Hierarchy in Hollywood is carved deeper than church pews.
The only people who get the full picture of a project before shooting begins are the investors, producers, directors, writers, and whatever "irreplaceable" star happens to be involved.
That's right—on original projects, even the leads often walk in blind. At best, they know the genre, the rough outline, who they're playing, and maybe which character from another film they vaguely resemble.
And if leads can be ranked like racehorses, the poor supporting cast barely counts as staff. Most don't even know the project's actual name before they show up. And if they do? Half the time the name's fake anyway.
So the little group of kids who just arrived only knew one thing: they were in a Warner Bros. production.
Imagine their shock when the first person they saw was Isabella Haywood.
"Ahhh—Hermione! Mom, it's really Hermione!!"
"I can't believe I'm seeing Hermione here? Oh my god!!"
"Look! Mom! Hermione smiled at me!! She's smiling at me!!"
"Wooo—Hermione! Isabella!! I love you!! I really love you!! I'm your fan!!"
The car doors hadn't even finished opening before chaos erupted.
They bounced around like popcorn kernels in hot oil, their poor parents trying to drag them back before they embarrassed themselves. Except, blood ties are flimsy things when a kid thinks the goddess of their dreams is standing five feet away.
Every single one of them—yes, all of them—charged forward like they'd been possessed by Nezha, trying to get close to Isabella. It looked like a zombie outbreak, and everyone had seen it coming, but no amount of warning softened the blow of reality.
Chris Columbus could only sigh and shake his head. "Isa…" he murmured.
"Mm?"
The girl standing on the steps was waiting for him to call "action."
"You've got so many fans."
Columbus let out a rueful laugh. "Feels like the whole world is your fan."
"Hahahaha~~~"
Isabella grinned slyly, eyes squinting like a fox.
"Director."
"Yes?"
"This is the magic of Harry Potter, isn't it?"
By now she was convinced she had six billion fans—because she played Hermione Granger. That simple.
Her smugness made Columbus snort, then wave for his assistant Barnathan to grab a bullhorn and restore order. Under Barnathan's barked commands, the kids finally filed out properly. Then, one by one, each child was led to shake Isabella's hand.
"Hello, I'm Isabella Haywood. Welcome to the Little Miss Sunshine crew."
She greeted a chubby boy with a warm smile and extended her hand.
"Oooh—I'm Bertram Sanders! Isa! Nice to meet you!"
His voice shook like he had Parkinson's.
Isabella didn't mind. "I hope we'll have a great time working together."
"Definitely! We definitely will! I—I love your Hermione so much! Could I have your autograph?"
"Of course."
She took a Sharpie and a stack of prepped photos from the staff, signed one with a flourish, and handed it over.
The boy's knees practically gave out. His mother rolled her eyes so hard she almost passed out herself, apologizing quickly as she propped him up. Isabella just laughed it off and waved them to the side.
Next kid up—
"Isa!!! I love you!!!"
She just blinked.
In Hollywood, leads don't mingle with extras. That's how hierarchies survive. If anyone crosses lines, somebody's getting fired. Can't even control the set? Then get out.
But kids' films are different. If you don't let the children interact with the superstar beforehand, your shoot will implode before it begins.
Columbus knew the drill. This wasn't a meet-and-greet—it was disaster prevention.
So after a parade of squeals and handshakes, at the very end came a bob-haired girl.
Maybe her parents had scolded her? She was calm, even restrained, as she shook Isabella's hand.
"Hello, Isa. I'm Margot Robbie."
"I'm also your fan. I love your Hermione very much."
"Yes, yes… I hope we'll have a pleasant collaboration…"
"Oh—thank you for the signed photo—thank you so much—"
And that was it. Less than thirty seconds start to finish. Compared to everyone else's minute-long freak-outs, she was lightning fast.
It surprised Isabella. And made Catherine curious.
"Isa, why did that girl seem kind of cold to you?"
On the way back to the dorm, Catherine replayed it in her head. She adored her sister's star power, but the finale lacked the screaming crescendo she'd expected.
"That wasn't cold," Vivian cut in before Isabella could answer. She smiled knowingly. "That was restraint after surprise. She'd already let her joy out the second she saw Isa. But because she was at the back of the line, time cooled her down. It tempered her emotions, tucked her adoration back inside, where it'll wait until the next explosion. And the next one will be brighter."
