In Britain, it's hard for an actor with a formal background not to do theatre.
Maggie Smith was no exception. Born in 1934, she stepped onto the theatre stage at 19.
Her first play was Twelfth Night at the Oxford Theatre, playing the lead, Viola, and she became famous from the very premiere.
Of course, her ability to land the lead as a newcomer was partly thanks to her father, a professor at Oxford University. Her first workplace was the Oxford University Dramatic Society, which had sponsored Twelfth Night.
A father's love can be powerful, and Maggie Smith didn't disappoint. With her immense talent, she soon toured Broadway. By 1962, Laurence Olivier personally invited her to join the soon-to-be-founded National Theatre. She accepted, becoming one of the founding members of the Royal National Theatre.
So, when she said she would take Isabella to the theatre she founded, there was only one possibility: the Royal National Theatre.
When Isabella first heard the destination, she was confused, not sure what the elderly lady's intentions were. But once she arrived at this national-level cultural landmark and stepped into the practice room, with rehearsal partners present, she immediately understood.
Acting isn't just talking about acting—it's performing.
Analyzing a character with pen and paper counts as acting on paper, but true mastery only comes through practice.
So, training begins~
Honestly, Isabella had never seen a teaching method like this before. In her previous life, when learning music, whether erhu or piano, she first studied the basics before practicing techniques.
But now?
The elderly lady didn't teach anything—she just threw her into it.
This was like learning 1+1=2 and then being asked to tackle discrete mathematics.
No—now she didn't even know 1+1=2 in acting yet!
Honestly, once she stepped into the practice room, Isabella panicked.
Maggie Smith, smiling, pulled a page from the script Isabella had painstakingly prepared overnight. It described the Hogwarts welcome feast for new students. The children were enjoying dinner when a ghost appeared.
Nearly Headless Nick crawled out from under the table, startling many.
Hermione, curious about his nickname, asked about its origin.
Then Sir Nicholas grabbed his own head, showing the result of 44 axe blows and some flesh still stuck to it, an action that disgusted the young girl.
After reading the page, Maggie Smith pointed to the theatre actor in front of Isabella, who sported a mustache. "He is now Nicholas. How do you think this scene should be performed?"
"Hm…"
Isabella thought for a moment. "I think this scene needs to be performed in three parts."
"Why?"
"Because it's an interactive dialogue. When Hermione asks, the camera should focus on her. When Nicholas answers, the camera shifts to him. Then when Hermione is scared, the camera shifts back to her."
According to her knowledge of film, Isabella added, "Scenes that switch like this should be filmed separately, right?"
"Yeah~ excellent answer~"
The elderly lady nodded. "From a filmmaking perspective, that's perfect. This scene also involves visual effects, so on set, you'd normally perform without props. But now, you have a real person in front of you, so you need to perform it as a sequence. How will you do it?"
"I'll ask him curiously, then he'll scare me, and then I'll react scared?"
"Here, have a try."
Maggie Smith gestured politely.
Not demonstrating herself made the self-proclaimed queen of talk even more nervous.
Sensing her panic, the uncle called over to be her rehearsal partner smiled and said, "It's fine. Perform however you want—we all started from nothing."
The uncle was kind.
Isabella wanted to thank him.
But before she could speak, Maggie Smith's scolding cut through.
"Who told you to speak to her like that?"
"You are now Nick, Nicholas Pepington."
Although a scolding, her tone didn't rise.
It was the clarity and calmness of her words that made them terrifying.
Instinctively, Isabella tilted her head.
At that moment, the elderly lady stood with her hands in front, like a pine tree.
Her head was slightly raised, eyes lowered—her commanding gaze made Isabella uncomfortable.
So much so that she finally said,
"Professor McGonagall?"
She pursed her lips and mustered courage. "Please stop acting like Professor Snape, okay?"
"Hm?"
The elderly lady didn't understand.
Isabella continued, "Minerva McGonagall is strict but kind. She may seem harsh in many matters, but that doesn't mean she's heartless."
"In Chamber of Secrets, after the Ginny incident, she canceled the annual exams to celebrate Ginny's safe return—proof she understands people. Her strictness is due to being a Hogwarts professor, not lack of empathy."
"In Prisoner of Azkaban, she even cried after the Quidditch match, showing she has personal likes and complex emotions. Right?"
