To be honest, raising the symbolic object of another franchise at the premiere of a movie is the kind of thing only a social disaster would do. Zero emotional intelligence.
But nobody cared.
Warner didn't care—because even if they didn't own Marvel, and even though the Iron Man rights had been handed over to Isabella, their ongoing partnership agreements meant that project would never really slip away from their grasp.
The better Iron Man did, the more money Warner made. So Isabella could show it off however she liked.
And right now, wasn't she basically waving the flag for Harry Potter? Helping HP draw in Marvel and Spider-Man fans? Warner would have to be brain-damaged to object.
The fans didn't care either—
The cartoon beaver had long since become part of daily life. Online, everyone's emoji packs featured the little beaver. Under that context, any appearance Isabella made offline didn't look like "self-promotion" at all.
It looked like their favorite star being charmingly down-to-earth.
As for Isabella herself… she didn't care either.
Why?
Others might not see it, but she knew Robert Iger probably did.
So—
When a wave of screams exploded into the air, the sound slicing upward, Isabella, arm raised high, had a strange illusion.
In that instant, she was Iron Man.
The roar of her fans was deafening; the sound pressure felt like the shockwave from Tony Stark's missile test in the Middle East—loud enough to knock the breath from your lungs. Yet Isabella remained poised and elegant, because if she lowered her head now, her crown would fall.
Heh.
After holding the pose for a moment, she lowered her arm. After all, today was HP's premiere.
She could indulge the fans' curiosity, even sneak in a little cross-promotion, but she couldn't steal the spotlight.
Taking up the mic again, she ditched the host and took over herself.
"Thank you all for coming to the premiere of Prisoner of Azkaban. Your love means a lot to me… I hope the new movie satisfies you, and that when it releases you'll support it in theaters."
"I believe you've all read the original Azkaban. As you know, the story of Harry Potter reaches a new level here—its tone is a bit darker."
"And finally, about my own work—I've been busy lately, but no matter how busy I get, I'll still make Marvel movies, because I love them. I can't say details yet or whether I'll act in them, but after I finish Goblet of Fire, within three years we'll definitely have a film out. Please be patient."
"And one last thing—about those fan-signs you're holding. I know all about the memes; they're hilarious. As long as they're non-commercial, I won't pursue anything. For other IPs—Lord of the Rings, HP, Iron Man, DC—you can use them freely, just not commercially. But for everything else…"
"…if it's not a Warner property, be careful—there's always a risk."
"Oh right! Don't draw round mouse ears on the little beaver!"
"That rodent holds grudges."
"Hahahahahahaha—"
Her jab at Disney made the whole crowd crack up.
Someone shouted,
"Isaaa! When are you releasing another album? We love your songs!"
Isabella raised an eyebrow.
"When I have a new film coming out. An indie one. You know me—I hate short music videos. Pointless. I just like turning movies into music videos."
The crowd roared again; they knew exactly who she was teasing.
As the laughter faded, Isa waved goodbye to her fans and slipped into Radio City Music Hall.
She greeted a few people, then went straight inside and took her seat.
She skipped the pre-premiere socializing altogether.
Not that she cared—she was already one of the "big players" now. If she stopped to chat with every person who wanted her attention, the movie wouldn't start until morning.
So she did what she always did: whatever she felt like.
And nobody dared complain.
At least not to her face.
"Oh, Isa~ so many people wanted to say hi to you just now~"
From the front row, little Robbie looked around the ornate hall, half in awe, half in exasperation. "Everyone's making moves, but you're running too fast."
"If I didn't run, we'd be surrounded by zombies," Isabella said cheerfully. "Marg, your wording sucks—solid F-minus in English."
"They weren't 'making moves toward me.' No, no, no. You're flattering them. They were reaching out long, grabby arms trying to block my way forward—just like zombies in Resident Evil. If you don't blow their heads off, they drag you down."
Robbie froze, then burst out laughing. "Well, thank God they didn't follow us in! If they heard that, it'd be awkward."
"Marg, wrong again. You're an F-minus in social skills too—circus-school indeed," Isabella teased. "They wouldn't be embarrassed. Successful people have no shame. And remember, in social life, if you're not the one embarrassed, someone else is."
"So you're insulting yourself?" Robbie grinned, sure she'd caught her out.
Isabella just shrugged. "I'm not. I've never thought of myself as 'successful.' I just think I've been lucky. Luckier than most. People like me for it. But being liked and being successful aren't the same."
"Oh, Isa, that's such fake humility," Robbie groaned, rolling her eyes.
Then she looked past Isabella and smirked. "Your tail's showing."
"Really? I thought I hid it well," Isabella said, twisting around in mock surprise.
The cute move broke Robbie's composure entirely; she cackled. Isabella grinned and let it drop.
Whatever she did, the others could only smile.
As she and Robbie chatted, the other cast members began arriving.
People nearby were quietly envious of their easy rapport.
