a plate of scrambled eggs as SAMMY walks in carrying a copy of the seventh Harry Potter book. He looks overcome with joy.

SAMMY. I bought it just the other day, Ms. Rowling. Before the snowstorm hit. I think I got the first copy in the city.

ROWLING. You did?

SAMMY. I'm already on page 185. I always get sad when I pass the halfway point. (pause) Can you do me another favor? I would love it if you'd autograph my copy.

SAMMY hands the book and a pen to ROWLING, who begins signing.

SAMMY. When my mom died, I didn't know what to do -- I felt like I was completely alone in the world. Like the only friend I had was Harry Potter. I just kept reading his adventures over and over again -- as soon as I'd finish one I'd start right in on the next one.

ROWLING hands the signed book back to SAMMY.

ROWLING. All done.

SAMMY. Oh, thank you, Ms. Rowling, thank you ever so much. I'd love to stay here and chat some more, but I'm almost near the end and I can't wait to find out what happens.

ROWLING. I hope you like it.

SAMMY. Of course I'll like it. Harry's about to have his final battle to save the world from Lord Voldemort. Does he end up killing -- no, no, don't tell me.

With that, SAMMY exits.


A FULL MOON is visible through the wispy clouds as ROWLING, still in bed, gazes wistfully out the window. Presently a loud stomping can be heard in the house, getting closer, until SAMMY is at ROWLING's bedside. His face is pale and contorted.

SAMMY. You . . . you dirty bird. He can't be dead. Harry Potter cannot be dead! How could you?

ROWLING. Sammy, everybody dies, they can't live forever. But his spirit is the important thing, and Harry's spirit is still very much alive --

SAMMY. (screaming) I DON'T WANT HIS SPIRIT! I want HARRY! And you MURDERED him!

ROWLING. I didn't . . .

SAMMY. Then who did?

ROWLING. Voldemort did -- Harry managed to save the world from Voldemort's evil clutches, but the exertion was just too much for him, and . . . he couldn't take it.

SAMMY. (screaming again) Couldn't take it? Couldn't take it?! Harry Potter is the greatest young wizard in the world -- he could find a way to "take it." But you wouldn't let him. You did it. You murdered my Harry!

Enraged, SAMMY has lifted his Lego model of Hogwarts Castle over his head. ROWLING thinks for a fleeting moment that SAMMY is about to hurl it at her, but at the last minute SAMMY turns and smashes it against a wall. The castle shatters on impact, with little Lego bricks and mini-figures flying everywhere.

SAMMY is panting as he surveys the destruction he has wrought, but when he turns back to ROWLING, his voice is surprisingly soft and measured.

SAMMY. I thought you were good, Ms. Rowling, but you're not good -- you're just a lying old dirty birdie, and I don't think I should be around you for a while.

SAMMY crosses to the door, then stops.

SAMMY. And don't even think about anybody coming for you, not the doctors, not your agent, your family -- because I never called them. Nobody knows you're here. And you better hope nothing happens to me, because if I die, you die.

SAMMY walks out and slams the door. As he stomps out into the snow outside, ROWLING's expression is one of utter shock and despair, knowing some very bad times are ahead.

(Author's note: I'd originally included a "hobbling" scene as part of this treatment, but who knows if some little kid might stumble upon this thing, so . . . you'll just have to picture it in your head, I guess.)


Josh said...

Well, duh - even if Rowling was hobbled, she'd just use the Ferula spell and fix herself.

(I haven't had sex in a long time).

merlallen said...

HaHA, good one. And I'm sure she really, really, regrets not being poor anymore. I could almost cry for her. And you're not the only one to never read those books.