Ever since Chamber of Secrets came out, Isabella had been following all its movements closely.
After all, it was her movie.
But when Die Another Day hit theaters, she finally understood why Chamber of Secrets, despite exploding in both previews and its opening weekend, still failed to surpass Philosopher's Stone.
When a dark, bloodsucking leech latches onto you and starts draining you dry—while your hands are pinned down by your enemies—it's hard to break any records.
So, Chamber of Secrets couldn't break the 1-billion mark because Die Another Day was siphoning away its audience?
It sounded unfortunate, sure—but…
That's fate.
Isabella accepted it.
As she was glancing at the calendar, ready to dive into promo work for her upcoming film The Voice, someone from Warner suddenly showed up—
And told her Warner wanted to use The Voice… to go up against The Lord of the Rings?
Staring at the familiar face before her, Isabella really wanted to shout—
"Are you out of your f**ing mind?!"*
A second later, she turned toward Columbus beside her—
He clearly thought Nathan Bailey's sudden appearance was just as insane.
Pushing up his glasses, Columbus said, "Nathan, I know what's going on inside Warner. I'm well aware of the feud with Ted Turner. I know everyone's desperate to take the global box office crown this year—but the failure of Chamber of Secrets has nothing to do with us. Taking down The Lord of the Rings isn't our job. So… I don't quite get what you're trying to say."
"Oh—Chris, Isa, don't get upset. Just hear me out!"
Nathan Bailey knew this wasn't the time to keep secrets.
He pulled a stack of notes from his briefcase and spread them out before the two.
It was a proposal he'd drafted on his way here.
"According to our original plan, The Voice's marketing campaign would ride on Chamber of Secrets' success…"
As mentioned before, the original marketing idea for The Voice was simple: let Isabella leverage the Harry Potter traffic. When Chamber of Secrets tore through the box office, The Voice—starring Hermione Granger herself—would naturally attract fans and public attention. That hype, that draw, would generate The Voice's first wave of box office momentum.
What came after would depend on quality.
After all, no movie can reach great heights on fan power alone.
That plan could still technically work—but without Chamber of Secrets dominating the charts, the effect would be greatly weakened. And if The Voice's first wave of box office faltered, the rest would be left to divine mercy.
So, to change the situation, Nathan had a sudden inspiration—one drawn from Star Wars and Harry Potter:
If Star Wars could be cannibalized by Spider-Man and Panic Room…
If Harry Potter could be drained by Die Another Day…
Then why couldn't The Lord of the Rings be bled dry by another movie?
Sure, LOTR was a massive IP—but not that untouchable.
So—
When The Voice needed box office momentum!
When The Voice couldn't win a frontal war!
Why not let The Voice do what Spider-Man, Panic Room, and Die Another Day did—
crawl onto LOTR's back and suck its blood?
And if The Voice succeeded in drawing LOTR's audience—then Warner would win twice.
Win One: The Voice would get a huge box office boost.
Win Two: If LOTR's numbers dropped, then the year's box office crown between LOTR and Harry Potter would become uncertain!
And the plan was simple to execute.
"Isa, Chris—we're all insiders here, so I won't explain the basics. If a film has enough buzz, it gets more screenings. The more screenings we get, the fewer New Line gets. And we're not fighting LOTR head-on—the moment we release The Voice during its second week, North American theaters will adjust their allocations based on performance."
"As for what buzz The Voice has beyond Harry Potter…"
Nathan paused.
Then smiled at Isabella. "Isa, remember the notes I gave you before signing the contract? You didn't take my suggested rewrites—but that doesn't matter. Every studio loves an Oscar contender."
"So—if you nod—Warner will immediately rebrand The Voice as an Oscar-chasing film."
"If you nod—we'll announce that you wrote the screenplay."
"If you nod—Barry Meyer himself will start pushing you to the top."
"If you nod—there's still hope for us."
Nathan's tone was calm, but his eyes were bloodshot.
At that moment, his face seemed stained with red; his grin had a feverish edge.
Yes—aside from Harry Potter, The Voice could sell itself as an Oscar contender.
And that wasn't far-fetched—after all, The Voice's core inspiration, Little Miss Sunshine, was an Oscar-type film.
Plus, road movies had always been award darlings.
Warner hadn't mentioned this earlier—not because they hadn't thought of it—but because calling The Voice an Oscar project was insane.
Isabella was born in 1990—she wasn't even thirteen yet. Going for an Oscar at that age?
The last one to pull that off was Shirley Temple.
Totally nuts.
