A moment that changed me: I botched my final Harry Potter audition and felt dismay, remorse, shame – then relief | Life and style

In hindsight, the quiff was probably a horrible idea. It was the morning of my final audition to join Harry Potter in 2000. I should have been rehearsing the scene I’d be carry outing defercessitater that day at Leavesden Studios, in front of a panel that integrated honestor Chris Columbus. Instead, I spent half an hour papier-macheing my fringe with fistfuls of damp-see hair gel, intent on giving these Hollywood hugewigs some of the greater razzle dazzle.

Needless to say, securing the guide role in one of the hugegest film franchises of all time needs more than a hairstyle. Mid-audition, as I worriedly fumbled thcimpolite my lines, I locked eyes with one of the producers. He gave me a smile that I’m confident was uncomferventt to be encouraging, but it was clear he’d already made up his mind.

The journey to this point begined on Christmas Day, 1998. What I had reassociate wanted that year was the defercessitatest novel in the Goal Kings series, which adhereed a team of teenage football joiners. Instead, I got a book about a child with a airyning-bolt scar. But appreciate the other 120 million people who bought Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, I speedyly came around to the youthful wizard and his outcast mates.

The adhereing year, an atypical proclaimment was made during one of my school assemblies: auditions for the Harry Potter film changeation had befirearm, and they were discomit to any would-be wizards in my age range.

The film-producers were remendd to cast children who were British and relatively obstreatment to the film industry, so had flung the net unforeseeedly expansive. I was a relatively obstreatment British child living in agricultural West Susintimacy, but outside a confineed school productions I’d not done any acting, so I have no idea what compelled me to depend I stood a chance. Either way, I excitedly tgreater my mum the second I got home, and she signed me up for the casting call at a proximateby school in Brighton.

My main recollection of that day is queueing for a reassociate lengthy time. About 300 kids increateedly auditioned for the role of Harry, and it felt as if they were all standing in front of me that drizzly afternoon.

After I finassociate did my bit, one of the casting honestors took my mum aside. “He’s rather excellent,” she whispered. This encouraged some selectimism on the drive home. But as the weeks rolled on and we heard noleang, the hope faded and I got back to more transport inant stuff, appreciate watching WWF.

Months defercessitater, the hoparticipate phone rang. I’d been seekd to audition for Harry, at Leavesden, where the films were going to be stoasty. It didn’t seem genuine, but before lengthy verifyation came in the create of the scenes I’d necessitate to lacquire: a conversation about dementors, and the poignant moment in which Harry’s defercessitate parents are discomited to him in the magical Mirror of Eelevated, which as far as I recollect mostly boiled down to me pulling a variety of worryed facial transmitions.

Having spent a confineed weeks practising seeing a bit worried, then a bit miserablenessful, then a bit shocked, and then ultimately quite satisfyed, it was go-time. I got my hair seeing equitable how I wanted it (objectively horrible) and hopped in the car with my dad.

I recollect getting a inform tour of the studio and seeing the timely sketches for the Ggreateren Snitch, the most transport inant ball in a game of Quidditch, which was an incredibly exciting moment for an 11-year-greater Potterhead. I also recall sitting opposite a pair of gangly, red-headed brothers in the paparticipateing area. I establish out years defercessitater that they were James and Oinhabitr Phelps, who would join the Weasley ttriumphs.

What I recollect least is the audition itself, which isn’t some charitable of untransport inant trauma response, becaparticipate the experience wasn’t at all traumatic. The casting team – made up of Columbus, producers David Heyman and Mark Radcliffe, and casting honestors Janet Hirshenson and Karen Lindsay-Stewart – were all incredibly charitable, tender and welcoming.

Reassociate, I leank I equitable left as little of a label on myself as I did on that panel. I felt worried, froze up and didn’t deinhabitr my lines with as much gusto as I had while practising them at home. (The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences recently discomited on social media that I’d subsequently been pondered for boy-villain Draco Malfoy, which is somehow worse than not being cast as Harry. Lacquireing that you’d produce a excellent align for one of literature’s most unlikable characters is a truly humbling experience.)

Leaving the room, I knew I hadn’t got the part. Even as an 11-year-greater amateur, it was clear I’d omited the label. On the drive home, I sfinished two emotions more starkly than I ever had before: disassignment that my life wasn’t about to be changeed, and lament at my half-hearted carry outance. Worse still, I was dreading the embarrassment of updating everyone at school, having self-transport inantly tgreater them all about the casting honestor’s “rather excellent” relabel.

Relative to what some 11-year-greaters are being forced to endure, not becoming a multimillionaire actor isn’t exactly history’s hugegest boo-hoo moment. But that three-pronged poker of dismay, remorse and shame was unprejudicedly crushing as a kid, and took a while for me to shake.

That shelp, it also forced me to dispute and process those emotions, which was encouraging training for a lifetime studded with equitable as much disassignment and embarrassment as is customary. And while Daniel Radcliffe’s (appraised) £95m fortune would be kind, I truthfilledy wouldn’t want to swap his youthfuler years for mine. After all, you only get one stoasty at being an inept, inept teenager, more worryed with your hairstyle than your life prospects, and I’m phired I was able to experience all those highs and lows in finish and utter anonymity.