Bring Me Home Again, Chapter 3
By ten o'clock the next morning, Lee had forced George out of the shop and off to the Hog's Head to drink away his misery.
The anniversary of Fred's funeral was always hard, but the day after was worse. The day after, all he could think about was Fred; what would he be doing if he was alive? Would he be married? Have kids? It had always been this way. The day after Fred's funeral, he hadn't left the house because everything outside of the house reminded him of Fred.
The same was true of today.
He was so deeply lost in his thoughts that he almost missed the tiny nudge down by his ribs and the little gasp of "Oh,"
"Deja vu," he muttered as he bent down to help the girl with her parcels and broomstick. "Come here often?"
"Yeah," the girl agreed, her voice hitching as a muscular warlock clapped a hand onto her shoulder and spun her around.
"Come now, Meghan, we don't want to be late, do we?" the warlock's voice was jovial, but George couldn't help noticing a hint of malice in the words too.
"No, Gavin," Meghan murmured, her shoulders slumping and jerking as she walked away, which didn't make sense to George; why would someone walk like that? It couldn't be comfortable. That's when he realized Gavin had a hand on a pressure point, and he was squeezing it like there was no tomorrow.
Scowling, he turned into the bar. What happened to Meghan was her business. He had no right to interfere.
At least that's what he told himself as he drowned the numbness in liquor once again.
It was just past two in the morning when George came to. He was still at the Hog's Head; there was a half empty glass of Butterbeer in his hand, and what felt like a small pack of goblins stomping through his head wearing hobnailed boots.
"Bugger," he groaned, wincing as the lights from the candles stung his eyes. "What time is it, Abe?"
Aberforth grinned at George from behind the bar. "'Tis time for you to go home, mate. This habit of yours isn' healthy"
George grimaced and tried to stand up. "I'm not healthy, Abe" he said, staggering and almost knocking the stool he was using to balance over. "I think I can afford to drink my sorrows away once or twice"
Aberforth snorted. "Five or six times is more like it," he said, waving a hand at him. "Go home and sleep yourself sober"
George nodded, staggering to the door and out onto the street. He really didn't feel like going home. Not when Fred's portraits were there. So he contented himself with wandering the streets.
He could hear an angry buzzing noise starting to build in his good ear as he walked, getting more intense as he got closer to a rather dilapidated looking apartment building, or rather the alley beside it. Every so often, he would also hear a small popping noise that, for some reason, reminded him of a spell hitting a solid object.
That wasn't what made him pause at the entrance to the alley. It was the flash of long brunette hair flying as something struck what it was attached to again, and again, and again.