Sure, such a campaign would instantly skyrocket public interest—and Warner even expected that Harry Potter fans would go berserk with excitement.
"I'm still in school, and my idol's going for an Oscar?!"
Cool, right?
But when the hype died down, what then?
Not everyone would love The Voice.
And once the passion faded, what would the disappointed crowd think of Isabella?
After every frenzy comes a mess.
Of course, Warner's caution hadn't come from kindness—they weren't protecting Isabella out of love. They were protecting their own investment.
Because the Harry Potter series had seven films, and replacing the lead actress would be a nightmare. Protecting Isabella was protecting themselves.
But now?
New Line was about to crap on Warner's head!
At this point, ethics didn't matter anymore.
Even if the plan was devilish—Warner would take it.
And then—
"You can leave."
After hearing him out, Isabella lifted her chin slightly.
Nathan didn't hesitate—he nodded and left at once.
As the door closed, Isabella and Columbus looked at each other across the desk.
After a long silence, Columbus sighed. "The Ross family and Ted Turner really are tearing each other apart."
His comment made Isabella raise an eyebrow.
"What do you think of the plan, Director?" she asked with a smile.
She didn't care about Warner's internal war. That wasn't her battlefield. She only cared about one thing—her own project.
"So—what do you think, Director? Is Nathan's plan feasible? Does it help us or hurt us?"
"Uh… I'd say it's very doable," Columbus admitted.
He looked over the papers Nathan had left, shaking his head. "Like he wrote—if Star Wars and Harry Potter could both bleed from competition, then LOTR can too."
"So, if this works, we win."
"As for pros and cons…"
He pursed his lips, thinking. "That's hard to say."
"Because there are different kinds of victories."
"But I'll admit—it's tempting."
"If it succeeds, our earnings skyrocket—we get full revenue shares. And for you, Isa, if you take down The Lord of the Rings, your commercial value won't just be theoretical anymore. Because…"
Columbus looked up from the paper, meeting her eyes.
"Isa—I don't know if you've heard this saying—
'Only by killing a god can you become one.'"
In every industry, the ones at the top didn't talk their way there—they fought their way through mountains of corpses.
If the whole world expected The Lord of the Rings to be king, and Isabella could make it bleed—if she could push Harry Potter back to the top—then she herself would become an IP.
It's like how all of Hollywood knew that "Spider Man" had become "The Man."
If you don't stab the GOAT to death—how do you become the GOAT yourself?
Crown yourself? Who'd buy that?
That's why Isabella asked about the plan—nothing else mattered.
Warner's demonic "dual cultivation" scheme was dangerously tempting.
"So—you're planning to accept?"
Two hours later, in the Leavesden dorms—
Vivian and Catherine listened quietly as Isabella explained everything.
Though Prisoner of Azkaban was still in early development and Isabella technically wasn't working, none of them wanted to go home.
Leavesden was convenient—and above all, safe.
Most of Harry Potter's assets were here. If anything went wrong, Warner would throw half its staff into the Atlantic.
Vivian frowned. "And if you fail?"
"Uh… Mom, if I say that even if I fail it won't matter, would you think I'm crazy?" Isabella tilted her head. "Even if I lose, I still have Harry Potter, don't I?"
"There are seven movies. I can fail multiple times."
"But… what if Harry Potter keeps declining?" Catherine asked softly.
That made Vivian nod in agreement.
Isabella just smiled.
"I don't think it will. Prisoner of Azkaban and Goblet of Fire are bestsellers. And… I trust Aunt Joanne will give fans a perfect ending."
Yes.
To Nathan Bailey, Barry Meyer, Columbus, Vivian, and Catherine—this "Oscar campaign" plan was a double-edged sword.
If it worked—glory beyond compare.
If it failed—straight to hell.
But all of them shared one assumption: Chamber of Secrets hadn't beaten Philosopher's Stone. The HP franchise was strong—but not invincible.
So risking Isabella's entire reputation for one win seemed unwise.
Even Barry Meyer felt uneasy about making her shoulder that burden.
That's why he sent Nathan alone to London.
But Isabella saw it differently—
She knew J.K. Rowling would deliver a satisfying ending.
She knew HP wouldn't crash and burn like Game of Thrones.
So why not take the swing?
If she won—she'd have everything.
If she lost—she was still Hermione Granger.
"I can lose seven times," she thought. "But you have to win every time."
So—
"I think you should call Joanne," said Vivian.
"I agree," said Catherine.
Naturally, Isabella had to tell Rowling—this was about protecting Harry Potter's box office crown, after all.
