When the rest of their family had gone, and the twins were bored with flipping through high-priced books, they snuck out the side door of Flourish and Blotts and joined the rest of the curious shoppers on the crooked cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley.
And what a splendid sight it was to the eyes of two official students of a magical school. The bustling, narrow walkway was lined with tiny shops of all different names and filled with every sort of magical wonder. There were shops devoted to enchanted instruments, rare and confusing ingredients for potions, used broomsticks, dealerships for house-elves, and supplies for paranormal plants and gardens. They even found Ollivanders, where Cedric had bought his wand. The twins gazed through the large, diamond-pane window and marveled at the endless rows of cloth-wrapped wand boxes. Beside the counter was a young black boy with short hair and a monogramed robe currently trying out a wand. His parents radiated sophistication — Dad with the garb of a high-ranking Ministry official, Mom with her dark hair slicked back and a long crystal hanging from her neck. The twins could see that the boy was an only child by how they doted on him with such pride. Though a bit disheartening, it was fun for them to watch someone else enjoy the tradition of selecting a magic wand.
As a group, the Weasleys had visited that shadowed alley in the heart of London for years, but this was the first time the boys had traveled there for themselves. It was finally their time. And it was well-known, even publicized, that there was something at Diagon Alley for every witch or wizard, no matter their age, so the Weasley twins were determined to find the shop that would suit them best.
"Let's see, George," said Fred, as he sauntered into an active intersection of pedestrians, "where is this Knockturn Alley that Dad's been raving about?"
"My guess is...that direction," George replied, pointing to a tapered, foreboding lane that was devoid of sunlight. When they saw another cautious parent ushering their young student away from the few peculiar wizards who were frequenting its deserted shops, the twins were certain they had found their objective.
Fred exhaled a sigh of satisfaction. "And away they went," he said.
Ramkins Magical Oddities, the shop directly across the barren and gloomy alley from stores named Our Badder Belongings and Hannibals Hullabaloo, was filthy, to put it mildly. Beside a lumpy mass of stray rubbish, the cracked steps were littered with bug carcasses, thick iron bars lined the cloudy windows, and much like the rest of the shops along the spooky, serpentine path, there was nothing on display in front of the store. Knockturn Alley was altogether different from Diagon Alley. No ornately decorated boxes, no happily chirping creatures, no whirring merchandise tempting you to enter willingly. It spoke more of terror than toys.
Above the aged door was a phrase carved into the raw, green wood of the storefront.
Muggles will scream
As you beg for more.
'Tis a promise
Of what's in store.
Fred admired the sign with slow-rising eyebrows. "Isn't it brilliant, George?"
"Welcome home, Fred."
Muggles, as the sign at Ramkins Magical Oddities had stated, were the common people of the world. They were mysteriously normal and knew nothing of the wonders around them. Most children who were brought up in the magical community had a hard time understanding Muggles. Not the twins. Their father loved the idea of a non-magical lifestyle. He was so intrigued by their cultures and doings that he took up a job at the Ministry of Magic in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. Arthur Weasley could very often be found at home studying something that Muggles used in everyday life, like an oscillating fan, a rubber band, or a child's pacifier. Most of these objects confused the magical, and yet, if a Muggle were to be introduced to even a speck of the wizarding world, they would run away screeching. For that reason, the twins stepped boldly into the first shop on Knockturn Alley that touted such wares.
The door was frosted over with grainy muck. Fred creaked it open and coughed in the resulting cloud of filth. The shop wasn't as dark as it seemed from the alley. Shafts of milky light sliced through the haze of the room, and the twins took their time before stepping inside.
From what they could see at first glance, the silent store was crowded with multi-level shelves that displayed jars of jellied substances, spineless books, and confusing objects that defied description. As their eyes followed the items, the boys grew increasingly observant. Sitting on a broken rocking chair in the middle of the shop was, what seemed to be, a human corpse in its final death pose. It was disturbing to look at for more than a second. So, as would be expected by now, the boys were compelled to reach out and touch its pale, leathery skin.
"Ahh!"
They leapt backward as the man sitting in the rocking chair lunged for their hands. In the glow of new light, they could see his blunt features, lank brown hair, and hauntingly keen eyes. With fingers outstretched like talons, he surveyed them with a wild and ravenous expression.
