Although People magazine's main readership was in the U.S., Harry Potter was, after all, a world-class IP. So as the promotion picked up steam, Isabella's interview and the things she said in it had already spread all over the globe.
And as the stars of HP, Daniel and Rupert naturally kept an eye on the news reports and public reaction.
Then came the USA Today piece — and its criticism reached their ears.
Which immediately made the two puff up like angry pufferfish.
Fuming. Absolutely fuming—
"I just don't get it!"
"Why does USA Today have to blame the flop of Stinky Space Man on me?"
"That movie was a parody!"
"The story was about a guy with two stomachs, and one of them could produce super-foul farts that could kill people or power rockets. Any normal person reading that synopsis would know it's a comedy, right?"
"And once a slapstick movie fails to click with audiences, the box office is obviously doomed."
"So—"
"What does that have to do with me?"
"Its failure only proves that people didn't like that kind of film!"
"Why the hell is USA Today saying I tanked the movie?"
That was Rupert, roaring through Isabella's phone in her left hand.
Before she could even respond, a wail came from the phone in her right hand—Daniel was on the other line:
"Wow! Rupert, I swear you're thinking exactly what I was thinking! Exactly!"
"When I saw that USA Today piece, I was shocked, do you hear me?"
"I just don't understand—why do they blame me for The Tailor of Panama flopping?"
"Rupert, you at least had a supporting role in Stinky Space Man, right? But me? I wasn't even a supporting role! I was barely in it!"
"I had, what, a few minutes of screen time?"
"And now the movie failed because of me?"
"Hah—apparently I'm that powerful, huh?"
Yeah, these two were convinced USA Today had gone crazy.
Sure, since leaving HP they hadn't delivered any real hits, but come on—they hadn't even acted in that many films! Daniel had three post-HP titles on her resume, but two were just side projects. Rupert? He only took Stinky Space Man because he liked acting and thought the script was funny. That's it.
So how dare USA Today say they had no box-office draw?
How dare they say Harry Potter's success had nothing to do with them?
Completely absurd!
Their ranting made Isabella press her lips together, smiling quietly.
She'd read that article too, and to her, USA Today's intent was obvious—
They were using Daniel and Rupert as collateral damage to take a jab at her.
Shooting the arrow first, then painting the target.
They just wanted to stick her with the label: "She's nothing once HP is over."
After all, there'd been bad blood before.
Late last year, when the first HP poster was released, it was USA Today who claimed her beauty would "ruin the movie."
Normally Warner Bros. might have paid them off to change the tune—but instead, Warner responded by proving that beauty sells, making USA Today eat crow again and again through merchandise sales.
So now, seeing another chance to attack her, USA Today pounced.
Daniel and Rupert were simply collateral damage.
But Isabella didn't say that.
"Okay, okay," she said, motioning for them to calm down.
Yes—each of them was holding a phone, a true pre-smartphone-era group chat workaround. Because otherwise, whoever wasn't on the line would be stuck humming 'A Movie for Three, But I Have No Name'…
Cough— anyway.
Once both quieted down, Isabella asked,
"So, you're angry?"
"Of course!" they shouted in perfect stereo.
"Okay~ Then just keep taking on projects," Isabella suggested.
"Keep filming, and do it well. That way you'll prove everyone wrong—that those earlier flops weren't your fault. You'll shine, even without HP."
"..."
There was a pause.
Then Rupert sighed, in a "you're teasing me" tone:
"Isabella, you're mean."
"Huh?"
Isabella acted confused.
Daniel got it, though—he groaned, "Isa, not everyone gets custom-tailored scripts like you do. You think we wouldn't act if we had something good?"
"Hahahahaha~"
Yep—Isabella was showing off.
Showing off that she had the perfect new script.
Since they'd called her out, she dropped the joking tone.
"Alright, fine, let's talk seriously," she said.
"I really do think my idea makes sense—honestly."
To be fair, in any field, when someone tries to smear you, the best comeback is results.
You say our eight tons can't beat your two?
Fine—let's have our bosses drive head-on and see who's left standing.
But of course, Daniel and Rupert weren't in that position now.
There just weren't any suitable roles out there for them.
So instead, all they could do was vent to a friend who did have momentum.
Daniel said:
"Isa, I'll talk about Rupert and me later. For now, all that matters is—you make The Voice work. Make it a hit. Once you do, USA Today's slander will vanish."
Rupert added:
"Right! Isa! If you succeed, it proves USA Today is wrong. Even after HP, we can still succeed—we're not washed up losers!"
"Ha!"
Isabella chuckled.
Their logic wasn't wrong, but…
"Hey, Daniel, Rupert—did you ever think of something?"
"What?" they asked in unison.