A few moments later—
In Scotland, Rowling set down her pen and leaned back in her chair.
"Isa," she said.
"Mm?"
"Is Warner really that bad off internally?"
"Yeah. Their shareholders are tearing each other apart—it's kill or be killed."
"And if you help Warner now… won't Ted Turner hold a grudge?"
"Oh~ Aunt Joanne, thanks for worrying. But honestly, the moment I played Hermione Granger, Ted Turner already hated me, didn't he?"
Rowling chuckled. "Fair point. So, you're really going to gamble?"
"I wanted your opinion first."
Rowling smiled, gazing out over the Scottish fields.
"Isa, do you remember what you told me at the Chamber of Secrets premiere?"
"Uh… I said you told me Hermione Granger is better than Rose Dawson?"
"Yeah~ and I still believe Hermione is the best. So, about your question—who wouldn't want their work to surpass The Lord of the Rings? I just can't say that out loud."
"Hahaha~"
Isabella laughed. She got it. "Then… thank you."
"Mhm." Rowling's voice softened. "Go ahead and gamble. If you win, I win. And don't worry—win or lose, you'll always be Hermione. Because you are Hermione."
That sealed it.
Even if she failed miserably, Warner couldn't replace her.
The casting and production rights were Rowling's to decide.
Isabella didn't trust Warner—she trusted Rowling.
Because capital has no loyalty.
And once the decision was made—
"What?!"
"There's my name in this plan too?"
An hour later, they all gathered again in the producer's office.
And when Columbus read the complete plan—he was stunned.
The first version Nathan had shown them only covered Isabella's part.
Now, the missing pages revealed the rest—his involvement included.
"...Nathan, how long have you been plotting this?" Isabella asked, half amused.
"Since Die Another Day's daily box office overtook Chamber of Secrets," Nathan said frankly. "I knew the drop would affect everything else."
"Tsk." Isabella raised an eyebrow.
She had to admit—the poor guy wasn't completely useless.
Seeing Columbus still hesitating, she nudged him. "Director, don't overthink it. Just agree already. The Voice is your project too—success benefits you as well."
"…"
Columbus rolled his eyes at the grinning girl.
This kid's ambition, he thought, was sharper than anyone realized.
"Alright, Nathan," he sighed. "We'll follow your plan. I'll handle my part myself."
"And if anything unexpected happens—tell me immediately."
That nod was like pressing a nuclear launch button.
That very day, Warner issued a new press release—
"Shocking! Isabella's New Film Aims Straight for the Oscars!"
"Months ago, our Miss Hermione Granger graced the cover of People magazine, revealing she would release two films this year—Chamber of Secrets and the upcoming The World's Voice."
"The trailer for The Voice was inspiring—a story of courage and dreams—but today we're talking about something bigger."
"Why did Anthony Hopkins, Jude Law, and Christian Bale all break Hollywood's unspoken hierarchy to join The Voice?"
"Today, the truth is out: they joined because The Voice is heading for the Oscars."
Warner's PR machine was terrifyingly efficient. Even with internal chaos, they pushed the "Oscar contender" angle worldwide within hours.
And then—
The world exploded.
Because December to March was Oscar season.
Sure, technically, any film from the previous calendar year could compete—but December releases always had the advantage. Release too early, and by awards season your campaign momentum would be gone.
So every Oscar hopeful released around November or December—right where The Voice was scheduled.
So when The Voice was scheduled for a late-December release, and Warner suddenly claimed the movie was aiming for an Oscar run—
anyone with half a brain wouldn't have found that suspicious.
And once the public started believing it—
"Oh! So that's why our dear Jude took a supporting role in a drama! He's going for another Oscar!"
"Now it all makes sense! He already got a supporting actor nomination for The Talented Mr. Ripley, and he's going for it again… though honestly, he's leading-man material. Still, if that's his choice… respect."
"So Christian Bale's going for Supporting Actor too? Double supporting leads?"
"Totally normal! Submitting two supporting actors can squeeze out a rival spot. Think about it: five nominees means a 20% average chance to get in, but if two contenders are from the same film and one drops, the other's odds rise to 33.33%."
"Wait—so one of them's gonna be sacrificed?"
"Uh… yeah… cold-blooded, but professional."
"Then is Isabella going for Best Actress?"
"Sweetheart, have you ever seen a twelve-year-old Oscar winner? Isabella's role is clearly there to bring in the box office! The real awards push is for three people: Anthony Hopkins for Best Actor, Jude Law and Christian Bale for Supporting Actor—one of them taking the nomination—and maybe Chris Columbus for Best Director? He's made enough blockbusters by now. And the film itself, sure, Best Picture slot."