"So, such a good professor wouldn't speak to students in a haughty manner."
"Only someone like Snape, who must constantly maintain the Slytherin head identity, would intimidate like that."
"..."
The room fell silent.
There were seven people in the practice room.
Besides Maggie Smith and Isabella, the other five were her rehearsal partners.
Everyone stared at Isabella in surprise—not only because Maggie Smith was their honorary director, but also because everyone knew very few could criticize her acting, and in Britain, the only one who dared teach her with no deference was the late Laurence Olivier.
So?
"Very good."
Maggie Smith's expression remained unchanged, but her slightly raised head returned to normal. "Miss Granger, since you understand I'm a good person and all strictness is for your benefit, I will teach without reservations."
"Now, please begin."
Her tone was calm.
Her pronunciation deliberate.
But at that moment, Isabella felt no nervousness.
She smiled at the elderly lady, thanked the kind uncle, closed her eyes to collect her thoughts, and reopened them, curiosity shining in her gaze as she looked at the uncle.
"Nearly Headless! How are you nearly headless?"
"Like this."
The uncle, familiar with the script, grabbed his own hair and tilted his head to the side.
Without special effects, it only looked like his neck was bent.
But to Isabella, it looked as if his head was about to detach.
Since he wasn't receiving royal treatment, the connection of his head and neck appeared bloody and raw.
The jagged cross-section made Isabella frown, her features tighten in disgust.
If observed carefully, her right eye twitched slightly.
"How's that, Professor McGonagall? Can I get full marks for this performance class?"
She held the expression for five full seconds before turning.
Though Maggie Smith still maintained her stern demeanor…
"Next scene."
She pulled another page from the script.
...
Before rehearsals, Isabella had been puzzled by the teaching method.
Once rehearsals began, she realized how comfortable Maggie Smith's class actually was.
She didn't teach techniques, but in every rehearsal, she would point out your mistakes—or, once the practice room's tape recorder was set up, you could easily spot your own errors by reviewing the footage.
And when a problem was found, she didn't just spoon-feed the solution. Instead, she guided you, asking how you might improve.
If your idea seemed okay, you tried it again.
In just a few seconds, you could see whether the new approach worked.
This hands-on, guided teaching made Isabella, whose mind raced a mile a minute, feel like a freaking genius.
Truly talented in acting.
Though the elderly lady didn't verbally praise her, simply handing her the script was proof enough.
Practice began at eleven.
Lunch break at twelve.
Resumed at one.
By two, the bell signaled the end of class.
From the elderly lady's perspective, two hours of practical teaching in a day was already plenty. She could continue, but then it would no longer be natural acting—it would become craftsmanship, which would waste the actor's innate energy and serve little purpose.
Of course, finishing the acting lesson didn't mean Isabella was free. She could rest backstage at the theatre, process what she had learned, and when the clock approached three or four o'clock, a new session would begin.
She needed to perform on the stage of the National Theatre.
Anyone familiar with theatre would know: plays have intermissions.
A full-length performance usually lasts at least two hours, often three. Sitting still for 100 or 200 minutes is legendary—most people can't handle it.
During the fifteen-minute intermission, the theatre also provides performances. Short interlude plays, called intermedio, are sometimes staged, but more often there's music or dance. So…
At 4:30 p.m.
As the intermission began at the Doveman Theatre of the Royal National Theatre, Isabella, now dressed in a white long dress, stepped onto the stage.
She bowed to the audience and sat at the piano that had just been set in place. A piano piece that matched the show began to play gracefully.
Perhaps her ten-year-old figure drew attention;Or maybe she played beautifully;In any case, once she appeared, whispers filled the audience.
Yes, on a film set there are many people, and the environment is chaotic, but no film set is as unpredictable as a theatre.
Because on a set, there's a boss—the director—who can command everyone and try to maintain quiet. But in a theatre?Every ticket-holder can scrutinize and judge you.
If you can handle this, you can handle any distractions on a film set.
In Maggie Smith's eyes, this was perhaps the biggest challenge Isabella faced. Many outgoing people get nervous on stage, but Isabella didn't disappoint—she had performed before, even in her past life. This was her strongest skill.
On July 15, Isabella officially began her special training.
After that, she lost track of time.
She only knew Maggie Smith had gone through every scene in the script involving Hermione Granger with her, recording the rehearsals on tape. From clumsy beginnings to smooth transitions, it took only three or four tapes.
