Ice Cream Shop and Chicken

Arthur Weasley asked Anthony about his plans, and Anthony explained that he was showing the Jones father and son around Diagon Alley. Mr. Weasley seemed to take notice of the two individuals with them at that moment and hurriedly greeted them.

"You're a Muggle, aren't you?" he asked, his face lighting up as he enthusiastically shook Mr. Jones's hand, as though meeting a celebrity. Mr. Jones looked a little bewildered, gave a noncommittal hum, and shook Mr. Weasley's hand hesitantly.

A vendor selling roasted chestnuts passed by, pushing a cart. He glanced in their direction several times, furrowed his brows as though deep in thought, then shook his head and walked away.

"Arthur Weasley, works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office at the Ministry of Magic, and my pen pal," Anthony introduced. "Carl Jones, my neighbor. Kevin Jones, his son and a first-year student this year—also my neighbor."

"What a coincidence! My youngest, Ginny, is starting Hogwarts this year as well. You might even end up in the same house!" Mr. Weasley said warmly, shaking hands with Kevin.

"Maybe, Mr. Weasley," Kevin replied politely, gripping his dinosaur-themed bag tightly.

Mr. Weasley rubbed his hands together excitedly, looking over the three Muggle-dressed individuals with great interest. "This is turning out to be quite the outing! We must have a drink to celebrate."

Anthony suggested, "We were actually planning to go to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. If you're free, why not join us? After all, we have a soon-to-be Hogwarts student here."

"Oh, yes, of course!" Mr. Weasley said enthusiastically. "Florean always gives me a scoop of his rum-flavored ice cream—I daresay he'll be delighted to see us."

…

"I heard you've been busy lately," Anthony remarked.

They were seated at a small corner table outside Fortescue's, surrounded by a few couples gazing at each other fondly. Kevin, holding a triple-flavored cone, curiously watched the passersby hurrying through the street.

"Yes, extremely busy," Mr. Weasley admitted, removing his hat to reveal his slightly balding head. "Molly might have told you—the Ministry has been cracking down on those… shall we say, questionable magical items. Warnings have already been issued, and formal confiscations will begin next week. Then there's the Muggle Protection Act—we've put a great deal of effort into that."

"Dad, look at that man—he's got a chameleon on his hat," Kevin suddenly said.

"Shh, Kevin, don't stare—it's rude," Mr. Jones scolded gently, though he couldn't help but turn his own head to look.

Perched atop a wizard's hat was a strikingly colorful chameleon with bulging eyes and a curled tail. As the wizard passed by the apothecary, the chameleon flicked out its long tongue and snatched something from a display. The shop owner immediately burst out of the store, seizing the wizard by the arm and launching into a heated argument, while the wizard held onto his hat with an expression of weariness and mild annoyance.

Mr. Weasley glanced up and chuckled. "Oh, that's Arnold Peasgood—he works for the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad. His chameleon even tries to eat the paper planes we use to send messages at the Ministry."

"Excuse me, what squad?" Mr. Jones asked.

"The Accidental Magic Reversal Squad," Mr. Weasley clarified. "They're responsible for undoing magical mishaps that shouldn't have happened. Arnold is a Memory Modification Specialist—whenever a magical incident is witnessed by Muggles, he's the one who erases their memories to keep our world a secret."

"Cool!" Kevin exclaimed, licking his strawberry ice cream from the bottom up just as it was about to drip onto his fingers.

"What? This is outrageous!" Mr. Jones said indignantly. "Such behavior is a blatant invasion of privacy and should never be allowed! What did you say just now, Mr. Weasley? They have an entire team for this? Who gave them the authority to do this?"

Mr. Weasley seemed taken aback by the strong reaction. He glanced at Anthony for support before replying uncertainly, "Er... the Ministry?"

"The Ministry of Magic," Mr. Jones repeated, narrowing his eyes. "Very well, I'll file a complaint with them."

"Complain!" Kevin echoed excitedly, as if it were some thrilling idea. A nearby couple cast him a disapproving glance before getting up and walking away with their ice cream. Sunlight filtered through the grapevines above, casting shifting golden patterns on their white-painted wooden table.

"I'm afraid they're not very receptive to complaints," Anthony said, idly stirring his yogurt ice cream, mixing in tiny colorful sugar sprinkles.

Mr. Weasley shifted uneasily in his seat. "Please, Mr. Jones, don't be angry. You see, this is exactly why we're pushing so hard to pass the Muggle Protection Act—it will, um… safeguard Muggles..."