Ahem.
When something sounds completely ridiculous, people will invent even more ridiculous explanations for it.
Before Warner had even sorted out their awards strategy, the public had already helpfully assigned everyone's Oscar category for them.
The studio was speechless—
but also quietly thrilled.
That's the magic of hype: when your project is loud enough, random "geniuses" online will do all your marketing for you.
But over at New Line, eyes started narrowing.
"The Voice is an Oscar-bait project? Why am I only hearing about this now?"
Robert Shaye was confused.
New Line had informants inside Warner. He knew their awards list for the year—
and The Voice wasn't on it.
So…
"Boss, could Warner be trying to suck us dry?"
"Like 007 sucked Harry Potter, like The Failing Man and Fear Kill teamed up to strangle Star Wars?"
New Line still had smart people, surprisingly.
And really, half the time when the public thinks corporate giants are stupid, it's just internal sabotage.
Shaye rubbed his temples. Maybe the theory was possible—but it didn't make sense.
Oscar films were boring, passionless prestige projects. Their audience didn't overlap with HP fans.
So calling The Voice an Oscar contender?
That wasn't bloodsucking.
That was waving the white flag.
It was practically telling Hermione's fans to stay away.
Shaye's logic was simple:
If you're an HP fan, and you find out Hermione's new movie is Oscar-bait, would you still watch it?
Most wouldn't.
Because no matter how good it was, it wouldn't be fun.
And kids liked Hermione because she was cool, not because she made awards-season tearjerkers.
So…
"Feels like Warner's just preemptively making excuses for an upcoming flop," he muttered.
"They're packaging The Voice as an Oscar film so that when it tanks, they can shrug and say, 'Well, Oscar films never sell anyway,' and neutralize the attack we've been building with Ace 3."
Even Shaye couldn't quite read Warner's move.
It was too strange, too sudden.
But then Warner struck again.
This time, they went straight to Disney—
and asked them to drop a "leak."
BREAKING: 'The World's Voice' May Have Been Created by Isabella Herself!
"According to insiders, the script for the much-debated The Voice was written by Isabella herself.
Anthony Hopkins, Jude Law, and Christian Bale all joined the project because of her."
"When we reached out for confirmation—"
"Anthony Hopkins said Isabella is the most brilliant girl he's ever met."
"Jude Law said she constantly surprised him, and he hopes his children grow up to be as clever, kind, and beautiful as her."
"Christian Bale said the story of The Voice completely captivated him."
"Chris Columbus shared details of their collaboration—he said every kid dreams, and his dream was writing stories when he was young. It took him ten years to polish one. But Isabella? Her imagination stunned him. He even said The Voice is more enchanting than Gremlins."
Then—silence.
And after a few stunned seconds—
"AAAAAAHHHH! The Voice was written by Isabella herself???"
"OMG!!! OMG!!! OMG!!! Hermione Granger is an actual genius???"
"Oh my God, oh my God—Mom! Dad! Isabella is amazing!!!"
"Everyone's praising her!!!"
Disney owned more than just ABC.
Their radio networks—like Disney Radio—targeted young audiences directly.
And since Disney's media reach overlapped heavily with HP's fanbase, this cooperation was brilliant.
So now the story was:
The Voice was Isabella's project.
And Hopkins, Law, and Bale joined because of her.
Even Chris Columbus called her a prodigy.
If this had appeared in the adult world first, some grumpy critic would've yelled "Fake news."
But it appeared in the children's world.
And in a kid's world, of course your idol is supposed to be amazing.
What parent would even argue?
They'd probably just say, "See? You should learn from Hermione!"
That's the power of having a wholesome image.
Let's be real—
kids who loved Harry Potter might not all have perfect homes (divorce rates, etc.),
but they were raised in environments that valued the same core themes J.K. Rowling wrote about: love, friendship, courage, responsibility.
That's why HP resonated worldwide—it spoke to universal values.
Not some overbaked nonsense like "The influence of Christian ethics on Du Fu through Swan Poems."
"Oh, The Voice was written by Isabella? When my daughter told me, I thought it was an April Fool's joke. But after confirming it, I honestly don't know what to say. The movie isn't out yet, so who knows how good it'll be—but if a twelve-year-old's dream can become a real film, that's something worth celebrating. Every child has dreams. I did too at twelve. I just wasn't lucky enough to get Warner's backing. So whatever happens, I'll take my daughter to see it. I just hope it's good. I don't want her to be disappointed."
