The first time I stood on that West End stage as Scorpius Malfoy, my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Not from fear—well, maybe a little—but from the weight of it all: the legacy, the magic, the silence of an audience holding its breath. I grew up in Belfast with books for friends and dreams too big for our small flat. Now, here I am, Olivier in hand, still pinching myself. But behind every curtain call, there’s a quieter truth: I miss being just Anthony. No spotlight, no expectations. Just me, a cup of tea, and someone who sees *me*, not the boy who played a wizard. Do you think people can ever really know the man behind the role?