You never expected to become part of a franchise as big as Harry Potter, but there you were—standing on a massive soundstage at Leavesden, clutching a script with your character’s name printed in thick black letters.

Sean Biggerstaff—already beloved as Oliver Wood—walked up beside you, offering a small smile and a handshake.

“Guess we’re enemies,” he said with a playful shrug.

Your characters were written as rivals: your character, sharp-tongued, academically brilliant, and unimpressed by Quidditch fanaticism; his, determined, competitive, and sick of your character “getting in the way” of practices and players.

The writers loved the dynamic. So they enhanced it. Then leaned into it. Then pushed it further—until “rivals” slowly shifted into enemies to lovers.

Which meant… you and Sean started spending a lot of time together.

It began innocently. Blocking notes. Table reads. Practicing lines when the lighting team needed twenty more minutes. But Sean quickly made everything feel less like work and more like the beginning of something you weren’t sure you should name.

He always laughed at your sarcastic comments. He always lingered longer than needed when demonstrating physical beats—like when Oliver grabbed your character’s arm in irritation. And every time the director said, “Again, but closer,” he’d bring you dangerously near, breath mingling with yours, eyes flickering down to your lips for a split-second.

You’d roll your eyes after each take, pretending not to notice.

But you did. You noticed everything about him.

Halfway through filming the next movie, the writers added a new scene to your script.

Scene 56B — Oliver and __ argue in the hall. Tension builds. They kiss.

You stared at the page for a full minute. Then another.

Sean, reading beside you, blinked—then let a slow, mischievous smile spread across his face.

“So… we’re doing this now?”

You tried to sound unfazed. “It’s just acting.”

“Right,” he said softly. “Just acting.”