Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related indicia belong to JK Rowling and publishers and Warner Brothers, not me, and I'm not getting anything for this, and no copyright infringement is intended, so shove off, lawyers.

Screening

Jason Howell liked his job as a ticket-taker for Loews Theaters. He got to meet interesting people every day, and he felt like he was giving them each a little magic as he handed them back their ticket stubs and directed them to their separate theaters. Each new movie seemed like a new form of existence to Jason Howell. When Hannibal came out, he spent several weeks reading cookbooks and working on a recipe for sauteed brains so as to deepen his rapport with the characters in the movie.

November of 2001 was a strange month for Howell, however. The weather kept brightening and then fading to typical autumn chill; the general atmosphere of Loews Theaters fluctuated from overjoyed to bitter and disappointed. He found himself discussing these issues with Jane Berryman, the Popcorn Girl. "It's like something bizarre has come over the entire world," he said. "Everything's, you know, like topsy turvy."

"Unh," said the Popcorn Girl, bored.

"Like, all these new trailers seem to be about some weird movie with broomsticks and some kid with glasses. Before, things were different. It was like movies were all about the guy who falls for the girl and funny stuff happens and then he gets the girl."

"Eh."

But Jason Howell had no further chance to discuss the changing nature of the world with the unresponsive Popcorn Girl, because a horde of people had just entered the theater and were waving their movie tickets in a helpless sort of way. He hurried back to his station and assumed his Working Smile.

"Over here, folks," he grinned. "If I could just see your tickets for a second..."

The group of people stared at each other, and turned to face him. The leader, an extremely pale boy with hair so blonde it looked silver, lifted an inquiring eyebrow. "This?" he asked, holding out the ticket. Jason grinned at him, feeling the grin losing momentum.

"Yeah," he said. He plucked the ticket from the blonde boy's fingers and ripped it neatly in half. "Down the hall and to the right, theater number ten." The boy was staring at him; as Jason watched, he transferred his gaze to the ripped ticket, and back up to Jason's face. Jason was suddenly aware that his eyes were a very clear light grey, the exact color of cigarette smoke in rain.

One of the others pushed forward. "It's okay, Malfoy," said the newcomer, a girl with bushy brown hair and a rather authoritative mien. "Just do what he says. I'll explain later."

Explain what? Jason thought. Ticket-taking procedure?

The rest of the group handed over their tickets and proceeded off down the hall towards the theater that was showing the Harry Potter Movie, the most anticipated cinematic occurrence since....Jason considered....The Matrix. Weird, he thought. They kinda looked like some of the people on the trailer. Especially that blonde dude with the gelled back hair.

Malfoy leaned weakly against the inside of the theater door. "They're everywhere," he muttered. "Muggles....staring at me...."

"Well," said Harry shortly, "you don't exactly make that difficult, do you? What with the hair and the leather trousers and the black trenchcoat, you sort of stand out in a crowd."

"What?" Draco protested, staring down at himself. "I happen to have exquisite taste."

"Well, park it in a seat and shut up," Harry told him firmly. "We're only here to do research, anyway. Don't make more of a scene than you already have, and we might actually be able to observe the Muggles. Kay?"

Draco let himself be led to an empty row of seats, and installed in one between Harry and Hermione, to insulate him from Ron. Ron had been giving him filthy looks ever since they'd been called into Dumbledore's office a week ago for a debriefing.

"I can't work with him!" both Malfoy and Ron had spat almost in unison, upon hearing of their assignment. Dumbledore had looked as if he was trying his damnedest not to laugh, but had told them seriously that their personal issues were not to get in the way of finding out information about the Muggle view of the wizarding world.

"We have had reports of a Muggle "movie" chronicling the events of your first year at Hogwarts," said Dumbledore. "It has spread too far and too fast for us to merely Obliviate all the Muggles who have heard of it; rather, we need to know exactly how inaccurately or accurately it portrays wizarding life, so that we can decide what changes to make in security. You four, being as how your stories are being told in this movie, are the perfect candidates for the job."

