December 23rd, 2001, afternoon.
Leavesden Studio 13.
The HP crew was filming their final scenes before the holiday break. With Director Columbus's approval and Author Rowling's consent, Director Isa personally rolled up her sleeves and rewrote the new "Mudblood" sequence—
"I think you'll be needing this."
Hagrid, clad in leather, handed a wooden bucket to Ron, whose cheeks were puffed like balloons.
Bent over with both hands on his knees, Ron immediately straightened up when he saw the bucket. Hugging it eagerly, he opened his mouth—
"Urrrghh~~~"
A slimy, light-brown slug, mixed with goo, shot out.
It was, of course, a prop—gummy candy—but it looked disgustingly real.
The sight made Harry wince instinctively, though he kept patting Ron's back, hoping to ease his discomfort. Hermione, after a quick glance of concern at Ron, shifted her gaze to Hagrid.
Catching her meaning, Hagrid shook his head slightly:"I think there's nothing you can do but wait for it to stop on its own."
"Besides, spitting it out is better than swallowing it, isn't it?"
"Oh… okay—" Hermione sighed regretfully.
Then Hagrid asked curiously:"Who was Ron trying to hex again?"
"Malfoy."
Harry immediately turned his head, answering before Ron could. But he stopped short, glancing at Hermione. Even though her expression was calm, Harry still couldn't bring himself to say the word "Mudblood."
Raised under the Dursleys' harsh discipline, he was a kind child at heart. He disliked insulting others. So he shook his head instead:"I don't know what Malfoy said exactly, but it was something really nasty. Everyone got furious."
"Really nasty!"
Harry's words seemed to flick a switch in Ron. Hugging the bucket and still gasping for breath, his voice hoarse from retching, he suddenly shouted with all his might:
"Malfoy called her a Mudblood—"
"What? No way!"
Hagrid looked shocked—and furious. He turned toward Hermione with concern.
But the little girl nodded matter-of-factly."Yes."
Then she shook her head slightly:"So… what does that mean? I can only tell it's rude…"
"It's more than rude!!"
Ron roared again before she could finish, spraying spit—or slime—all over.
Watching him, Isabella suddenly realized why Ron's line had been deleted in the original cut. Who could stand that much spit flying around every time he opened his mouth?
Still, his outburst made him look especially worked up—
"'Mudblood' is a slur for people from Muggle families—parents who can't use magic! It's like saying your blood is filthy and inferior! Anyone with manners would never use it!"
Harry froze. His young heart was deeply shaken. He hadn't imagined Malfoy could be that vile.
Looking helplessly from Ron to Hagrid, he seemed desperate to confirm he'd heard correctly.
And Hagrid responded—
"If that's the case, Ron, I wouldn't blame you for hexing him."
"There are always some wizards, like the Malfoys, who think they're better than others because they're so-called pure-bloods. But that's rubbish! Who in the wizarding world today is truly pure-blooded? Every family's got Muggles somewhere in the line! And even if a wizard is pure-blood, so what? Hermione can cast magic just fine, can't she? And they…"
"They…"
Hagrid's voice rose with righteous anger. But really, his fierce rebuttal was more to comfort Hermione than anything.
Yet when his gaze finally settled on her—
He saw that the little girl didn't seem affected at all.
Sitting quietly beside Ron, she just listened calmly, as though their entire discussion had nothing to do with her.
The three boys were taken aback.
Harry furrowed his brow and asked tentatively:"Hermione?"
"Ah?"
She wasn't zoning out, nor was she upset. Looking back at him composedly, she smiled.
"I'm all right."
She gave them a reassuring look, then turned to Ron with gratitude:"Thank you—thank you for standing up for me."
Then she added lightly:"But honestly, what you just described sounds more like some old legend. I've never read about it in any books, so it must've been discarded ages ago."
"A single word deciding someone's worth? Oh… that's very medieval, isn't it?"
"It's the modern age. No wonder it's been abandoned."
The three of them froze again—then broke into relieved smiles.
In that moment, they felt the girl before them shone with extraordinary light, brimming with confidence—like Hogwarts' own sun.
And just then—
"Cut! Good!"
Columbus blew the wrap whistle.
"Okay~ everyone pack up and go home~"
He clapped his hands in approval.
Anyone who's seen the films knows such scenes require many angle cuts: close-ups for emphasis, wide shots for scenery or group framing, over-the-shoulder shots for two-person exchanges.
Normally, one camera captured everything piece by piece.
But HP was different: the crew used five cameras at once.
For stationary dialogue scenes, as long as the kids nailed their lines, the cinematographers could capture every angle in one take, leaving only editing for post-production.
Of course, extreme close-ups still needed to be filmed separately.
This multi-camera method demanded precision from both director and cinematographers, but with child actors, it was easier than making them repeat endless takes.