"Isa, you know what? The people outside were like demons—wouldn't let go of me for a second!"
Rupert Grint plopped down, leaning over across poor Daniel, who was squashed against his seat trying to give him room.
Maybe that awkward posture got to him, because he snapped, "Rupert, I know you hate small talk. Me too. But can you not torture me afterward? What is this, buckling my seatbelt? Planning to tie me to the chair?"
Rupert blinked, realized he was basically crushing him, and hurriedly sat back, mumbling an apology.
The whole exchange made Isabella burst out laughing. Daniel turned toward her, mock-scolding:
"Isa, don't laugh."
"Huh?" Isabella blinked.
"If Rupert gets to complain about outside, why can't I? Those people out there are monsters—they won't stop talking about you. Ten sentences, and seven are about Isabella. Imagine: 'Hey, Daniel, I love you as Harry!' then immediately, 'So where's your classmate Isabella?' Boom—head explodes."
He flung up his hands dramatically, making everyone laugh harder.
Even Robbie, shamelessly leaning in to eavesdrop, was giggling. Isabella patted her back to quiet her, then looked at the two "victims" with a helpless shrug.
What could she do? Being too popular was its own curse.
The lights dimmed; conversation hushed.
Warner's logo appeared on-screen, faded, and gave way not to the Harry Potter title but a dim, hazy world.
The camera moved forward, the mist cleared, and the cramped setting appeared—
Midnight, Privet Drive.
Harry, hiding under his blanket with a flashlight, was reading.
Poor kid—too scared to turn on the light in his own house, yet smiling, because he was reading a letter from a friend.
He unfolded a clipping from The Daily Prophet announcing that Ron's family had won a seven-hundred-galleon prize, then read the letter attached.
"Dear Harry, happy birthday! You've probably seen the paper already. I can't believe Dad actually won the prize! We're using it to visit Egypt! We'll be back a week before term starts, then go to London for a new wand and books—hopefully we'll see you there! Oh, and I got you a gift: a pocket sneakoscope. The guy who sold it said it glows and spins if someone untrustworthy is nearby. Hope you like it!"
Harry's smile widened, but the sound of the voice made him panic.
He stuffed the letter under his pillow, lay on his side, pretending to sleep.
Seconds later—thud thud thud—heavy footsteps.
His massive uncle shoved open the door, chest heaving, face red with fury—
And before he could even unleash his rage, the "loading bar" was interrupted…
Because the pitch-black room was completely silent.
That made Uncle Vernon—who'd heard a strange noise and assumed Harry was fooling around instead of sleeping—feel puzzled, then helplessly leave.
It also let Harry get up again, happily turn on his flashlight, and open another letter.
It was from Hermione.
After opening it, there was no sound.
But in the movie, the letter was presented as Hermione's voice-over narration.
Then, as Harry flipped through it, Hermione's letter appeared before the audience. The first line read—
"Dear Harry, if you got Ron's letter before mine, then all I can say is good luck. I hope you haven't been scolded by your aunt and uncle, because I'm sure that idiot probably tried to send you a voice message for your birthday, which must have gotten you into a ton of trouble..."
The moment those confident words appeared, the theater burst into laughter.
"Oh! Hermione is so smart!"
"Hahaha—Ron's an idiot again!"
"They must've changed this part, right? I remember the original wasn't like this? But this change is great—it feels so warm!"
Radio City Music Hall was a gigantic venue.
Since it was usually used for operas and musicals, its design favored tiered seating and acoustics ideal for stage shows. With four levels, it could seat up to six thousand people.
However, because the main screen couldn't be enlarged infinitely, during film events people sitting at the edges or upper levels couldn't see it clearly. So, for this premiere, Warner only opened the central seating area; the third and fourth floors were closed.
That meant the lucky guests who did get in were sitting quite close to the cast and crew. Even though their chatter was muffled, bursts of laughter and delight spread instantly through the crowd.
And as for that...
"Yo~ Isa~ everyone's praising you~ did your tail start wagging again~"
Little Robbie leaned toward Isabella, teasing.
"If you can't say anything useful, don't say anything at all! Move!"
Isabella pushed her away.
Robbie chuckled and shut up.
Meanwhile, Isabella's tail did wag happily.
After all, what was showing on screen was her idea.
Last year, while reading through The Prisoner of Azkaban script, Isabella the director insisted that the warm, daily moments between the Golden Trio from Rowling's books needed to be restored. The scenes didn't have to be long, but they had to exist—because those moments were the emotional anchor for everyone.
And, in this case, they even tied into the main story.
After receiving her notes, Rowling thought her idea was excellent and approved the change. Columbus had no objection either.
But, well, directors are not created equal.
A great director can stretch a film to 180 minutes for the sake of art. A smaller one? Not so much.
Still, power and responsibility go hand in hand.
Once you exercise your creative power, you own every consequence that comes with it.
