Future Tense


This is how you imagine the future:

You’ll have a nice flat somewhere, in London perhaps, or Edinburgh, or Glasgow. Someplace small but not too small, in the middle of the city, above a bakery maybe, or a barber shop. You’ll still be playing Quidditch professionally, he’ll be working for the Ministry.

Or perhaps not.

Maybe you’ll have a little house on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, a blue house with curtains and a dog, a Rottweiler maybe, or a German Shepherd. You’ll be older, maybe not playing anymore, but coaching or something, because you can’t imagine not playing the game. He’ll work in town, or maybe at Hogwarts, as a professor. You’ve heard he’s quite good at Defense Against the Dark Arts, though you’d prefer not to think about why.

It’s possible that you’re thinking a bit too far ahead.

Concentrate on the now, then. You are here: behind the locker room, after practice, standing in a patch of overgrown grass. Marcus Flint is kissing you; you are kissing him back. It should be strange, but it isn’t. It should feel wrong, but it doesn’t.

It feels like a beginning.

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