"You! Twins — I recognize you. Are you pure-bloods?" the cadaverous man croaked as he slowly lifted himself out of the chair with hard intent in his wide, unblinking gaze. He reached for them again.
"Listen here, geezer...our father works for the Ministry and he's meeting us any minute...so don't —"
"Pure-bloods...are you PURE-BLOODS!?" he barked, getting much closer.
"Yes," said George nervously, smelling something foul on the shopkeeper's breath.
The man responded with an unexpected joy. "I knew you were them! The red hair, that's it! Why, this is a fortunate turn!" he proclaimed, speeding away from the twins. Frantically, the man skipped to a shelf behind his desk at the rear of the shop and flapped through book after book, all while muttering to himself. "Fantastic, simply fantastic. And in my shop of all places!"
"Bloke's off his rocker," Fred whispered, forcing a laugh from his brother as their eyes lingered on where the man had been sitting. "Pun intended."
"Listen," George hollered to the shop owner, still chuckling, "It's obvious you're interested in blood and that, but I don't think you're drumming up the kind of —"
"Silence yourself, little fool," the man snapped while looking closer at George. He wedged the book he was holding into the cramped bookshelf, sending more dust into the air. "You must be the silly one."
"Actually, I'm the silly one," Fred noted under his breath.
"Fools...the two of you," he said to himself, shaking his head. "Yes. The Boy Who Was Twins. Ha!" A moment later he was on his hands and knees searching feverishly through stacks of newspapers. "Fred and George Weasley. I remember now."
"We prefer Gred and Forge Weasley," Fred corrected.
"If it's all the same to you," George finished, without reply.
As the man they assumed to be Ramkin pranced excitedly between the columns of the shop like an eager gnome in their mother's garden, the boys looked him over with brimming interest. He wore ragged, gray robes that had once been a brighter hue. He looked famished and in dire need of an hour's nap in anything that did not resemble a rocking chair. A split second later, Ramkin leapt to his feet and galloped to the shop counter, unfurling rows of dusty scrolls, before scurrying back to a newspaper on the floor.
He hollered, "Ah ha! I knew I had it here somewhere! Yes... the first of April."
"Fred, that's our birthday," George mused, his curiosity taking hold of him.
Edging up to where the man was sitting, Fred peeked at a yellowed copy of the Daily Prophet. "What are you reading? What kind of place is this?"
Mr. Ramkin sprang to his feet, ignoring the question. "Have you two experienced any...uncharted magical oddities?"
"What do you mean?"
"Uh...magical...peculiarities. Um... Er... Have you done or felt anything out of the ordinary that isn't heard of in the experiences of boys your age? Wasn't I clear? Oddities. Peculiarities. Anything out of the ordinary?"
"Ohh! Sure," Fred responded with his smartest grin.
"Could you elaborate?" the man begged, excited by the answer. He began to stand.
Fred turned and pointed to his brother. "Yeah, George grew an extra head last summer, but — shame, really...we didn't have enough money to feed it. So Mum said we had to lob it off."
"Right," George agreed. "We named him Vincent."
The boys doubled over with laughter as they turned away from the insane shopkeeper. Fred murmured, "He's missing something, that one."
"NO, no...no!" Ramkin squealed, skipping up to them with a grin. "Let me enlighten you." He ushered the boys forcefully to a pair of seats at an oval table, then cleared it with a sweep of his arm, dusting the floor with stained rags and tiny bones. "Sit, sit. Please. Take a seat. You should know — I deal primarily in magical oddities. Accidents, if you will. Things that take advantage of our overly-enchanted environment. We see magical mistakes in objects, in plants, in animals...even us. For example, many children perform magic without knowing a single spell. Wizards before being tested. Take that boy. Longbottom was his name. You've heard of him, I'm sure. In all the papers. The Boy Who Bounced. Eight years of life in him when he's dropped out a window, and he bounces instead of being flattened to death. Or take Harry Potter for killing that very dangerous wizard we aren't s'pose to mention. And as an infant no less. The Boy Who Lived. These..." he paused to hold out his arms and spin slowly around the room, crinkled newspaper in hand. "These oddities enthrall me."