So before seeing the audience's reaction, Isabella was nervous. But when the positive feedback came rolling in—
"I'm a genius!"
Isabella leaned back in her seat, grinning.
She focused on watching The New Azkaban, which she herself hadn't seen before.
After flipping through Ron, Hermione, and Professor McGonagall's letters, Harry's first objectives in the third film became clear:
Before the term started, he had to go to London and meet up with his friends. As a third-year, he could now visit the all-wizard village of Hogsmeade on weekends—but only with a guardian's signed permission. So, he'd have to find a way to get his uncle and aunt to sign the form.
The mission marked the start of his adventure. His first task: getting that signature.
Anyone who'd seen the earlier films knew this wouldn't go smoothly. The Dursleys despised Harry and wanted nothing to do with the wizarding world. Getting their signatures was basically impossible.
But then came the turning point: Uncle Vernon's sister Marge was coming to visit. Vernon promised that if Harry behaved while she was there, he'd sign the permission slip.
Harry agreed.
Unfortunately, he didn't manage it.
Aunt Marge was cruel and arrogant, constantly insulting Harry and his parents. When she went too far, Harry lost his temper—he whipped out his wand and inflated her like a balloon.
As she floated away and Vernon collapsed in shock, the audience roared with laughter again.
"Wow—those effects are amazing!"
"She's really flying—she's actually flying!"
"Hahaha—I hated that aunt back when I read Azkaban!"
The scene shifted—realizing he'd made a huge mistake, Harry rushed upstairs, packed his things, and ran away.
The Ministry of Magic strictly forbids underage wizards from using magic in the Muggle world.
Last year, Harry had already gotten a warning for it—in Chamber of Secrets.
This time, if he was caught again, he'd be expelled.
So, his escape led him directly into his first real adventure: heading to London, hoping to meet his friends, even if it was early.
On the way, he was startled by a huge black dog that suddenly appeared in the park—his godfather, Sirius Black.
After seeing a Daily Prophet article about the Weasleys winning a family award, Sirius realized Peter Pettigrew—the one who betrayed the Potters to Voldemort—was still alive.
So, Sirius escaped Azkaban to set things right.
He also missed Harry terribly. Even though he could have met him at Hogwarts according to his plan, once he'd broken out, he couldn't resist coming to see him sooner.
Unfortunately, Harry didn't know any of this.
Startled by the dog, he raised his wand to defend himself—then suddenly, a triple-decker bus appeared out of nowhere.
It was the Knight Bus, a magical public transport for witches and wizards in emergencies.
By waving a wand, one could summon it. For just 11 Sickles, it could take you anywhere in Britain.
Because Harry was in danger and had waved his wand, he'd accidentally summoned it.
The bus appeared, whisking Harry away from his godfather, and back into the wizarding world—delivering the audience a visual feast.
The Knight Bus was truly magical:
It moved as fast as lightning. It was invisible to Muggles. It made no noise they could hear. It could instantly dodge obstacles by squeezing, swerving, or even shrinking like rubber. And if it couldn't dodge, it could brake from 200 km/h in an instant.
Basically, the thing had Thor's power.
"Whoa—Harry's about to be thrown off the bus!"
"Oh my god—that's such a good recreation!"
"Wait, why didn't Harry's glasses break this time? Is it because Hermione's not there?"
"Hermione's not there? Oh—you mean no one to use Reparo? Hahaha!"
When the Knight Bus swerved and Harry went flying, the theater erupted in laughter again.
That laughter meant satisfaction.
And approval of the adaptation.
By this point, the movie had already diverged quite a bit from the book.
But that didn't matter.
The important parts were clear, and the things left mysterious—like Sirius's identity—would naturally be revealed later. Viewers who hadn't read the books wouldn't immediately understand, but that was fine.
The only real failure would be if, by the end, no one in the audience knew who the black dog was.
If that happened, it would mean the director, editor, and producer had completely ruined the film.
Movies are storytelling through light and motion—if you can't tell your story clearly, you can't blame the audience for being confused.
That's just idiocy disguised as theory.
Inside the hall, the constant laughter finally let Isabella relax.
The audience loved it.
Good. Her goal was to break the one-billion mark, after all.
At the same time, she turned toward Columbus's seat and started making silly "pshh pshh" noises.
Maybe she was too loud. Maybe the theater was just small.
Either way, her little "signal" made people around them look over.
Caught in the spotlight, Isabella waved in apology. She really had interrupted people watching the movie.
Then, quietly to Columbus, she said, "You were right."
"Hm?"
"When special effects are good enough, they really can cover for some weak story bits."
"Hahaha."
Columbus chuckled, raising his eyebrows, accepting her praise.
He knew exactly what she meant.
They were talking about splitting Goblet of Fire into two films—which, by now, seemed all but confirmed.
Because when it came to visual magic, no one could beat them.
Industrial Light & Magic might fail others—but never Columbus.