33. Beyond the Curtain

I shouldn’t be surprised the theater is packed on a Sunday afternoon.

Still, the crowd is a bit overwhelming. 

“Mom, can we get popcorn?” Cassidy bounces on her toes.

We all turn our attention to the concessions line. It’s a warzone. 

Moms trying to herd children, comforting screaming toddlers in their arms. 

Their husbands shuffle forward like zombies—eyes on their phones, barking into Bluetooth headsets.

Somehow, over all of it, I can still hear the sticky squelch of shoes against linoleum.

I square my shoulders. It can’t be worse than battling Midtown at lunch for Miranda’s triple venti no-foam. Right?

“You girls show Andrea to the seats,” Miranda says, handing Caroline the tickets. “I’ll be along soon with popcorn and drinks. What do you want?”

“Sprite!” the girls announce. 

Miranda levels a look at them. “You can have sprite now, but then it’s water at lunch. Agreed?”

The girls exchange a look, then nod, their red ponytails bouncing. 

“And you, Andrea?” Miranda turns to me. 

“A Diet Dr. Pepper,” I answer automatically. “But are you sure? I don’t mind waiting in line.” 

Miranda just waves me off, starting for the line without a backward glance. 

I’m left staring, but not for long as the twins grab my arms and haul me toward the theater. 

A man who clearly isn’t paid enough to care checks our tickets and waves us toward the theater.

We find our seats—perfectly centered, far enough back we won’t have to crane our necks—and settle in.

The girls are great company. Amusing, intelligent, and engaging, keeping me entertained through the previews. But still, I can’t let go of Miranda’s decision to brave the masses. 

She said it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Like she wasn’t about to enter a domestic battlefield of sugar, soda, and secondhand regret.

Sitting here, between the chattering girls, waiting for Miranda to get back with overpriced snacks, it really sinks in. 

I’m not an assistant today. 

For once, I’m not expected to run around, fix a mess, or do the impossible. I get to just ... be here. With them. 

I can’t tell if that tightness in my stomach is from a cramp, or giddiness. 

Both, maybe.

Doesn’t matter.

I know it’s dangerous, and stupid, and I’ll get my heart broken if I’m not careful, but maybe, just maybe, we’re ... friends? 

What other assistant gets to stay late at the townhouse, or watch tv with the girls, or go out for lunch and a movie? 

I’m afraid to hope. But how can I not? 

I spot Miranda, her iconic hair almost glowing in the dim theater lights, making her way up to our row. She’s balancing the drinks and popcorn buckets like a pro, but I stand anyway to give her a hand. 

A glare has me immediately sitting back down. 

No assisting. Got it. 

The lights dim further as Miranda passes out the spoils of war. Our fingers brush as she hands me my drink, and a sting of static jolts between us. 

“The hazards of wool sweaters,” Miranda mutters, easing into her seat, Cassidy between us. 

“Yeah,” I whisper. 

The classic, dramatic music swells, and everyone is drawn into the goings-on of Number Four Privet Drive. 

Except for me. I can’t seem to force my attention away from Miranda’s profile. 

My stomach tightens and churns. 

Damn cramps, I think. 

Have I always lied to myself this much? 

***

The twins’ chatter earlier is nothing compared to after the movie. 

“Oh my gosh, it was so sad when he went through the veil!” Caroline gushes in the car. 

Cassidy nods gravely. “Yeah, I cried at that part in the book, but watching it made me cry more.” 

I’m lucky I even know what they’re talking about. From where I was sitting, the movie was the least distracting thing in the room.

Miranda doesn’t say much on the drive to lunch, either. She’s never exactly talkative, but this level of silence seems new. 

We arrive at a casual, yet upscale farm-to-table restaurant. The maitre d leads us past a dozen waiting customers to a booth tucked out of the way. A booth is not what I expected, and my hands start to sweat. 

The girls climb into one side of the booth, and Miranda waits, gesturing for me to scoot in. She follows me, her perfume swallowing me whole. 

Are my eyes dilated? Do I look high? Please don’t let me look high in front of Miranda and the girls! 

Before I can spiral too far, the waiter appears. 

“What can I get you to drink?” she asks. 

The twins open their mouths, eyes alight, but snap them closed at a pointed look from Miranda. 

“Water,” they say, shoulders slumping. 

I can’t hold back my smile at their disappointment. 

“The Sancerre, chilled,” Miranda orders. She glances at me, an eyebrow raised. 

My brain freezes. 

“A water, please.” I hope my pause wasn’t too obvious. 

Miranda, still holding my gaze captive, smirks. Just a little. 

I am absolutely not going to wonder what that means. I refuse. 

The waiter returns with the drinks faster than any other waiter I’ve ever had. We give our orders, me picking something random and hopefully not sloppy from the menu. 

The waiter barely clears the table before the girls launch into a full-blown debrief.

“I can’t believe they left out the whole brain room!” Cassidy huffs, tearing her bread apart like it personally betrayed her.

“And the veil!” Caroline adds, bouncing in her seat. “It’s supposed to be all whispery and creepy, not just... a curtain.”

I smile, ripping off a corner of bread for myself. “Adaptations are tough. You have to cut stuff sometimes.”

“But why cut the best parts?” Cassidy demands.

Across from me, Miranda lifts her wine, tilting the glass just so, studying the girls over the rim. “Because, darlings, film is a different medium. Visual storytelling requires choices. And not all of them are... ideal.”

The words land heavier than they should. Heavier than just a movie critique.

I tuck that away.

For later.

“Well, I think they could’ve figured it out,” Caroline says, stubborn as ever. “They have magic. They can do anything.”

Miranda arches a brow, but there’s no heat in it. “The same could be said for writers,” she murmurs. “And yet, choices must be made.”

The girls go quiet, both of them chewing on that—and their bread.

I lean back against the booth, Miranda’s coat brushing my arm, warm even through the fabric. I try not to think about it. About her. About any of it.

“I mean,” I say, trying to keep it light, “Order of the Phoenix was the longest book. They had to cut something. Unless you wanted to sit there for five hours.”

Cassidy gasps, horrified at the thought. “I would sit for five hours!”

“Same!” Caroline nods fiercely.

I laugh, shaking my head. “You say that now. Wait until you have to pee halfway through and miss the best scene.”

“Bathroom breaks should be part of the magic,” Cassidy says, sage and serious.

That earns a soft, barely-there chuckle from Miranda. I catch it like a firefly—alive for a second, then gone.

The girls dive back into debating what they would have kept if they were the directors. I think that’s it—that the moment’s passed—until Miranda’s voice slides in low:

“They mishandled Umbridge.”

I blink. “You think so?”

Miranda nods, setting her glass down with a soft click. “Imelda Staunton was brilliant. But the film made her too cartoonish. In the book, she’s far more dangerous. She hides behind civility.”

My heart skips. Stumbles.

“Exactly,” I say, maybe a little too fast. “She’s terrifying because she weaponizes the system. She’s not some rogue villain—she’s institutional rot.”

Across the booth, the twins have gone still, watching us like we’ve unlocked a secret level of the conversation they’re not old enough to access yet.

Miranda folds her napkin with slow, precise fingers. “You can defeat a Dark Lord,” she says, almost absently. “But dismantling bureaucratic decay is... significantly more difficult.”

There’s a moment—a breath—where our eyes meet, and I know we’re not just talking about Harry Potter anymore.

I clear my throat, pick at my bread. “Yeah. It's way easier to fight a monster you can see coming.”

Miranda’s gaze lingers, one second longer than it needs to.

Then she looks away, offering me a reprieve I’m not sure I want.

The waiter returns with our food.

The spell breaks.

For now.