"It's not you I'm upset with, Arthur," Mr. Jones said, his tone softening. "I know you've faced slander and hostility for your 'pro-Muggle' stance, and that many in the wizarding world strongly oppose this legislation. I admire the work you're doing, but if the Ministry of Magic does pass it, it might not actually be as protective of Muggles as it claims. Still… I suppose it's a step in the right direction. I hope."

"Why do you say that?" Mr. Weasley asked. "I assure you, we drafted the bill with nothing but the protection of Muggles in mind. And we've already run into plenty of resistance. One of my colleagues—I won't name names—believes she'll never live to see the day it passes. Did you know Dumbledore has started a club?"

"Yes, the Albus Club," Anthony said. "Their curriculum includes voice projection, countercharms, Bubble-Head Charms, and throat protection potions. Dumbledore really is a man of many talents."

"Yes, and Fudge is terribly bothered by it," Mr. Weasley muttered, leaning in conspiratorially and glancing around.

Under the grapevine, three tables away, a couple sat absorbed in each other, oblivious to the world around them. A few seats over, a middle-aged man with a sorrowful expression sat alone at a small round table, absentmindedly picking the cookie crumbs out of his half-melted ice cream.

"Mr. Fudge is the Minister for Magic," Anthony explained quietly to the Joneses.

"He thinks the club is proof that Dumbledore is grooming someone loyal to him—someone who will be entirely under his influence. He's convinced this is all part of a grand scheme by Dumbledore to..." Mr. Weasley tilted his head and gave a knowing wink, silently indicating force him out.

"Dumbledore is the headmaster of Hogwarts, isn't he?" Mr. Jones asked.

"Yes, and a great wizard—the best headmaster Hogwarts has ever had," Mr. Weasley said firmly, shaking his head. "As if Dumbledore needed a club to build influence. If he hadn't refused the position when it was offered to him… Well, anyway, Lucius Malfoy and his lot have been making more frequent visits to the Ministry lately, and my colleagues don't think that's a good sign."

"Mr. Weasley, your ice cream is melting," Kevin pointed out. He had already finished his three scoops—sprinkled with sugar and chopped nuts—and was now swinging his legs as he studied the socks of passersby.

"Oh, Merlin's beard!—sorry." Mr. Weasley held up his rum-flavored ice cream cone as if that would somehow stop the melting, fumbling for his wand to clean up the mess on his robes.

Anthony cast a Scouring Charm on Mr. Weasley. Meanwhile, the sorrowful-looking middle-aged man at a nearby table stood up, picked up a worn suitcase, and quietly left.

"Can't magic stop ice cream from melting?" Kevin asked regretfully, watching the sticky drips pool on the table.

"Well, this is mine." Anthony shook the paper cup in his hand at Kevin.

Kevin frowned. "What? But mine melted! I want ice cream that doesn't melt too!"

"It's an extra fifteen Knuts for the ones that don't melt," Mr. Jones told him. "Next time you buy ice cream for yourself, get the enchanted ones. Keep some hope for the future, Kevin."

"Dad, I think you just don't want to figure out the exact cost of two servings of fifteen-Knut ice cream," Kevin accused, though his tone carried little real frustration.

Mr. Weasley quickly finished his ice cream cone and wiped his fingers clean. "Now, where were we? Ah, yes. We've faced a great deal of opposition in trying to pass the Muggle Protection Act, but I still believe it can work... What exactly did you mean by 'less protective of Muggles,' Henry?"

"Nothing, just a guess..." Anthony shrugged. "After all, there aren't any Muggles working at the Ministry of Magic, and the ones drafting and enforcing the protection laws aren't Muggles themselves. It's a bit like asking a teapot to write laws about how to protect teacups." He waved a hand dismissively. "But forget it—let's change the subject. Today's Saturday, right? I thought you'd be at home. Or are you actually supposed to be working overtime right now?"

"No, I'm off today. It's about Scabbers," Mr. Weasley explained. "We mentioned in our letter that, no matter where Scabbers goes, Errol keeps a close eye on him. So, we've had to keep Errol locked in his cage."

"However, Fred and George let Errol out not long ago—they claimed they forgot to latch the door while changing the owl's food—and as soon as he was free, Errol flew straight into Ron's room and tried to attack Scabbers. Ron had quite a struggle getting Scabbers back, but by then, Scabbers was already injured.

