Revelations ((open))

[blake]

Blake looked around the joke shop on the Sunday afternoon. The taunt of springtime hung on March wind that blew through the door as the last customer left. He glanced over at his boss who was at the counter. Mr. Weasley winked. "Go on, boy," he nodded with a knowing grin.

"Thank-you!" Blake was glad to take the ridiculously coloured robes off, hanging them in the back. They were growing heavier and heavier each day, a reminder of what little of a future lay before him. As much as he loved the Weasley family and the brilliance of the joke shop, he could not listen to that bell for the rest of his life. He shook that thought from his head, nodding a final thanks to his boss. "Careful what you do with my niece," he warned. Blake managed a laugh, knowing he was half joking. Half. But today he wasn't on his way to see Samara. He didn't know where he was going today, dismissed from work early.

His feet found their way to the three broomsticks, the crowd surprisingly thin. He took a table to himself, ordering a butterbeer and leaning back in his chair. The waitress was prompt in bringing it, winking as she set it down. He lifted an eyebrow, barely able to find his way from his murky thoughts of the future. He recognized her as one girl who had been a seventh year in his fifth, and a former target of his. He nodded curtly, and she left, message received. Leaning over the butterbeer, he thought of his future. Of Samara's. Of his parents. Of course, whatever money he wasn't spending on gifts for Samara had all gone into saving to prevent his mother from having an aneurysm.

He had yet to even manage homework this weekend. He sighed. The only thing that kept him afloat was the Outstanding in Defense Against the Dark Arts. What good was that subject to him in the real world? Auror was out of the picture. He lacked the discipline for it and his Potions grade was barley hanging onto an Acceptable. He groaned, draining the butterbeer. There was no place for him in the world but in those silly robes.

Unless he would teach. He scoffed at the idea. Those who can't, teach. He ran his finger along the rim of the glass, pondering. How would one even become a teacher? Why was the ludicrous thought still in his head. He blinked, thoughts refusing to release the concept of him, a professor at Hogwarts, before something was pulling him from his silent revelations. He looked up to see...