Richard Harris was Dumbledore in The Philosopher's Stone and The Chamber of Secrets.
This summer, in mid-July, he was hospitalized due to a fever.
At first, the doctors diagnosed him with pneumonia—not a severe case—but after several rounds of medication, the fever still wouldn't subside. So they decided to do a full examination. Then everyone found out—it wasn't pneumonia at all, but Hodgkin's lymphoma.
It's a malignant tumor.
Although early-stage patients have a five-year survival rate of over 90%, almost all of those cases are among people under 30. For someone his age, simply keeping the illness under control was already considered good.
To be honest, once the news spread, everyone knew what it meant.
The old man didn't have much time left.
When this happened, Isabella was busy filming The Voice, so she truly didn't have time to visit him. She missed the first opportunity to do so but still made sure to show her concern. She called, and it was answered by his family.
By the time she finally had a free moment to visit, Richard had already been discharged.
He didn't want to stay in the hospital—he wanted to walk around, and since his fever had gone down, everyone could tell it was a brief rally before the end. But you couldn't really say that out loud. So when his family told everyone that he was doing fine and didn't want visitors, Isabella didn't insist.
At such a time, showing up with gifts would feel no different from sending a funeral bell, right?
And now…
"How's Richard doing?"
Since Columbus himself had called, Isabella was, of course, flying back to London.
She boarded a private jet on the 20th—12 hours later, by 9 p.m., she was at the University of London's affiliated hospital.
She'd already called Columbus right after landing to ask about the latest situation, and—
David Heyman was there, too?
"Richard's not doing well," Columbus said, shaking his head. "He fell into a coma this afternoon and hasn't woken up since. The doctors… don't think there's much hope."
Isabella understood immediately.
The old man probably wouldn't wake up again.
It was only a matter of days.
In her memories of her past life, the first Dumbledore had indeed passed away due to illness, so this wasn't exactly unexpected.
Still, after two years of working together so pleasantly, the realization that a once-lively soul was about to fade away filled her with sorrow.
She sighed softly and nodded.
Accompanied by her mother and sister, she went to the ICU to see him.
The glass wall kept them from approaching, but it couldn't hide his suffering.
After standing there silently for a while, Isabella turned away.
It wasn't that she was being overly sentimental—it was just empathy.
When grief hangs over you, when death stands so close, your heart can't help but sink.
After offering polite condolences to the family, Isabella rejoined Heyman and Columbus—both of whom were sighing heavily.
"Is it that bad?" she asked, sitting down beside them.
"Yeah."
Heyman nodded, knowing what she was really asking. "We thought Richard could hold on until the premiere, but no one expected his condition to deteriorate this fast. Now… sigh…"
To an outsider, his words might sound heartless—like he was more worried about the film than the man.
But that wasn't fair.
Because the truth is, when one of your main actors passes away right before a film's release, it does affect the promotion.
For example, if all your promotional material had been bright and celebratory, you'd have to scrap it all and redo it to fit the somber mood.
Money isn't the biggest problem—time is.
Rewriting all the press releases, reprinting all the posters… that's a nightmare.
And then there's the tone of the marketing.
Every interview, every press conference, must now emphasize remembrance and gratitude.
Of course, that's the right thing to do—every society demands at least that much decorum.
But when every word has to be respectful and precise, when even the smallest slip-up could make the public think you lack sincerity, it becomes exhausting.
If any condolence message sounds off, even by accident, people will accuse you of disrespecting the dead.
Fans might lash out, and rival studios will definitely seize the chance to throw shade.
So yes—Heyman's frustration was understandable.
But what bothered him even more than the PR scramble was the shadow of New Line Cinema looming over them.
The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers was coming out in December.
So, yeah—it was a headache.
Hearing that, Isabella sighed again.
Ever since she arrived at the hospital, she'd felt like a little old man—sighing and sighing nonstop.
But there wasn't much else she could do.
As the saying goes, with great power comes great responsibility, but at twelve years old, she had neither.
So she could only sit quietly with them.
After Richard's family came out to thank everyone, Heyman and Columbus stood up to leave.
They had more work to do.
So Isabella left too.
And by the 25th…
Back at Leavesden, she received the news:
Richard Harris had passed away.
Everyone attended the funeral to see him off one last time.
His farewell was held not in a church, but at a crematorium—his choice.
He'd wanted to be cremated, and for his ashes to be taken to the Bahamas—his second home.
Back in the 1980s, when he'd withdrawn from the film industry to live freely, that's where he had settled down.
The ceremony was simple, but the people who came were many—
politicians, business leaders, actors.
His life had been extraordinary.
Born poor, he married the daughter of the Liberal Party leader, the Baron of Ogmore, and had three children.
As an Irishman, he also supported Irish independence.
And in the arts, he'd achieved nearly everything—Oscar, Emmy, even the Laurence Olivier Award for theatre.
He'd released albums too, competing for Grammys in the '60s and '70s for Best Album and Best Male Vocalist.
Because of his influence across so many fields, the BBC did a full tribute special when he passed.
And on the day of his cremation, many fans traveled from all over the country to say goodbye.
Honestly, to live a life like that—he was already a legend.
When ordinary people mourn you without being told to, it means you've left a mark on the world.
Of course, his death also cast a shadow over The Chamber of Secrets' promotion.
Originally, the marketing campaign had been bright and joyful.
Back in mid-June, when everyone renewed their contracts, Warner had already released the first teaser—just thirty seconds long, but enough to excite Potter fans, since it showed the flying car.