Malfoy, Weasley, Granger and Potter had stared at one another—Malfoy in abject horror, Granger with interest and excitement, Potter with a sort of world-weary cynicism and Weasley with fury. He had actually shaken his fist at Draco, which amused Draco no end and clearly made Dumbledore try even harder not to laugh. "There will be no further discussion of this matter," said the Headmaster. "You will all meet up here exactly one week from now at noon and take the Portkey to the Muggle "movietheater" where you will view this film. You are dismissed."

Hermione rummaged in her pockets. "I'm going to go and get some food," she whispered to Harry. "D'you want anything?"

"I could do with some popcorn," he hissed back. "And some of those...what're they called....m&ms, to throw at the screen if it's really bad."

Hermione giggled. "What about you, Ron?"

"I'm fine," muttered Ron, staring at Malfoy with a Stare of Death. Draco tipped his lovely head towards them, raised an eyebrow.

"What are we conspiring about now?" he asked lazily.

"Nothing," said Ron. Draco shrugged.

"If you're going down to the food place, Granger," he drawled, "you could pick me up some Gummi Bears."

"Gummi Bears, Malfoy?" Hermione asked, straight-faced.

"Yes. I like biting their little heads off. Not as good as Chocolate Frogs, but what can you expect in a world without magic? My father's drug-smuggler friends used to bring me Muggle candy when I was younger." He subsided back into the seat, letting his eyes slide shut, assuming his bidding would necessarily be done. Hermione shook her head in wonderment before hurrying down to the concession stand.

Back in the theater, Ron was clenching and unclenching his hands on the armrests, rhythmically. Harry flicked a glance between him and Malfoy, who was still reclining in the seat, regarding the screen with half-closed eyes. He didn't seem to care that Ron's urge to kill him was rising. Harry sighed. Malfoy had mellowed out a great deal in the past year, after his father had died in a freak Apparition accident and he had renounced the Death Eater guild membership, but he and Ron continued to cordially despise one another. Having to work together on a project like this was a classical teacher's way of Getting Problem Students To Overcome Interpersonal Differences, but Harry had his doubts about it working in this case. He himself didn't hate Malfoy any more; he didn't much like him, either, but he no longer felt the same vitriolic hatred that was curling Ron's fingers into the dingy velveteen of the chair armrests. He sighed again. Time to do a bit of distraction.

"Hey," he said, "what the hell is wrong with that kid's hair?"

A trailer had just popped up on the screen. A remarkably unconvincing animation of a child was running around on screen, his brown hair all one piece and curving up over his skull to form a sort of tear-drop shape. Malfoy frowned beautifully. Malfoy did everything beautifully.

"I don't know," he said sourly, "but the idea that Muggles voluntarily pay money to sit here in the sticky darkness and watch this kind of rubbish...well, frankly, Potter, it depresses me."

The badly-animated child was now leading an equally badly-animated army against a green individual with eyes on stalks. "Doesn't look so bad to me," drawled Malfoy. "Not like some of the things your Hagrid makes us deal with in Care of Magical Creatures."

"Don't you dare badmouth Hagrid!" Ron spat. Malfoy flicked a glance at him.

"Weasel, Weasel, Weasel," he cajoled, "you mustn't be so defensive all the time. It makes you hard to get to know."

Harry thought Ron might have gone for him there and then if it hadn't been for the timely intervention of Hermione, returning with food. "Here you go," she said, handing Malfoy his Gummi Bears and Harry his popcorn and M&Ms. "You guys owe me twenty pounds."

Harry, who had grown up with Muggle money and knew the rates of exchange, sat up straight. "Twenty pounds? What's the popcorn popped in, white truffle oil?"

"We're a captive market," Hermione said mildly as she unwrapped a large bar of chocolate and began to gnaw at it. "I'll expect repayment in wizarding money upon our return to Hogwarts."

Ron looked rather glad he hadn't requested any food.

"Oh, look," said Harry some time later. "The feature presentation. That's us, guys."
Malfoy glanced at him, ate a Gummi Bear meditatively. "Thank you, Potter. The rest of us are so glad we've got you to tell us these things."