"Even if I make The Voice a success," she said with a sly grin,
"the media could just twist it again: say that HP succeeded because I was great, that I carried both of you."
"..."
Both of them went silent—then exploded in curses.
Even without seeing them, Isabella could practically feel their faces turning dark as soot.
She giggled quietly.
Yes—she'd done that on purpose, just to mess with the two little firecrackers.
Once they finished venting about the media, she softened her tone:
"Alright, alright, no more teasing. What I really want to say is this—whatever you do, the only person you can truly rely on is yourself. So my advice? Find a good script when you get the chance."
"I believe in your abilities."
"I believe you'll get to slap USA Today in the face yourselves one day."
Maybe that was too heavy a note, because for a moment, the call fell silent again.
After a bit, Rupert coughed to shift the topic—
"Isa, enough of that. How's The Voice going?"
"Uh—pretty smooth," she said.
"No, I mean how much longer till you finish?"
"Oh, that?" she smiled, glancing toward the soundstage.
"Almost done."
Indeed, while the world was still speculating about the movie's cast and scale, The Voice (tentative title) was already near completion. Only the final performance scenes with Isabella and the bob-cut girl, Robbie, remained.
Everyone else—except the "Old Duke"—had already wrapped.
And the Duke himself had finished filming two days ago; he was only still around to help babysit his granddaughter.
As Isabella watched the bustling set, her sister Catherine suddenly turned, spotted her, and jogged over—calling her in for the last shoot.
Without hesitation, Isabella followed.
The remaining scenes were all competition-stage sequences—simple stuff.
She changed into a pale dress, light makeup, and sang under the glittering stage lights.
No acting required; just sing freely and let the camera flow.
One take, then a backup.
Then repeat for coverage.
When the cinematographer called it good, her solo segment was done.
Next up—Robbie's turn.
She mimicked Isabella's flow, and in less than an hour, her part wrapped too.
Finally, both took the stage together for the finale:
The results being announced—
The host declaring, "The winner of The Voice UK is—Lily Zeller!"
Confetti burst, cheers rose, and the "villain" Robbie's face contorted through disbelief, anger, heartbreak—before she smashed her mic off-camera in a silent fit of rage.
"Okay—"
"Cut—"
"Good—"
"And with that," Columbus called out, "I declare Little Miss Sunshine (working title) officially wrapped!"
Applause, cheers—The Voice was done.
"Anthony~ Thanks a lot for your help! Hope we work together again?"
"Oh, absolutely. Isa, just call me anytime."
"No, no—I'll call Miss Maggie. You don't even call me 'Your Highness' anymore."
"Hahahaha~"
"..."
"Director Columbus, filming's over. Going home for a break?"
"I wish. But I've got too much to do—final cut's on me, and Azkaban's preproduction isn't fully set. I'll probably take a week off at home, then fly right back. It's… a nightmare."
"Eh? Chris, how can you call Leavesden a nightmare? It's the birthplace of dreams! And you—the dream-maker—are a god to countless kids!"
Columbus stared at her.
Expression blank.
"Isa," he said at last.
"Yeah?"
"When you become a boss someday, your employees will all be angels."
"Huh? Why?"
"Because you'll talk about dreams but never pay them—then they'll starve to death."
"Hahahahaha~!"
"..."
With the film wrapped, it was time to say goodbye.
Isabella hugged the director, waved off the crew, and when her gaze finally landed on Robbie—the girl was already looking at her.
Smiling, Robbie walked up.
"Isa, can I… talk to you alone for a bit?"
"Hm? Sure."
A little surprised, Isabella nodded. "Shall we go to the café?"
"Okay."
They went, ordered drinks—tea for Isabella, lemonade for Robbie.
The sight made Isabella laugh.
"Margot," she said, "if we ordered like this outside, we'd probably get beaten up."
"Ah? Oh~" Robbie giggled, nodding.
Then, rubbing her cup, she said softly:
"Isa, I might be wasting a bit of your time today, I'm sorry."
"It's fine," Isabella waved. "The film's done, I've got plenty of time. So? You wanted to talk about something?"
"Uh… no, not really."
"Hm?" Isabella raised an eyebrow.
Robbie lowered her head, gazing into her drink.
"I just wanted to spend a little time with you," she said. "You know, I'm a Harry Potter fan—I love the books, the movies, everything about them. So… I love you too."
"But during the past month, I never really got to talk to you much because…"
She played with her fingers—pale, delicate, tangled together like twine.
After a pause, she continued, "Because I didn't know how to talk to you."
"The first day I met you, I was so excited—and then I caused trouble. After I shouted your name, I got scared you'd be mad, so I stopped trying to approach you."
