Chapter 5
It was 11 o'clock in the morning, and Fred was walking along Charing Cross Road, with Mr and Mrs Johnson in tow behind him. It was a fairly dull day, with a light mist in the air; about as different as Fred felt as chalk is different from cheese.
Suddenly, his eyes fell on a tiny, dusty door, squashed between a cheap looking bookshop and a record store. No one seemed to even notice it, and indeed Mr and Mrs Johnson didn't seem to have either.
"Over there, look," he said to them, pointing directly to it. They still couldn't seem to identify where he was pointing, and it wasn't until Fred had dragged them up to about two metres away from the door that they finally saw it.
"You ready, Fred?" Mr Johnson said in his low, kindly voice. "You feeling nervous?"
"No, not really, more excited than anything!" He took a deep breath and pushed open the door.
The Leaky Cauldron was a dark, dusty bar with big wooden beams along the walls and the ceiling, and unstable looking tables and chairs. The floor creaked as the three walked over towards the bar.
The most unusual aspect of the pub was the people themselves- or rather the witches and wizards. 'Wow, that sounded strange', Fred thought.'Witches and wizards...'
There was an old, tiny looking man sat at a table on the other side of the room with a bald shining head and many piercings. He was smoking a pipe that emitted a green smoke, which seemed to sparkle as it floated lazily through the air.
On another table sat a pair of witches, one with wild white hair and pink eyes, and another with neat, cropped black hair. They had been laughing, but had stopped the moment Fred and the Johnson's walked in. He was starting to feel nervous now.
They reached the bar and stood by it awkwardly, wondering how to call the landlord. Their problems were soon solved, however, when a toothless, balding old man walked through into the bar and gave them a wide, if a bit manic, smile.
"Hello there young sir," he said to Fred, "and to your parents too!"
Fred didn't bother to correct him, and smiled back at the jolly barman.
"Hello, I'm here to go to Diagon Alley? I'm going to Hogwarts in September, only-"
"-you don't know how to get in," he finished knowingly. "It's quite easy really, I'll take you through now. Unless you'd like a drink first of course?"
"No, we're quite alright, thank you," Mrs Johnson said. " If you would take us through, we would be ever so grateful."
"Of course, Madam, if you just follow me then."
The family followed the old man behind the bar and through a door, taking them out into a tiny backyard with bins and a solid brick wall. He grinned mischievously at them, before taking out a wand and tapping a few times on several of the bricks.
Fred's mouth opened wide as the bricks began to move entirely of their own accord, gradually revealing a crowded and brightly coloured street. The Johnson's said thank you to the old man, and then moved out into the bustling crowd. Fred could barely decide where to look- it was so incredible and new and magical.
Mrs Johnson, normally so confident and full of purpose, seemed utterly in awe. She kept stopping, looking at the owls and the broomsticks, until Mr Johnson took her hand and pulled her along towards the huge white building at the end.
"That big building at the end looks like a kind of bank," he said. "Come on, we need to go there first, then we can look everywhere else as much as we please."
After much pushing and shoving, they finally reached the large, white stone building. On the large, silver doors was etched an engraving:
Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.
So if you seek beneath our floors
A treasure that was never yours,
Thief, you have been warned, beware
Of finding more than treasure there.
"Wow, we'd better be careful in here," Mr Johnson said, giving Fred a wink. "Especially you, Fred, I know what you're like."
They pushed open the door and walked into a huge, marble floored room, rectangular with two columns of desks lining the main aisle. Mrs Johnson walked up to the nearest desk and was about to start talking when she saw the creature sitting behind it, looking down at her over a ridiculously crooked nose. Her mouth dropped and she simply stared.
The creature, a goblin, Fred guessed, was glaring at Mrs Johnson, and was beginning to look impatient, so Fred took over.
"Hello there, I have a key for my vault, and I was wondering if I could exchange some Muggle money, please?"
The goblin moved his gaze over to the red head, and surveyed him closely.
"Key, please." Fred handed him the tiny key and waited. The goblin held the key right up to his eyes, and ruffled through some papers.
"How much Muggle money would you like to exchange?" he said, looking bored.
"Four hundred pounds, please," Fred replied.
"Okay, I will get that sorted for you, and then I'll get one of my assistants to take you down to your vault. I warn you, if you get travel sickness, don't go."
Mrs Johnson looked worried. "I think I'll give it a miss..."
"Okay, just stay here and we'll be right back," said Mr Johnson, giving her a reassuring smile.
"I wouldn't count on that," said the goblin, with a satisfied grin. "The vaults spread out for miles, and yours just happens to be one of the furthest."
"Oh, okay... well, go take a look around Diagon Alley then, we'll find you when we're done."
And with that, Fred and Mr Johnson followed the tiny goblin towards a big black door at the end of the room, leaving a nervous Mrs Johnson behind.
