The Malfoy Project

𝟗𝟗 - 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞

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༻⚜️༺

     "It's huge."

     We stood at the edge of the box looking down at the sea of red chairs below us. The air was simmering with the hushed, excited murmuring of the crowd milling in.

     "Like, it's actually massive," Hannah repeated.

     Ernie sniggered. "That's what she said."

     They ignored him, entranced by their decadent white and gold surroundings. I also said nothing. In all honesty, the box seats aren't the best in the Lyceum Theatre. The clearest view of the stage is from the middle stall downstairs, about a third way from the stage. But the box provided privacy, something I reckoned Ainsley would want on her last night with her friends.

     There was a blinding flash and the sound of a muffled explosion. We turned in unison to see Ernie lowering his camera from his eye. "Put that away!" Hannah swatted at him. "They said no photography!"

     "Only when the show starts," said Ernie, and raised the camera at us again. "Come on, get in!"

     I instinctively moved out of the way as Hannah and Ainsley pressed themselves together by the railing, oversized grins on their faces.

     After taking their picture, Ernie shoved the camera into my hands. "Get one of the three of us," he commanded, with a business-like assertiveness I'd never seen before. "And make sure to get the stage in the background."

     Hesitantly, I hoisted the black metal brick to my eyes, squinted through the tiny viewfinder, and hit the shutter button.

     Ernie snatched the camera back from me. "Your turn. You and Ainsley."

     We spent another five minutes taking pictures. We got one of Ainsley and Ernie, three of Ainsley and me, and about a dozen more of Hannah and Ainsley in different poses, after which a booming voice announcing the start of the show sent us back to our seats. Ainsley and Hannah were whispering into each other's ears, giggling intermittently like a couple of First Years. They only stopped when the lights dimmed and the curtains raised.

     None of them had seen The Lion King before. The girls gasped when the performers pranced down the aisles in their animal costumes, and Ernie guffawed at the antics of the hyenas, who ironically reminded me of him. I watched them, thoroughly enjoying their reactions and feeling extremely pleased with myself. It was that flying feeling, the same one Ainsley gave me.

     It was only when — in what I can only presume is one of the most horrifying fictional moments in Muggle history — Simba's father is tossed off the ledge by his uncle, that I realised I may have made a mistake. As the lights dimmed and the theatre was splashed in shadows, I kept my gaze straight ahead, not even daring to look at Ainsley. When the young lion wailed for his dead father, the blood froze in my veins, and I wished the ground would open below my feet and swallow me whole. From the corner of my eye, I saw Hannah reach for Ainsley's hand.

     I leaned over to Ainsley. "We can go if this isn't—"

     She cut me off with a stern "Sshh!" without taking her eyes off the stage. And so I was forced to sit back, hating myself for the next five minutes until the stage screen came down and the voice announced the intermission. Ainsley and Hannah stood up and announced that they were going to the loo.