The name Hans Zimmer resonated throughout the Dolby Theatre, met with a wave of applause that sprang up almost immediately.
"And the Oscar for Best Original Music goes to… Hans Zimmer, Blind Man's Gambit."
For a brief moment, Harry was frozen in place.
Then Hans turned around, his eyes wide with genuine surprise, even though he had experienced this moment before, and pulled Harry into a tight embrace that nearly took his breath away.
"You did this," Hans said, chuckling softly, his voice thick with emotion. "You gave me the space to create."
Harry shook his head, grinning. "You gave it a soul. Congratulations on your second one. Not too shabby!"
Hans laughed. "Lion King in '99… and now this. I love the symmetry."
As Hans made his way to the stage, Harry finally relaxed back into his seat. The applause around him roared, but his gaze wandered, taking in the sea of faces glowing in the warm golden light.
That's when he spotted him.
Harvey Weinstein.
Harvey caught Harry's attention right away—and flashed a smile.
A subtle, knowing lift of his lips.
It sent a shiver down Harry's spine.
"Harry?" Anne murmured beside him. "You alright?"
He blinked, jolted back to reality, and noticed the applause was still echoing as Hans approached the microphone.
"Yeah," Harry replied quickly, forcing a smile. "Just… lost in thought."
Anne scrutinized him for a moment, then let it slide as Hans began his speech—gracious, humble, and overflowing with compliments for the orchestra, the musicians, and the director who had entrusted him with sound.
Harry clapped when Hans wrapped up, genuinely this time. Whatever games were afoot in the room, that victory was undeniable.
Later that night, the Best Editing award came and went.
Not them.
Greg leaned in a bit, his eyes sparkling. "It's still amazing just to be nominated."
Harry shrugged, a hint of indifference in his posture. "The editing branch doesn't do subtle. They're all about the big, flashy moments."
Greg flashed a smile, but Harry could sense the scrutiny behind it.
He wasn't angry, at least not on the surface. But he understood the game. The Academy had a soft spot for experience, for legacy, for the familiar faces. A young director-producer bursting onto the scene with a $40 million thriller and suddenly taking over? That kind of narrative made people uneasy.
Maybe Harvey had quietly closed a few doors.
Or maybe those doors had just slammed shut on their own.
Then it was time for Best Original Screenplay.
Harry found himself sitting up a little straighter, almost instinctively.
"And the Oscar goes to…"
A dramatic pause.
"Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind — written by Charlie Kaufman, Michel Gondry, and Pierre Bismuth."
The applause erupted. It was loud and heartfelt.
Anne squeezed his hand tightly. Greg leaned in closer. Daniel shot him a sympathetic smile from across the room.
Harry clapped right away.
Calmly. Sincerely.
He even managed a smile.
To anyone watching, it was a picture of grace.
Greg frowned slightly, a hint of concern crossing his face.
Eternal Sunshine. Jackson Productions. The same corporate family that had pushed Harry out.
The coincidence weighed heavily on him, but Greg kept his thoughts to himself.
Meanwhile, Harry was lost in a different train of thought.
So, this is how it is.
A reminder: know your place.
He let out a soft chuckle to himself.
Alright then. I'll play with your rules.
Then the moment arrived for Best Supporting Actress.
The atmosphere in the room grew tense.
Cate Blanchett had been a force to be reckoned with all season. A BAFTA win for The Aviator. A Golden Globe for Blind Man's Gambit. Two standout performances, two studios, one actress stealing the spotlight.
It felt almost cruel to put her in a position to choose.
Harry stole a glance at Cate. She sat elegantly next to Jeffrey, hands neatly folded, her expression a mask of professionalism. But he could see it in her eyes—she was hungry for this win.
"And the Oscar goes to…"
A pause.
"Cate Blanchett — Blind Man's Gambit."
For a brief moment, time stood still.
Then Cate exhaled, clearly taken aback, and Harry sprang to his feet, enveloping her in a warm hug.
"Congratulations," he whispered close to her ear.
Her smile was radiant. "You made this happen."
He nearly kissed her cheek—just about—before catching Anne's eye. He halted, chuckled softly at himself, and stepped back.
Cate made her way to the stage, her first Oscar finally in her grasp, her voice steady as she spoke about taking risks, building trust, and the freedom to embody a character without constraints.
Harry listened intently.
That win was significant.
Not just for the film—but for him.
The rest of the night was all about making history.
The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King dominated the ceremony, with eleven nominations and eleven wins. A total clean sweep. It was a moment that the industry would be buzzing about for years to come.
By the end of the night, Harry leaned back in his seat, feeling a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction.
They hadn't won everything.
They hadn't even won most things.
But they had won something. And that something was enough.
As the lights came up, Anne leaned in closer to him. "Pretty good night, huh?"
Harry nodded, a faint smile on his face. "Yeah."
He took one last look around the room.
Harvey was already gone.
Harry didn't mind.