Life After You:
(Prologue)
"All that I'm after is a life full of laughter, as long as I'm laughing with you...'Cause I know there's no life after you" -Daughtry
000
Blood dripped from busted knuckles as fragments of glass shattered to the ground with deafening 'pings.' The only sound in the seedy looking men's room at the back of the Broken Wand, a forgotten pub that lurked at the junction between Diagon and Knockturn alleys. George went there because, frankly, he didn't want to deal with anyone. Here, no one tried to stop him after his fifteenth shot or denied him the desire to just keep the bottle of Fire Whiskey.
Hell, on the few occasions that he had used the bathroom, and smashed the mirror in the process the moment his reflection reached the corner of his eye, the owner had just repaired the glass when he exited the room and add the damaged onto George's ever increasing tab.
Not bothering to wash the slowly spreading crimson stain off his skin, he ran the hand through his hair, making the ginger color darker, and stumbled out of the washroom and back into the small alcove that was the only other room that the pub possessed besides the main one.
There wasn't even a kitchen.
They only served alcohol…
Which suited George just fine…
Though, at the moment, a stomach full of that said alcohol with no food to sop it up caused him to bend over and hurl burning bile onto the ancient wooden floorboards. Not much came out, seeing that he had been living on a basically liquid diet for months now, but that made the pain to his esophagus all the more prevalent. Just enough to dimly break through the numb he had been living in.
"Fuck it Weasley, I just mopped." Cole, the pub owner. A small man who might even be smaller than Flitwick, which meant that someone down the line a member of his family was a bit too found of a Goblin…or just wanted a discount at Gringotts.
The thought made a sharp smirk cross over George's scruffy face. He hadn't mustered the energy to shave for the last couple of days.
"I think it's time that you go home." Cole continued, noting George's glazed over eyes and the vomit that speckled. "Should I call your brother-"
One swing from George, be it clumsy and blind, made the tiny man land on his ass.
Cole reached up, touched his nose, and took his fingers to eye-level. Noting the red stain that was smeared over his pale fingers. "Damn it George, I was talking about Percy or Ron!"
"I'm fine." George slurred, straightening up, wiping at his chin with the sleeve of his jacket. It was a threadbare, faded number. He had locked away all his 'good' clothes, clothes he had bought from profits made from the shop…
He shook his head, clearing it from dangerous thoughts and made mental notes to throw that box of garments out as soon as he got home…
Where was home again?
He ran a hand through his hair, which was shaggier than it had been months ago, falling into his eyes and under the collar of his shirt. Reaching out with his free one to snag the half-empty bottle from the bar top as he stumbled towards the door, "Taking this with me…put it on my tab."
"You have to pay it eventually you fucking bastard!" Cole's voice had taken on a nasal quality as he tried to stem the flow of blood sprouting from it.
"Yeah…yeah…whatever…" He muttered, taking a swig as he pushed the door open and walked into the soft drizzle that was covering the night.
He aimlessly meandered about for a while, not really processing where he was going and, honestly, a after a few blocks, he forgot where he was going. He turned his attention to the bottle in his hand, trying to take drags from it even when the liqueur was gone.
Somewhere between here and there, wherever either was, he passed out into the black oblivion he had developed a bitter-sweet relationship with.
000
Warmth, true warmth and not the booze induced heat that he had grown accustomed to permanently being in his limbs, encased his body. Along with the sensation of laying on something…soft.
Was he really lying on a mattress?
As in on a bed?
When was the last time he had made it into bed and hadn't just spent the night on the floor?
His eyes were heavy, at least that wasn't a surprise. He had learned all too well that hang-overs made even the most insignificant seeming body parts weighted down. What was new was the cool, relieving sensation coursing over his face.
Almost seemed as if…
"…Mum?"
A laugh, the sound of chiming bells so unlike the warm chuckle of his mother, drifted into his ears. "No, but I'm flattered. Your mother is a charming woman. Kind of reminds me of a female Regnack…you know, with the way that she is so soft and sweet one moment and then is ferocious and kind of terrifying the next."
Wait…he knew that voice…
He forced his eyes to open before they were ready, making pain lace through his brain at the dim morning light that flare through his brain. His eyes snapped shut again out of a instinctive sense of severe self-preservation. But they had been opened long enough from him to catch a glance at a familiar face, along with a mane of tangled, golden hair that only intensified the sun's glare in his vulnerable eyes.
It took him a few times to get his tongue to work in his sand-paper coated mouth. "Luna?"
The coolness, which he could know detect as a damp washcloth, swept over his forehead with a softness that was only surpasses by the gentle tone of her normally spacey voice, "Hey George."
000
A/N: I know that this is short...next chapter will be longer. Promise. Please tell me what you think?