Who: George & OPEN When: February 5th, Evening Where: The Leaky Cauldron What: George takes his weekly medicine. Rating: TBD
It never truly got any easier. He would lie to himself and say that there were days he didn't think about his brother, or that weeks would go by without him catching a glance of himself in the reflection of something and he didn't think anything of it. But truly...it never got better. It never went away. Sure, it wasn't nearly as bad as it once was, and he could get along now without falling apart at the seams, but he needed...help.
That was where the wonderfully dulling effect of alcohol came in! George had become well known to any regulars or residents of Diagon Alley. How could he not? His shop was a massive attraction, he'd earned minor celebrity status, and he often would visit the pub and buy rounds for people just for the sheer fun of it. Tonight was a night George just needed a little help getting through the week.
He sat at the bar, looking into the bubbling foam of the ale in front of him. An empty pint had been pushed aside. George never let the barkeep take his empties away. He always wanted to try and count them or see if he could make a stack. He chewed on his lower lip for a second, fingers turning over a small plastic object in his hand. He cast a knowing look at the barkeep and raised an eyebrow. In a calm and stoic tone, George said, "I must warn you. I'm very good at this."
With a sharp flick, George tossed the small plastic object over his shoulder without looking. The little dart zipped through the air, zigging and zagging around customers and chairs, around a lamp, under a floating tea kettle, and up straight into the bullseye of a large target on the wall across the pub behind him. George smirked his tipsy grin as the barkeep sighed and slid the third pint towards him. George laughed almost maniacally as he pulled it towards him and took a sip. " I told you mate! Didn't I tell you? I'm just that good."