Harry flicked an M&M at him. "Be quiet. We're on a mission from Dumbledore."

Malfoy sighed theatrically and settled back in the chair. On the screen a suburban street was taking shape. A man with extremely long white hair and a beard to match appeared in the mists, and performed a complicated series of gestures with a thing that looked like a butane lighter; one by one all the lights on the street went out. "Dumbledore, I presume," said Draco.

"Who else? My, he's going to be interested to know what the Muggles think his hair looks like," said Hermione.

"I dread to think what they're going to do with you, Granger."

"Shut up, Malfoy."

The screen-Dumbledore approached a cat that was sitting on a low brick wall; the cat became a woman with a stern, wrinkled face and minute spectacles. "Heh," said Harry in a low voice. "She's not going to be happy with that. I'd put her in her mid-fifties. That lady looks a great deal older."

"In the interests of peace," said Malfoy, "I suggest you don't tell her that."

Ron pointed at the screen. "They've got it all wrong," he said. "Your house doesn't look like that. And since when did the Dursleys drive a shiny new silver car?"

"I think it's part of the attempt to make them more boring and suburban than they really are." Harry leaned back. "Look, it's Hagrid."

All four of them watched as a motorbike flew out of the sky and landed, smoking gently, on the street. An enormous man dismounted, holding a bundle in his arms. Malfoy snorted.

"That's Hagrid?" he demanded.

"Well, be fair," said Hermione, "they didn't have half-giants to use as a basis. Why, he's only about two or three feet taller than anyone else."

"Awwww," said Malfoy, pointing at the bundle in Hagrid's arms. "That's you, Potter. How cute."

"Was it really like that?" Ron asked.

"I don't know, I was a baby! And asleep!"

"Well, they've certainly made your famous scar less obvious," said Malfoy. "Look, it's tiny, and not even in the center of your forehead."

"Just shut up and watch the film, Malfoy."

The titles rolled across the screen, to be replaced with a scene of Harry in what was supposed to be his cupboard under the stairs. Harry stared. "They call that a cupboard?" he demanded. "My God, it's practically a suite at the Savoy! I've got an actual bed in there!"

"And you look ever so adorable," said Malfoy snidely. "I bet the Muggle girls are going to go absolutely insane over you. Look at that wide angelic face and that sweetly tousled hair."

Harry gave him a look that rivalled Ron's. "I wonder what they'll make of you."

"Well, it's hardly going to be less than complimentary, is it? I mean, all the reports they have of me go on at length about my pallid, pointed beauty." Malfoy tilted his head to give them a profile view. "Regard the fine bone structure and the elegant features. I can't see where they'd go wrong."

"Let me at him," muttered Ron to Hermione, who had a death-grip on his arm. "Let me at him."

"And if that's supposed to be Dudley, he must've had some kind of control over the filmmakers, because he's missing about three stone in weight," Harry muttered. "That's svelte compared to Dudley."

Hermione frowned in incredulity. "How does he get through doorways?" she demanded.

"Sideways and at a bit of a run."

Events progressed. By the time they'd got to the little shack on the island and had met Hagrid again, Harry had run out of popcorn and Ron's eyes had gone almost as wide as house-elves' at the revelation of Harry's childhood traumas. Malfoy was regarding the screen with the same look of slightly amused disdain he used for almost everything that wasn't up to his standards, and Hermione looked as if she was mentally keeping a running tally of mistakes to report to Dumbledore when they returned. Harry noticed that the very tip of her tongue was sticking out of the corner of her mouth, as it often did when she concentrated very hard. He swallowed. If this "movie" was supposed to describe the events of their first year, it would involve a lot of onscreen conversation between the three of them, including their early impressions of one another, which he wasn't at all sure he wished to revisit. He sighed and stole several of Malfoy's Gummi Bears, and bit the head off one in a small access of malice.

(To be continued when I've got some sleep and have come down off my Rickman/Felton high.)