"And now that filming's over, I'm about to leave. I don't know if I'll ever see you again, so…"
Margot Robbie lifted her head, smiling softly.
"It's really amazing—to meet the living Hermione Granger."
"Oh~ Marg~"
Her rambling made Isabella smile warmly.
She wanted to tease—maybe say, "Do I really look that scary? Why would you think I'd get mad just because you shouted my name?"
But she couldn't.
Because Margot's sincerity was already laid bare—
She knew the world wasn't fair.
She knew there were hierarchies.
And when faced with someone already standing in the clouds—Hermione Granger herself—
She just couldn't look straight at that light
If Isabella actually had put on a serious face in that moment, Robbie would've truly thought she was angry.
So—
"Marg?"
"Mm?"
"I wasn't mad that day."
"Really?"
"Of course."
"Oh, good! That's a relief~"
Isabella's reassurance made Margot Robbie exhale in relief.
But with that topic closed, the big private room fell into an awkward silence again.
Isabella had been invited, so she hadn't prepared anything to talk about.
And Robbie… well, judging from her expression, she clearly didn't know what to say either.
So Isabella broke the quiet.
"So are you heading straight home after this? Back to Australia?"
"Yeah. I've been away for over a month, I really need to go back."
"And once you're home? Back to circus training?"
"Oh—no, I don't want to do circus anymore."
Robbie shook her head. "It's exhausting, and it's dangerous. One wrong move and you could be crippled for life. So I think I'll find a drama school… I want to be an actress."
"Really? That's great. I wish you all the best," Isabella said, raising an eyebrow.
The second she heard 'wishing you all the best', Robbie smiled.
Because that phrase usually meant "conversation over."
"Okay, thanks! Then—Isa-sis, maybe we'll meet again?"
She was being perfectly polite, and her soft tone made Isabella smile too.
"Meet again? Don't we already have plans to see each other at the end of the year?"
"Huh?" Robbie blinked, confused.
Isabella chuckled. "Our film's going to have a premiere, remember? Warner will send you an invitation and cover your flight and hotel. So unless something goes wrong, we'll see each other again this year."
"Ohhh~~~"
The girl lit up. "Thank you~!"
"Sorry for bothering you. I'll… head out then?"
The tea wasn't even finished, but the chat was over.
Watching the younger girl bounce away, practically glowing with happiness, Isabella shook her head and took a slow sip of tea before going to find her mom.
The moment she appeared, the other two women in the family pounced—
"So, Isa, what did Margot want?"
"Not much. Just said she admired me…"
Isabella gave them the short version of their conversation.
After hearing that Robbie just wanted to share her excitement, Catherine and Vivian both sighed and shook their heads.
"She seems a little insecure," Catherine said.
"Perfectly normal," Vivian replied. "That's what happens when someone's self-aware. In this world, the more tactful you are, the harder life gets."
"Ohhh~~"
Catherine nodded—Mom had a point.
Then she turned to her sister.
"So, Isa—are you going to send her an invite to Chamber of Secrets' premiere?"
Her meaning was clear: Margot Robbie was a genuinely nice kid.
She loved HP, adored Hermione Granger, and knew her place. Sending her an invite would just be… a small kindness.
After all, they'd received plenty of kindness themselves.
Without J.K. Rowling choosing her, Isabella wouldn't be where she was.
Without Chris Columbus's faith, she wouldn't have gotten both Warner and Disney backing her.
And now…
"Forget it," Isabella said after a pause, shaking her head.
"I've got piles of work to finish, and I don't have time for social stuff right now."
"Besides, Marg's not famous yet. If I send her an invite, then next time I work with another newcomer, am I supposed to invite them too?"
"If I start sending them to everyone, it becomes messy. But if I do it once or twice and then stop, people will gossip that I play favorites. So let's wait until The Voice comes out."
"If audiences like her role, then we'll naturally keep in touch."
"And if she doesn't end up in the business because of me…"
"Then we'll cross that bridge when we get there."
Right. The movie was wrapped, but Isabella still had work to do.
Like recording songs.
The Voice was a musical, and every song's soundtrack had to be recorded separately.
That didn't mean she'd been lip-syncing during filming—just that the on-set audio couldn't be used.
No matter how good the microphones were, nothing beat a proper studio recording. So, for the audience's sake, all the final tracks had to come from the studio.
And Isabella hadn't recorded a single one yet.
So… back to work.
Even though she hadn't sung much in her previous life, she'd been inside a studio before. The soundtrack for The Voice was recorded at EMI's London headquarters—Abbey Road, one of the five best studios in the world.
Normally, you'd have to book months in advance.
That studio was in high demand—after all, The Beatles, Queen, and The Police had all recorded there. Practically every big pop artist came for the "good luck."