George followed the old, toothless old man behind the bar, out into a tiny, cramped backyard. "Haven't you been here before?" said the old man, scrutinizing him closely.
"No, I haven't, why?" replied George.
"No, no, no reason in particular, I'm just sure I recognise you... ah well, I'm an old man, probably getting confused."
The landlord tapped on the wall and it began to open to reveal a long street, full to bursting with witches and wizards and screeching owls and books and-
George hardly knew where to look. Professor Dumbledore had told him to go to the bank first, so that was where he must go. But where was it?
"Excuse me," he said to a short, plump woman with short brown hair near to him. She was dressed normally, to him at least, in a long flowery skirt and blouse. "Would you mind telling me where Gringotts bank is, please?"
"Fred!" she said, smiling. "I'm glad you found me, I was just looking at the owls here, the tiny ones are so sweet!
George looked blank. "N...no, sorry, my name isn't Fred- I'm George, but I really would like to know where the bank is..."
Her face fell, and she looked worried. "It's over there, the big white building," she said in a whisper, and began to walk away. "I'm going mad, this place is sending me crazy," George heard her say as she walked away.
He shrugged his shoulders and walked in the direction she had pointed out.
Fred and Mr Johnson left Gringotts bank about half an hour later with a large bag of gold, silver and bronze coins. The journey to the vault had been exciting but terrifying.
The two of them left the bank into a huge crowd, now even more crowded than before. Fred wanted to start shopping immediately, but Mr Johnson was firm- they had to find Mrs Johnson first.
After a short while, they saw her standing next to the book shop, flicking through a book with pictures of flowers.
"Having fun?" Fred said, poking her in the back and making her jump a mile. "What's your book about?"
She looked flustered, and frowned at her foster son.
"It's about Muggle plants and their hidden magical properties," she said. "Very interesting, I think I'll buy it."
"Okay, shall we buy your books first then?" Mr Johnson suggested, and on Fred's nodding the three walked into the shop.
Mrs Johnson looked troubled, and Fred asked her what was wrong.
"No, no, it's nothing, only... I think this place is sending me a bit crazy. I think I'm seeing things."
"Why, what happened?" Mr Johnson patted her on the back in a soothing way.
"I saw someone, and I really thought he was Fred. He looked exactly the same, I swear it."
"No, he was with me the whole time, it definitely wasn't him," he told her, his eyebrows furrowed.
"Don't worry though," Fred said, grinning, "all ginger people look the same, it's an easy mistake to make!"
She laughed weakly, and shook her head. "Yeah, it's fine, I feel okay now, maybe I just got overheated or something. Come on, show me your book list and we'll get them as quickly as possible, I know books aren't really your thing Fred."
George entered stood outside a dusty, abandoned looking shop with a single cushion in the window with a wand in its centre. The shop was open, he could see that, but he felt somewhat apprehensive about entering. Nevertheless, he pushed open the creaking door and rang the bell on the counter.
A strange, wizened old man with fluffy grey hair and wide, pale eyes appeared from behind the tall, unstable looking shelves. He had an unearthly aura around him that sent shivers down his spine.
"Ah, Mr Weasley," he said with a wide smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm Mr Ollivander. I've been wondering when I'd be seeing you. Very interesting, yes..."
"What's interesting?"
"Nothing, nothing," he said as he disappeared behind the shelves. George could hear him rummaging around, and he came back seconds later with three long, thin boxes. He took out a wand from the first and held it out to George.
"I have a good feeling about this wand, Mr Weasley," he said. "Go on, give it a wave."
George took the wand from Mr Ollivander and felt an immediate warmth through his hand and spreading through his whole body. A shower of sparks burst from the wand and formed into the shape of a ship, floating through the air until it disappeared in the light from the window.
"Ah!" Mr Ollivander exclaimed in joy. "First time! I knew it, I just knew it. Brothers indeed..."
"Sorry, what?"
"You will find out, Mr Weasley," he said, grinning. "I predict you're going to have a most interesting year, yes indeed, very interesting. Now, that's ten galleons please-"
"Ten galleons?" George said, panicking. "That's nearly all my money!"
Ollivander gave him a piercing look. "Well, you'll have to get over that, Mr Weasley. Wand-making is a refined art form and one has to make one's money. Ten galleons please."
George handed it over grudgingly. He would barely have enough for the rest of his equipment- everything would have to be second hand and scruffy. Fabulous.
It was worth it though- this wand was his now, and no one else's. It had chosen him, and something about this fact made every other worry disappear from his mind.
A/N: Thank you so much for reading again, this chapter was a difficult one for me. I almost got stuck inn another writer's block, but I made it through. Did you notice the many hints that they are twins? ;) Like anyone needs the hints anyway, but heck, its fun to write! And yes, the many parallels are intentional. Special thanks to Spiralling-Down, GeorgieForever, and TwinFan for your lovely reviews :)
Please review! Thank you again for being so fabulous!