That one scene alone thrilled them—it meant the studio had done the story justice.
Then came Isabella's interviews—her "merciless truth bombs," as fans called them—which sent the fandom into a frenzy.
With the hype running high, Warner doubled down and dropped a second trailer on September 12.
The 137-second trailer showed everything Potter fans wanted to see.
Dobby, the giant spiders, the Basilisk, the Whomping Willow—every glimpse made the children even more excited for The Chamber of Secrets.
Warner Bros. also listened to public demand and officially announced on September 27 that tickets for the premiere would go on presale!
Fans could go online to register for a lottery to win a chance to attend~
Cough, cough, cough—
In short, capital pulled all the right strings, successfully driving the audience's anticipation for the film to its peak.
However—everything mentioned above happened before the old man passed away.
After his death, the new toys were still hitting the shelves, the new sodas were still being advertised, and new collaborations were still being announced. The two big letters HP still shone in every corner of the world.
But the one taking center stage was no longer Harry Potter—
It was Dumbledore.
Across London's streets, posters memorializing the old man appeared.
His gentle portrait adorned London buses.
Creative statues of him stood at the entrances of major cinemas.
And when November 3 finally arrived, the atmosphere at Leicester Square felt… heavy.
Sunday.
Premiere night.
Although many fans showed up in Hogwarts uniforms, wearing witch hats and holding broomsticks, the joyful energy wasn't as bright as it had been at The Philosopher's Stone's premiere.
The cheers were still there when each cast member stepped onto the red carpet—but perhaps because everyone felt as though the old man was watching from above, the noise didn't rise to the same feverish pitch.
Most people simply waved their wands and toys quietly, smiling with emotion rather than excitement.
It wasn't until Rowling and the Golden Trio arrived one after another that the atmosphere finally began to lift.
Then, when Daniel took the microphone and spoke on behalf of everyone to honor the absent Richard Harris—
"Richard was a truly remarkable man, kind and gracious. We all loved him. It was our honor to work with him, and we all feel that he's here tonight, watching the movie with us…"
—only then did the grand event regain its warmth and energy.
Because, as always, children's affection is pure.
They truly grieve when a beloved character passes away.
That kind of heartfelt connection is what every corporation dreams of—because it can generate endless value.
But unfortunately, that kind of connection can never be manufactured by money.
It's fate.
Simple as that.
After the speeches concluded, everyone followed the premiere schedule in order.
And to be fair, Warner really did go all out for Harry Potter.
To give the media plenty of news coverage—and the fans an unforgettable experience—they actually brought the flying car from the film to the site and suspended it in the air.
The tilted flight design was impressively detailed.
Not only that, Warner even organized fan interaction sessions.
A few lucky fans got the chance to meet the Golden Trio up close.
Daniel posed for photos with two girls holding spider plushies;
Rupert gave a warm hug to a college-aged fan;
And Isabella?
When Warner's staff brought over a girl about her age and asked her to sign four Harry Potter books, Isabella instantly sensed—
someone was watching her.
A glance to the side confirmed it: J.K. Rowling.
Although Isabella found it baffling—she wasn't named Zhang in her past life, nor in this one—why did fans keep asking her to sign the novels?
Still, she granted the girl's request with a smile.
After everyone went inside—
"Auntie Annie, I swear that wasn't my fault just now…"
The little girl started to declare her innocence.
"Oh? So that was all an accident?"
Rowling gave her a skeptical look.
"Mhm, mhm!"
The girl nodded like a jackhammer.
Her earnestness made Rowling laugh, though she still kept a straight face.
"Is that so? I almost thought you'd hired that actress to come up and ask for your autograph."
"..."
Isabella was speechless.
"How could that be!"
She sighed helplessly, and that expression finally broke Rowling's composure—she chuckled and wrapped an arm around Isabella's shoulders.
"Alright, alright. Though I admit I'm still curious why people keep asking you to sign my books, I suppose that mystery will never be solved."
"So… let's just watch the movie."
"Let's see what Chris did with The Chamber of Secrets…"
Then Rowling suddenly added,
"Oh, by the way—do you think it'll break the one-billion mark?"
The Philosopher's Stone's global run had basically wrapped up.
As of last week, its worldwide box office stood at £618 million, roughly $961 million.
It hadn't crossed the billion-dollar threshold, which was a small pity—but even so, The Philosopher's Stone was still the second most successful film after Titanic, a fact that filled everyone with huge expectations for The Chamber of Secrets.
"I hope it does."
Although Isabella knew that in truth, only the final Harry Potter movie would cross the billion mark, she wasn't about to dampen Rowling's mood.
And besides—
"You know, my goal is to be number one in film history."
Isabella winked.
"Two films making two billion isn't enough for me. If I could, I'd turn that two into four."
"So, Auntie Annie, you'd better work hard! Write the next few books really well—let's aim for fifteen billion across seven films!"
"Hahahaha—"
Rowling laughed so hard she turned aside, bumping heads playfully with Isabella.
"My dear! You're asking me to write three Titanics?"
"Not asking, demanding! Because you said it yourself—Hermione Granger is greater than Rose Dawson."
"..."
Rowling fell silent.
She pressed her lips together, trembling slightly—
trying not to let her laughter echo through the entire theater.
Gently patting Isabella's shoulder, Rowling could only think, "What a mischievous little thing."
And amid their lighthearted banter, the premiere of The Chamber of Secrets officially began.
Just like before, everyone watched first—and talked later.
The lights dimmed.
The screen glowed.