But Chris Columbus? He just made a phone call, and boom—EMI cleared a slot.
Of course, not for free.
Studio rates: £5,000 an hour.
That covered everything—engineer, mastering, live band, all provided by EMI.
Isabella recorded five songs total, twenty hours for tracking and vocals, plus another thirty-five hours of post-production.
By the end, once they factored in everyone's meals and expenses, the bill hit £300,000.
"Ugh—how is this not robbery?"
Vivian grinned. "It's not robbery, sweetheart—it's legal."
"..."
Isabella's face went dark.
Making music was expensive.
Still, it was a necessary cost, so she just sighed and paid up.
Out of curiosity, she asked her sister where everyone else recorded—and when she heard they'd gone to Warner Music in New York, she just snorted. That was what it meant to hand over the rights and let someone else handle the headache.
By the time they handed the master tapes to Barnathan, it was already September 25, 2001.
Finally—she could rest.
"Vacation, vacation, vacation—!"
Since Philosopher's Stone had premiered last year, Isabella hadn't had a single day off.
She felt like she'd lost all concept of time or reality.
She needed a break.
So, after discussing with Catherine, the sisters decided to go to Mauritius—an island nation off Africa's coast.
Far from the world. No paparazzi. Perfect.
And indeed, it was.
Sure, Mauritius had its share of issues—former British colony, messy racial divides, complicated cultural and linguistic tensions, and the colonial hangover everyone "understands."
But, as always, money solved everything.
Once Isabella told Warner's assigned bodyguards that she wanted to go there, everything—private jet, accommodation, itinerary—was arranged by a local American guide.
As the sea breeze kissed her face, she stretched her arms wide.
"Ah—life is beautiful—"
They stayed in a seaside villa, where pulling open the curtains revealed an endless expanse of blue sea and sky.
Two days of lazing in bed restored her energy completely, and then Isabella turned into a wandering tourist.
Today she wanted to go to Sugar Island and chew on raw sugarcane?
Fine—one word to the guide, and the yacht was ready.
Tomorrow she wanted to see the rare underwater waterfall?
No problem—one call, helicopter on standby.
The day after that, she wanted to climb a dormant volcano?
Uh… yeah, that one she had to climb herself.
Her legs, her problem.
"Keisha~ look! That monkey's eating crabs!"
"That's a crab-eating macaque. It can open oysters too."
"Huh? For real?"
"Of course. I had to learn animal species for life drawing."
"Ohhh~~~"
Clinging to her sister's arm as she dragged her uphill, Isabella gave a mock look of enlightenment.
"Isa! Keisha! Look at that red bird on the thornbush—it's adorable!"
Vivian's voice called from behind.
They looked—there it was: red head, red body, brown wings.
"That's a cardinal," Catherine said. "I've painted it before. It's in the Ornithology of France series."
Travel and vacation aren't the same thing.
In the future, the first meant ticking destinations off a list; the second meant throwing money at the world just to lie down and not care.
Isabella preferred the latter.
So since she'd decided this trip was a vacation, she didn't bother learning about Mauritius—its culture, geography, or customs.
She did only what she wanted to do, or whatever suddenly caught her interest.
And in return, she found peace.
If she had to describe it—it felt like knowledge brushing past your mind without leaving a trace. A lightness, an emptiness, a strange clarity that lifted your spirit.
But just when Isabella thought this blissful tranquility would last at least a month—
Late at night, October 19, 2001, Vivian's phone rang.
After murmuring a few words, she climbed out of bed and slipped into the next room.
"Isa?"
She shook her sleeping daughter awake.
"What's wrong, Mom?"
Isabella blinked, still groggy.
Vivian didn't answer—she just handed her the phone.
Confused, Isabella pressed it to her ear—
"Isa, where are you?" came Columbus's voice.
"Mauritius… you know that…"
"Oh, right. When are you coming back to England?"
"I'll be back before Chamber of Secrets' premiere, of course…"
The promotion had already started, but it didn't involve her.
Warner was sending Daniel and Rupert to interviews instead.
It made sense—Harry Potter was strong enough as a brand, and Isabella had another film, The Voice, coming up soon. With two movies releasing back to back, overexposure could exhaust fans.
Plus, since everyone knew she'd gone straight from Chamber to The Voice, her absence from HP's promo tour would even send a nice message:
"Isabella skipped the promo to focus on her new film."
"She wants to give the audience her best work."
Smart PR. Two birds with one stone.
But Columbus's voice was heavy.
"That won't do. Can you come back earlier?"
"Huh? Why?"
Still half-asleep, Isabella was puzzled.
"Richard's not doing well," he said quietly.
"He's been hospitalized again."