Children simply couldn't sustain the same emotion for long. A laugh once, maybe twice, but by the fourth or fifth time, the feeling was gone—and the footage wouldn't match.
So, better the crew exhaust themselves than the kids. That was why HP had been filming so smoothly from the start.
No one understood filming children better than Columbus.
First, the contract had already been signed and couldn't be changed. Getting angry was pointless—it was better to remind herself to be cautious in the future.
Losing a few hundred thousand now was still better than losing a few million later, right?
Second, Isabella remembered that Warner had always had a tradition of tricking people—and they had even pulled stunts with HP itself.
In her previous life, in order to avoid profit-sharing with the Golden Trio, Warner had cooked the books to make Harry Potter's revenue look like a loss.
When a corporation worth tens of billions could be that shameless, of course they'd try to design traps for you. If you failed to avoid them, that was normal. If you did manage to dodge them, then you were truly remarkable. That wasn't bragging—that was heartfelt truth.
With that in mind, after realizing she'd been tricked, Isabella no longer expected to actually receive the £1.2 million for Chamber of Secrets. And yet, just when she had steeled herself to calmly accept whatever fee they offered—Warner decided to pay her in full?
"Ohhh—"
"Looks like Director Chris was right—"
Isabella tilted her head, glanced at her sister, and blinked.
"Mm~~~"
Catherine, catching her meaning, raised her brows:"Then there's no need to rush with The Voice project at all."
None of the family really understood why Warner would suddenly pay the full Chamber of Secrets salary, but they all knew that Warner must currently be very interested in The Voice. After all, Hermione Granger naturally drew traffic.
And as for developing The Voice…
Director Columbus had already said it—there was no rush.
Not only because Hermione Granger was Isabella's foundation, and filming Chamber of Secrets was the most important thing, but also because no matter how fast they developed The Voice, they couldn't start shooting until Chamber wrapped.
And then, a small but crucial detail appeared—
Once Chamber of Secrets wrapped, Isabella's contract with Warner would end.
At that point, would the biggest shackle on her disappear?
Right now, she needed Warner's approval to accept outside roles. But if the contract was over—why would she need their approval at all?
So, if they just waited a little, wouldn't The Voice be theirs to handle however they wanted?
Yes!
Once Columbus's worldview started to follow Isabella's sharp instincts, many Hollywood traps could be sidestepped. Maybe they didn't know all the rules of the game, but Spielberg's protégé certainly did. He was a player, after all!
As for whether working on The Voice after Chamber might affect the future HP films?
That wasn't a concern at all.
Because Chris Columbus had already decided not to renew his HP contract.
He had only signed for two films with Warner in the first place, stepping in as Spielberg's successor. If the crew had been filled with his own people, he would've shot all seven without hesitation—Spielberg was the man who had changed his life, after all.
But when most of the crew weren't his own, staying on felt redundant.
That was how he felt—something he'd casually admitted in earlier conversations.
It wasn't Isabella's idea.
She had actually hoped he would stay, but her voice carried little weight.
And if the director was gone, when would the third HP film even start?
That was anyone's guess.
Isabella herself couldn't even remember exactly when Prisoner of Azkaban had been filmed.
Still, she happily gossiped with her mom and sister.
When she learned how her mother had strung Warner along that afternoon—first giving them hope by pretending she might renew quickly, only to turn and say they preferred a balanced pace, making Warner's faces fall—Isabella burst out laughing.
She was genuinely delighted.
If she had to describe the feeling, it was like when someone who once wronged you suddenly dropped to their knees, and then you planted a boot squarely on their backside—ohhh, that feeling was so satisfying~~~
In the middle of laughter and teasing, the three arrived at Watford train station.
They left the car in the station parking lot, and under the escort of Warner-provided security, slipped into the waiting hall.
Scotland was nearly 600 miles from Leavesden. Driving would be exhausting, and flights didn't fit their schedule, so they chose the train. Board at 6 p.m., and barring mishaps, they'd arrive before noon the next day.
Why did a journey of just over 500 miles take 18 hours?
Because they were taking a luxury express.
Stepping into the carriage was like boarding a cruise ship on land: carpets stretching endlessly from the door, windows that spanned entire walls, presidential suites with 1.8-meter double beds, private showers and entertainment rooms. Each carriage even had a dedicated butler providing round-the-clock food, tea, fruit, and laundry service.
The lavish decorations left Isabella a little emotional.
A year ago, she and her sister were riding in hard seats. A year later, the "hard seats" had turned into the Orient Express. That kind of change could already be called a class leap. Of course, compared to the past, it was still a fallen household.
Sigh… Earth Online really is too hard a game.
Even so, Isabella was too excited to sleep much that night. She only drifted off toward dawn, curled tightly in her blanket like a cocoon, waiting for the train to arrive—
"Wow~ Aunt Annie~ you came in person?"