Catherine stared at her mom. Did she just… wax poetic about fangirling?
"Tempered by time? Containing her joy? Waiting for the next explosion?"
Her brain screamed: Mom's been chased by fans before, hasn't she?
Oh. Right. She had.
Never mind, case closed.
Vivian pulled both daughters into her arms. "Don't overthink it, Catherine. Look at Isa—your sister doesn't care, do you?"
"Mm." Isabella nodded with a grin.
Why would she stress over the Joker-to-be's mood swings? Right now, her only goal was making the film good.
After endless rewrites, The Voice was practically a new creature. Creating something original from scratch was thrilling, and Isabella believed the joy of pulling it off would dwarf the thrill of fan adoration.
So she buried herself in work—vocal training, listening to Columbus and Kloves brainstorm Prisoner of Azkaban, practicing piano, watching films.
Catherine, meanwhile, shadowed Barnathan like a junior producer. The girl had grown to 5'7" and towered beside him, spouting updates to Isabella every day:
"Isa, the kids had costume fittings today. Raymond Hughes's priest robes are gorgeous…"
"Isa, they started choir lessons this morning. Apparently they're quick learners. The best is Margot Robbie—she's got training."
"And did you know? In Australia, circuses mix theater, dance, and acrobatics…"
Having a walking tape recorder around wasn't so bad.
Prep ran smooth as butter. Isabella felt secure.
Then came July 24. Anthony Hopkins joined the set.
And promptly caused chaos.
The moment he saw Isabella, he whipped off his cap, bowed deeply, and nearly scared her into orbit. She practically leapt three feet in the air, making everyone burst out laughing.
The old man looked wounded. "Oh Isa, my princess, why do you reject my bow?"
Her face went dark. "Sir Hopkins! Do you want my mother to beat me up??"
Knighthoods and medals weren't just decoration in Britain. You don't casually accept formal bows from people protected by the Crown.
Seeing her panic, Hopkins quickly shifted the blame. "It was Dame Smith who told me to respect you! She said you were one of her favorite students."
And it was true. Maggie Smith had once explained to Isabella how Hopkins's career began—he was Laurence Olivier's understudy. In 1967, when Olivier was sidelined by appendicitis, Maggie suggested Hopkins step in. He seized the role and got his first lead at age thirty, after seven years of bit parts.
Theaters were full of hopefuls, but only one got the spotlight.
And it was because Maggie Smith put his name forward.
So if Maggie said she adored Isabella? Well.
Isabella puffed up instantly, strutting like she'd just earned a royal seal of approval.
The room could only stare at the girl who suddenly looked like she owned the place.
"Who just laughed?"
She asked with a straight face.
"Pfft…"
Executive producer Barnason couldn't hold it in.
That made Isabella glare, "Hannibal! Take him out for me!"
"Hahahahaha…"
The little girl leaning on her backing to erase her black history by force cracked everyone up.
But after keeping her face stiff for a while… Isabella couldn't keep it up.
She smiled, glaring at those who ruined her act, then formally welcomed the old man to the crew.
Maybe it was because the old man's status was so overwhelming? Or maybe the others also wanted to get familiar with the team early? Either way, after the old knight arrived, the remaining four trickled in too. The second was Keira Knightley.
This one showed up dressed like she was about to storm Ibiza—sun hat, oversized shades, spaghetti strap tank, hot pants, sneakers.
"Hot" from head to toe.
Well… minus the chest.
But never mind that. At that moment, she looked like she was there on vacation.
Not only that, her behavior screamed "I'm a character."
When she spoke to Isabella, her wording and tone were extremely polite.
That stiff politeness of people who aren't close.
At first Isabella didn't think much of it. They weren't friends, after all, and she wasn't a walking dollar bill with a Franklin grin to make everyone love her.
But the second Knightley saw Hopkins, her attitude did a 180.
The worship in her eyes made Isabella's eyelids twitch.
She could admit Hopkins was leagues above her.
But wasn't this her crew, her movie?
So Keira could laugh with him but give her the cold shoulder?
What's your malfunction, girl?
That stung.