"Ron was furious. He called Errol a mad bird and had a big row with Fred and George. Molly gave Scabbers some medicine, and he was better by the next day, but Ron's still worried. So, Molly asked me to stop by the Magical Menagerie today and see if there's anything we should do." Mr. Weasley sighed. "The trouble is, I don't even know what to ask."

Anthony and the Joneses explained who Fred, George, Ron, and Molly were to Mr. Jones, who listened with growing amusement. Then Mr. Weasley turned to Kevin with a smile. "What about you, Kevin? Do you have a pet?"

"I don't," Kevin admitted. "Professor Snape said we shouldn't waste time on things like that."

Anthony scraped up the last half-scoop of ice cream from his paper cup. "It's fine. We have plenty of time now. What do you think about visiting the Magical Menagerie next?"

…

"So wizards really do use owls to deliver messages? We weren't entirely sure when we read about it in the books," said Mr. Jones.

"Of course," Mr. Weasley said in surprise. "Just like how Muggles send mail by pigeon."

"We used pigeons to deliver mail," Mr. Jones corrected. "Nowadays, we have a postal service."

"I know about the Post Office," said Mr. Weasley, frowning in confusion. "But… isn't a post office just a large flock of pigeons?"

Under the curious questioning of Anthony and the Joneses, Mr. Weasley did his best to describe what he understood of the Muggle postal system.

Stamps were essentially the currency of pigeons—they could be used to purchase comfortable nests and higher-quality bird food. If insufficient stamps were affixed to a letter, the pigeons would refuse to deliver it, effectively going on strike. To guarantee delivery, one simply had to plaster the envelope with extra stamps—in other words, bribe the pigeons.

"Arthur, do you know the word postman?" Anthony asked.

"Of course," Mr. Weasley replied. "I thought they were just pigeon breeders." He glanced at Kevin, who was staring at him with wide eyes. "How could I be wrong?"

Anthony pondered aloud, "Well, when you think about it… I suppose it makes sense in its own way. But you did receive The Life and Social Habits of British Muggle Families, didn't you? Didn't you read it?"

"I did! Well… the first half," Mr. Weasley admitted sheepishly.

Kevin purchased a long-eared owl.

"If I can't have a dinosaur, at least I can have a bird!" Kevin declared, pressing his face close to the cage and grinning at the owl. "I'm going to name him Chicken."

Mr. Jones pointed out, "You have at least three hundred dinosaur toys in your cupboard, Kevin."

"What—?" Mr. Weasley attempted to follow Kevin's logic, looking thoroughly confused. "Why Chicken?"

"That's Kevin's nickname for Archaeopteryx," Mr. Jones explained. "Archaeopteryx was a feathered dinosaur… sort of." (Note 1)

Mr. Weasley and the shop clerk exchanged baffled looks—they had no idea what a dinosaur was, let alone the strange word Archaeopteryx. After they left the shop, Mr. Weasley leaned toward Anthony and quietly asked, "What does that owl have to do with… mercury melt?"

Kevin enthusiastically lifted his satchel, eager to explain, but Mr. Weasley continued his questions before he could get a word in: Why is there a crack on its back? What does it eat? Is it a magical creature? If there were millions of years between dinosaurs and Muggles, how did Muggles even find them? What does "fossil" mean? And how exactly is this related to owls? It has four legs and a tail—wouldn't that make it closer to a cat?

Kevin grew more and more frustrated, and Mr. Jones tried to intervene. Sensing the growing exasperation, Anthony quickly changed the subject. "So, Arthur, did you end up buying anything?"

"What?" Mr. Weasley looked momentarily lost. "Oh—no, I didn't. I spoke to the shop clerk, and he told me that properly trained owls don't usually attack household pets. He also said that if we were still worried about Scabbers, we could bring him in next time for an assessment." He suddenly turned to Anthony. "By the way, Ron mentioned that you have a pet mouse too?"

"Yes, though he's much smaller than Scabbers," Anthony replied. "He's a good pet."

"I've also heard about your cat's temperament," Mr. Weasley said with a hint of admiration. "How on earth do you get a cat and a mouse to live together peacefully, Henry?"

"I guess they just got used to each other," Anthony shrugged.

"That's exactly what I mean," Mr. Weasley insisted. "But how did you handle them before they got used to each other?"

"I just let them fight it out… and then fixed the cabinet afterward," Anthony said dryly. Then he grimaced. "Oh Merlin, that sounds terrible when I say it out loud."

...

Note 1: Kevin gave Archaeopteryx the nickname Archae. Key Improvements: