Disclaimer: Harry Potter = Not mine in any way, shape or form.
Characters: George W.
Pairing(s): None.
Warnings: He's drunk? And um... unbetad and this is my first fanfic... so beware of OOC and whatever else n00bs do.
*
From yesterday, it's coming
From yesterday, the fear
From yesterday, it calls him
But he doesn't wanna read the message here
*
He hummed lightly to himself as he walked down the street of Diagon Alley. What time was it? He could cast a tempus charm but he knew it was the wee hours of the morning. Which direction was he going? He had no clue. He just let his legs carry him, though he had to admit they were doing a very, very poor job. He tripped and stumbled every now and again, but nothing to worry about that was quite normal when one was inebriated or debauched. Whichever or both. He never was a Ravenclaw. So fancy words be gone!
He took a swig from the bottle of Firewhiskey that was, miraculously, still in his hand. Feeling particularly reckless he closed his eyes and walked. He stumbled almost immediately, not having images to help with his sense of direction. He saw flashes of light behind his lids.
People running, screaming, hexing for all they were worth.
He walked, swaying dangerously as he continued in a rather serpentine pattern.
He smelled blood and smoke.
His foot caught on something and he tumbled forward, how he landed on his back was a wonder; a miracle really. He opened his eyes and stared up at the sky. Memories continued to flash through his mind.
Percy, a figure being levitated behind him. His tears, his sorrow. Red hair.
The stars twinkled above him, but as beautiful as they were he could not see them. He was immersed in his flashes of memory. They were dulled by the alcohol.
Red hair. A face. His face. Fred's face.
Pain seared through him. Emotion so strong he could feel it. He sat up. His vision was blurry from tears. When did they get there? Wet. He was wet. The contents of the bottle had spilled on him. He got up and fingered his wand through his jeans. He'd cast a cleaning charm when he was sober. No sense in handicapping himself further. He looked around and found that he was in front of the shop. His shop. Their shop. The tears rolled down his face now.
The body. Fred's body. Still. Unmoving. Warm.
He was in front of the shop. How'd he get there? He looked in the window. He saw his reflection.
A smile. Fred's smile. It was there on his face.
George smiled weakly at his reflection and raised the bottle. Apparently he had picked it up after he fell.
"Cheerio mate", he said and put the bottle to his lips. Nothing. He had forgotten the Firewhiskey had spilled. He chuckled darkly and let his head rest on the cool glass. He cried.
Song: From Yesterday - 30 Seconds to Mars