She'd gone out of her way to welcome Keira, and it felt like getting frostbite for her trouble.
But once Hopkins brushed Knightley off, he leaned toward Isabella and dropped some behind-the-scenes trivia—
"Angry?"
"No."
"Keira's just like that, don't mind her."
"Hm?"
"She doesn't like commercial films. What she really cares about are stories about the soul clashing, you know… art films."
Ah. Keira Knightley was a literature girl.
She loved Shakespeare, Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice, Hugo's Les Misérables. Her movies? Mostly her parents and her agency's doing.
Her heart was on the stage, in theater.
So… Isabella starred in Harry Potter? In Knightley's eyes that was just… childish.
Isabella blinked.
So she's a broody art kid.
Fine. That explained it.
No point in holding a grudge against a moody lit girl.
And Hopkins' little reveal triggered another memory.
In her past life, Knightley supposedly got Pirates of the Caribbean despite showing up late to the audition.
The press hyped it as "raw talent that conquered the casting directors."
Looking at it now…
'Having the right parents really is a cheat code…'
Not long after Knightley, Jude Law and his wife Sadie Frost came in.
Talking with them, Isabella actually felt comfortable. Jude seemed the perfect gentleman, Sadie carried an artistic vibe.
Uh… Isabella admitted her positive read might have been boosted by Knightley souring her mood earlier.
No contrast, no pain.
But right after she welcomed them, Hopkins slid back in like a mischievous ghost.
"Isa, don't get too close to them."
"Eh?"
"Jude's personal life is a mess. Loves to fool around. If you get close, you'll get dragged down. Smith won't forgive me. And Sadie? Even worse. She's religious, but not for God. She worships…"
He winked.
"…Satan?" Isabella guessed.
"Mm." Hopkins nodded.
Jude was a playboy. Infamous in the industry. Switched partners faster than DiCaprio, no limits.
His marriage? Homewrecker success story. He courted Frost knowing she was married, urged her to leave her husband, then married her.
And Frost accepted because—well, her family was a traveling circus of hippie art. Dozens of siblings, psychedelic-drifter dad. So when a pretty seven-years-younger guy came chasing her?
Why not.
Her godfather was some fringe occultist, so the whole family was open-minded to say the least.
Both Jude and Sadie were party kids. That's why they were here for Little Miss Sunshine.
And they were already plotting divorce. They just needed the right excuse.
This movie's feuding couple roles were perfect for them—play out the breakup on screen, then sell it to the press as "artistic catharsis," and split.
Hearing this soap opera made Isabella speechless.
Suddenly, the Harry Potter crew looked squeaky-clean.
Rowling really had kept that nest guarded.
Compared to that, other sets were a zoo.
And honestly? She was grateful Maggie Smith had her back.
With Hopkins around too?
What demon would dare get close?
Sure, Columbus also had weight—nobody wanted to cross Spielberg's people—but in Britain, the Union Jack crowd handled these things faster than the Americans.
The next day, Christian Bale showed up.
Like Hopkins, he warmly thanked Isabella for welcoming him.
Not just because his father and stepmother were industry figures, but because he'd been mentored by Spielberg and studied under Judi Dench.
Basically… he was "family."
Well, Isabella wasn't going to trust anyone blindly, but still.
With all five family members in, they could've started shooting.
But Columbus held off, organizing a table read first.
Two goals:
Get everyone into character, especially Isabella. A road movie without chemistry is DOA. And he knew Isabella liked rehearsing.
Yeah, she had some special privileges.
Check if anyone had issues with their roles. With the screenwriter right there, tweaks were instant.
They workshopped for three days.
And the one who gained most wasn't Isabella—it was Knightley.
When she realized her character was an idealist beaten down by reality, then reignited by her sister's encouragement, she practically lit up.
"Oh my god, Isa—did you write this script?"
"Uh… kind of…"
"This is amazing! I love this character!"
"…"
That whiplash left Isabella a little dazed.
But who Knightley was as a person? Isabella didn't care anymore.
As long as she nailed her role, she could be whatever she wanted.
After that, they rested for a day. Then August 1 came.
"I hereby announce, Little Miss Sunshine (working title) is officially rolling!"
Director Isa stepped up.
She was the one to call it open.
It was her project, after all~
(^▽^)