Meanwhile, every night she also did extra exercises:
Finding the differences.
Listing all named characters in the script and comparing them to the book.
Comparing the story in the script to the novel, noting where the screenwriter had made edits or cuts.
Though exhausting, Isabella felt fulfilled.
All her efforts caught J.K. Rowling's attention on August 5.
"Did you make her do all this?"
"I only had her organize Hermione's scenes. The rest she did on her own."
"Oh~ excellent~"
Rowling smiled, closing Isabella's manuscript.
Watching the recorded rehearsals, the young girl's maturity made her nod approvingly.
After a brief chat, they moved to the main hall.
Rowling had come to the Royal National Theatre to watch a performance, but not the main show—she was there for the intermission. From the third level, she looked down at the small yet towering figure on stage.
"She plays really well."
"That shows she's been practicing seriously."
"So you like her?" Rowling asked Maggie Smith.
The elderly lady raised an eyebrow. "No one can refuse a talented child who works hard, right?"
"Indeed." Rowling crossed her arms, sighing.
After a moment, she added, "I thought fast-paced learning might trouble her, but she's remarkably capable."
The elderly lady read between the lines. "Have the actors mostly been confirmed?"
"Yes."
"How did you manage Chris?"
Maggie Smith knew about the troubles on set.
When she saw Rowling in a good mood, she wanted to know how Rowling managed the crew.
Rowling paused. "Because I chose Daniel."
Maggie Smith blinked, then smiled. "Ah~ I see~"
The Daniel Rowling referred to was Daniel Radcliffe.
As all future media would report, he was the first and optimal choice for Harry Potter.
He was British, had acting experience, and was cute. Moreover…
His father worked in traditional literature publishing and agency, with influence in the UK similar to David Heyman, Rowling's longtime supporter, behind-the-scenes driver of the Harry Potter series and primary film producer. They had known each other for years.
Unflatteringly put, shortly after the Harry Potter films were greenlit, Daniel came into Heyman's sight. They held auditions seriously, but unless someone matched the book's description exactly, no one could compete for Harry Potter.
Even Haley Joel Osment wouldn't have worked.
Because Daniel was not only British but also Jewish.
His mother was a South African Jew, making him fully Jewish by maternal lineage.
This heritage carried weight in the Western entertainment world, so when Rowling chose him for Harry, not even Chris Columbus—or Steven Spielberg directing—could say no.
Maggie Smith knew all this, so when Daniel was cast, she had no doubts.
But she was curious: "What about the others? Ron?"
"Most likely Rupert Grint. You've seen his profile; he's great."
"Oh~ I remember~"
Maggie Smith nodded. "And Hermione Granger?"
When Hermione was mentioned, Rowling went silent.
After about ten seconds, she said, "When I told Chris I wanted Daniel and Rupert for Harry and Ron, he had no major objections. But for Hermione, he suggested a new choice: a British girl born in France, as lovely as Isabella."
"And her parents were divorced."
Maggie Smith narrowed her eyes, processing the information.
After reflection, she understood Rowling's point.
"By industry convention, you should respect Chris Columbus' casting decisions, right?"
Society is built on human relationships.
Even if Rowling had a conflict with Columbus, with him initiating the challenge, she couldn't act unilaterally.
After selecting two in the "iron triangle," including a lead, the remaining lead role had to be left for Columbus. After all, he was prominent, Spielberg's student—he couldn't just be a tool on set.
He needed respect too!
But—
"Oh~ Maggie~ you're right."
Maggie Smith had seen more storms than Rowling had tasted salt; she had already explained the essence of the matter. Rowling no longer hesitated.
"If I hadn't spoken with Isabella, I probably would have given Chris the decision on Hermione."
"But I spoke with her, so…"
"I could only apologize to Chris."
Though chatting with Maggie Smith, Rowling's attention never left the stage.
When she saw Isabella finish her performance and bow to the audience, she applauded along. The waves of applause made her eyes sparkle, and the little girl's happy waving made her speak again:
"Maggie, do you know why I like Isabella?"
"She's only ten, but she told me she wants to support her family."
"As a mother, I can't bear hearing that."
As her words fell, the theatre went dark.
With a clang, a beam of white light descended from above, landing at center stage.
The second half of the performance began.