It was just an accidental bump between two strangers. A small, curvy brunette colliding with a tall, lanky redhead. Apologies were exchanged and they both went on their way.
Neither realized that that tiny, insignificant bump would lead to a whole new world of trouble.
George grimaced as he popped the key into the lock on his office door, twisting hard until something inside pinged and the door eased open. He hated that lock with a fiery passion. He was constantly forgetting his key, and he couldn't remember for the life of him why he'd let Fred convince him that hexing the lock so that it could not be opened via magic was such a good idea. "The only people we have to worry about now are muggles, and they can't even see the shop!" his twin had exclaimed, grinning widely. He couldn't believe he still remembered it that vividly. Dropping his bag on his chair, he shouldered out of the fleece and denim jacket combination he'd taken to wearing since the weather, had turned and replaced it with his bright maroon, yellow and purple jacket that had the "Weasley's Wizard Wheezes" logo embroidered on the left breast pocket. Before Fred had died, running the shop had never felt like work. It felt like coming home. Today was especially bad. "As of," he said to himself, pausing to check the battered watch that had once been his fathers. "Six hours ago, Fred has been for five years." He grimaced as the words left his mouth. "Miss you, Freddie," he added to the jacket that matched his own hidden in the closet as he wandered out into the shop.
Lee grinned as George came out of his office, closing the door behind him. "Morning, Georgie" he said, sliding off of the counter where he'd been sitting, repairing one of the older toys the shop sold; a wind up doll that greatly resembled Dolores Umbridge that waddled around honking and squeaking out "I am the senior undersecretary for the minister of magic!" and "I will have order!" when wound up. Lee set the toy on the desk and gave the key embedded in its back a firm twist, sending it waddling along the length of the counter, hooting and squawking. Usually it would have made George smile, but not today. With a sigh, Lee patted his friend's shoulder. "Buck up, mate" he said quietly, putting his free hand in his pocket. "Fred would have jinxed you several times by now for being this unhappy". George just sighed. "I know, " he muttered as he walked away, shoulders slumped and hands in his pocket.
The clock read as eleven minutes past twelve when George finally gave in to Lee's constant suggestions that he should go take an extra long lunch break and treat himself to something special. Flipping up the hood of his jacket, he meandered down the street, pausing occasionally to look at something in a window, or say hello to someone whose name he couldn't remember to save his life. It was right as he turned to enter the Hogs Head, his newly found favorite place to drink, that he felt a slight nudge near his ribs and heard a very feminine sounding huff of "Oh,". Glancing down, he realized that there was a small brunette girl sprawled at his feet with several parcels and a broomstick lying around and on top of her. "Sorry," He muttered, crouching down to pick up the parcels and the broomstick before helping her to her feet. "Didn't see you there"
"Most people don't" the girl replied, half smiling as she took her parcels back from him and flipping the hood back up on her cloak as she walked away. For some reason, George felt the need to wave, and he did, which he immediately regretted as he walked inside the pub.
"Who's your friend, George?" someone jeered from a table, and George shrugged. "No idea. Just bumped into her and helped her up" he said, taking a seat at the bar and nodding at Aberforth, who raised his eyebrows. "What can I get ye, George?" he growled, rubbing an old wound on his thigh as he limped over to the counter. "A warm Butterbeer to warm ye up?"
George shook his head. "I'm in the mood for something stronger" he said, rubbing his hands against his thighs to bring the circulation back into them. "Firewhiskey, if you please"
Aberforth nodded. "It's that time of year, eh?" he said, pulling out a half empty bottle of the amber liquor and filling a shot glass that he then slid to George, not spilling a drop. "To Fred," he said, filling himself a glass and raising it in a toast.
"To Fred," George agreed, downing the liquor and savoring the burning trail that it left in his throat, erasing the numbness that had settled on him when he'd woken up that morning.