As soon as she stepped off the train, the little girl spotted Rowling, wrapped in a coat and scarf, waving beside a people carrier.
"Oh~ Isa~ you skipped Christmas just to attend my wedding, of course I had to come pick you up. And to be honest, I've been standing here in the wind for nearly an hour—how's that for sincerity?"
"Of course~ Aunt Annie, that's so touching I could cry."
Isabella even pretended to tear up.
"Really? Then you'll be disappointed, because I lied. The real reason I came was to scold you. I gave you the script back in summer, didn't I? And then when filming started, you rewrote it? Don't tell me you hadn't read it before!"
Rowling's face suddenly hardened.
"I did read it!" Isabella dropped the tears immediately. She wasn't going to cry at someone accusing her unfairly.
"Then why didn't you tell me about the changes?" Rowling pressed angrily.
"Because it was vacation time. Extra work means extra pay," Isabella said righteously. "And script revisions are a separate fee."
"Wonderful. Now you're in for two scoldings."
Rowling's face stretched long. "I like you so much, and you're telling me you want extra money?"
They glared at each other, one looking up, the other looking down, as if locking horns like stubborn bulls.
Then, after a few seconds, both burst out laughing.
Rowling spread her arms and hugged Isabella:"Welcome."
╭(╯^╰)╮
Isabella stayed silent, her pouty, reluctant-to-apologize expression making Rowling pinch her cheek affectionately.
After greeting Vivian and Catherine, Rowling led them into the car.
About a hundred miles later, an old-fashioned estate came into view.
Covering about 12 acres, the houses had been built in 1865. It couldn't compare to Downton Abbey, but the Gothic stonework had a Georgian charm—and the estate sat by the river.
Opening the window, you could feel the beauty of nature.
Well… apart from the reek of money in the air.
After spending a day at the estate, the 25th came and everyone busied themselves.
Even a small wedding needed decorating. You couldn't just sit idle, right?
And on the 26th, though it was called a private wedding, the officiants were actual Anglican priests.
The head of the Irish diocese conducted the ceremony for Rowling and her partner. Surrounded by family, friends, and God's blessing, her husband Neil Murray took the ring from Isabella's tray and slipped it onto Rowling's finger.
Honestly, Isabella almost wanted to laugh.
HP was about a magical world, right? Rowling had written about wizards, right?
And now—the Mother of Wizards was being blessed by God at her wedding?
Legendary!
Once the ceremony was over, Isabella figured she could slip away. Newlyweds needed their space, and she didn't want to be a third wheel.
But just as she was about to say goodbye, Rowling's daughter suddenly came up.
"Sister Isa, can you take me out to play?"
Little Jessica, round-faced like a pudding, looked up at her.
"Uh… out to play?" Isabella didn't quite get it.
Catherine nudged her and whispered:"She means personal space."
"Ohhh~~~"
Isabella understood!
Of course—the child might feel awkward about her mother remarrying. That was inevitable in any family.
Sigh! I really am such a kind person!
Realizing Jessica's need, Isabella said her goodbyes to Rowling, explaining she wanted to do some sightseeing in Scotland and needed a "tiny, tiny, tiny tour guide."
Rowling understood, glancing at her daughter with a complicated expression, before agreeing. She leaned close to Isabella's ear and whispered—
"Thank you. Love you."
Since their group now had three more people, Rowling added two bodyguards to escort them.
And so, their Scottish holiday became inevitable. With so many places to visit, their New Year's from 2001 into 2002 turned out wonderfully.
Golf in St. Andrews, skiing in Aviemore, gazing out from Ben Nevis, chasing rainbows by the Caledonian Canal—and, of course, Nessie hunting at Loch Ness. (Well, mostly they saw salmon. If there really were a monster like the TV shows claimed, Isabella wouldn't have gone near it!)
And just as the group was laughing and chasing rainbows at Fort Augustus—
"Oh~ Sorry~ are you Isabella?"
A voice suddenly reached her ears.
She turned her head.
A middle-aged man in a cashmere coat, cropped hair, and sunglasses was smiling at her.
When she looked his way, he quickly removed his shades.
She had been recognized by strangers several times over the past few days, so Warner's security and Rowling's bodyguards immediately stepped forward, shielding her cautiously.
But Isabella herself just smiled.
Looking at the man, she said:"If I'm not mistaken… you're Robert Iger?"
"Oh~ Isa~ you know me?"
The man froze for a moment, then grinned in delight. He didn't mind the protective wall of bodyguards—he had his own, after all, who now stood opposite hers, blocking briefly—
And then, stepping right past the line, the man extended his hand.
"Yeah~ Isa, as you said, I'm Robert Iger. Disney's COO. Pleased to meet you."