By the very next day, talk shows across North America were already discussing The Voice.
Even USA Today, which had criticized Isabella before, softened its tone:
"We doubt a twelve-year-old can write a masterpiece, but The Voice might be the first true Christmas gift made for children by a child. In previous years, Christmas movies were adults' games for kids to watch—take Home Alone, for example. Fun, yes, but Macaulay Culkin was just a puppet. The Voice feels different. If it turns out bad, we'll say so. But for now, we choose to hope—and to wish everyone a Merry Christmas."
The coverage exploded—
and New Line suddenly felt like they were being skinned alive.
"Letting kids dream up their own Christmas story"?
What kind of hellish marketing tactic was that?
Once the kids were emotionally invested, The Voice's screen share was bound to rise—
and when its screen share went up,
whose went down?
Gee, what a mystery.
"So The Voice was really written by Isabella?"
Same office, Fifth Avenue, New York.
Robert Shaye's fist slammed the desk so hard it nearly cracked.
His secretary hesitated, then spilled the truth about the script's origins—
It was purchased and rewritten.
So technically… not original.
But they couldn't expose that.
Because in Hollywood, buying a script and erasing the original author's name was a norm.
Producers did it, stars did it.
Half the "genius" screenwriters with Oscars had just hired ghostwriters and taken the credit.
When everyone's breaking the law, you can't even call it cheating.
If New Line tried to attack Isabella for it, Ted Turner himself would be blacklisted.
The entire industry would turn on them.
"Oh… shit. The Voice really is sucking our blood," Shaye muttered, jaw tight.
His secretary knew it too—but all he could do was offer empty reassurance.
The only counter to a publicity ambush like that was delaying release.
But delay The Lord of the Rings?
Don't be ridiculous.
"How could The Lord of the Rings fear a twelve-year-old?"
"Boss, relax. We're ready. We're opening Wednesday. As long as we break $100 million in five days, theaters won't dare cut our screens."
They had pulled every trick.
Movies usually opened on Fridays, but New Line pushed The Two Towers to Wednesday to inflate the "first week."
Five days to hit $100 million.
Even if it was sneaky, history only remembers winners.
If they pulled it off, people would say LOTR deserved its prestige, not that New Line cheated.
And cheating wasn't even new. Fellowship of the Ring had done the same the year before.
So… they crossed their fingers.
When The Two Towers finally opened on December 18, the numbers rolled in:
Wed: $26.15M (strong weekday!) Thu: $13.87M Fri: $19.22M Sat: $22.75M Sun: $20M
Five-day total: just over $100M.
Good… but ugly.
Because HP and Star Wars could hit $150M easy,
and The Failing Man had done $200M.
A $61.9M weekend? Embarrassing.
Even Warner was shocked.
Why?
Because that was bad for LOTR.
Four movies that year had bigger openings:
Spider-Man, Chamber of Secrets, Attack of the Clones, and—painfully—New Line's Austin Powers: Goldmember.
Even that beat The Two Towers.
So… even without The Voice, LOTR was flopping against HP.
What was all the panic for, then?
Still—enemy is enemy. Warner wouldn't stop until LOTR was crushed.
So on December 23, The Voice premiered in London's Odeon Theatre.
Strong reactions, good buzz, and then—
Warner dropped one final publicity nuke:
Shock! Chris Columbus and Steven Spielberg—Mentor vs. Student Showdown!
Bombshell! Anthony Hopkins vs. Tom Hanks: A Once-in-a-Decade Best Actor Battle!
Poll! Hermione the Beaver vs. Jack Dawson: Who's the Real Box Office King?
This Year's Oscars Will Be a War Like No Other!
Besides The Two Towers, Gangs of New York, The Hours, and Chicago, another holiday heavyweight was dropping:
Spielberg's Catch Me If You Can with Hanks and DiCaprio.
Warner knew better than to make The Voice fight LOTR directly.
Instead, they turned it into a media showdown:
Hermione vs. Jack Dawson.
Who could resist that headline?
And so the Christmas War began.
Translator's Note:
① The Two Towers numbers are historically accurate—it really did underperform its first week. New Line boosted totals with two tricks: keeping it in theaters for eight months (vs. the usual 2–3) and padding revenue with VHS sales counted as box office.
② New Line's reputation was notorious. Most of their collaborators later sued for accounting fraud, including the LOTR cast, Peter Jackson, and the Tolkien Estate. Their reported profits were off by as much as 70%.