Arthur Weasley asked Anthony what his plans were next. Anthony told him he was showing the Jones father and son around Diagon Alley. Mr. Weasley seemed to only then notice the two people beside them. Hurriedly greeted them.
"You're a Muggle, right?" he said, face glowing red, vigorously shook Mr. Jones's hand. Like he was his devoted fan. Mr. Jones was somewhat confused. Made several ambiguous hums. Uncertainly gripped Mr. Weasley back.
A roasted chestnut vendor pushed his cart past. Looked over several times. Frowned, thought a long while. Then shook his head, walked away.
"Arthur Weasley, Department of Magical Law Enforcement employee. My pen pal," Anthony introduced. "Carl Jones, my neighbor. Kevin Jones, this year's new student. Of course, also my neighbor."
"What a coincidence! My youngest daughter Ginny is also a new student this year. Maybe you'll become housemates," Mr. Weasley said, also shook Kevin's hand.
"Maybe, Mr. Weasley," Kevin said politely, gripped his dinosaur bag tightly.
Mr. Weasley rubbed his hands somewhat excitedly. Looked at the three Muggle-dressed people before him. "Really worth coming out today! We must get a drink."
"We were planning to go to Florean's," Anthony suggested. "If you have time, why not join us for ice cream?" He glanced at Kevin. "We have a soon-to-be student here."
"Oh, right. Yes," Mr. Weasley said. "Then let's go to the ice cream shop. I think Florean Fortescue will be happy to give me a rum-flavored scoop."
"I heard you've been very busy lately," Anthony said.
They sat at a small corner table outside Florean's. Several couples nearby were gazing at each other lovingly. Kevin licked a cone stacked with three flavors, curiously examined pedestrians hurrying past on the street.
"Yes. Constantly busy," Mr. Weasley said, removed his hat, revealed his somewhat balding head. "Molly probably told you. The Ministry's recently concentrating on handling those... not-so-good magical items. Warnings have been issued. We'll start official confiscations next week. And the Muggle Protection Act—we've put considerable effort into it."
"Dad, look at that person. His hat has a chameleon," Kevin said.
"Shh, Kevin. Don't stare at people. It's not polite," Mr. Jones said. Couldn't help also turning to look.
It was a very beautiful chameleon. Bulging eyes, curled tail. When the wizard passed the potions ingredients shop, it rapidly extended its tongue, ate something. The shopkeeper hurriedly pushed open the door, rushed out from the shop, grabbed the wizard to argue. The wizard held his hat brim. Expression mixed with exhaustion and impatience.
Mr. Weasley looked up. "Oh, that's Arnold Peasegood. He's a member of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad. That chameleon even tries to eat our message paper airplanes."
"Sorry, what squad?" Mr. Jones asked.
"Accidental Magic Reversal Squad. Means they're responsible for eliminating the effects of magical incidents that shouldn't happen. He's an Obliviator—sometimes magical incidents are seen by Muggles. Obliviators are responsible for erasing those memories."
"Cool!" Kevin commented, licked from bottom up the strawberry ice cream about to drip onto his fingers.
"What? That's so offensive!" Mr. Jones said dissatisfied. "Such behavior seriously violates citizens' privacy rights. Absolutely shouldn't be allowed! What did you just say, Mr. Weasley? They have a whole squad? Who allowed them to do this?"
Mr. Weasley seemed not to have anticipated such a reaction. He looked at Anthony for help. Answered uncertainly: "Uh, the Ministry of Magic?"
"The Ministry of Magic," Mr. Jones repeated. "Very good. I'll file a complaint."
"Complaint!" Kevin cheered loudly. A nearby couple looked at him dissatisfied, left with their ice cream. Sunlight through grapevines cast swaying golden spots on their white-painted wooden table.
"I'm afraid they're not very reasonable," Anthony said, slowly stirred his yogurt ice cream, mixed in various colored sprinkles.
"Don't be angry, Mr. Jones," Mr. Weasley said uneasily. "You see, this is why we're trying to pass the Muggle Protection Act as soon as possible. It can, um... protect Muggles..."
"Not directed at you, Arthur. I know you've endured slander and hostility from certain people for being 'Muggle-loving.' Also know many of them are strongly opposing this law," Anthony said gently. "I greatly admire your work. But if the Ministry truly passes it, perhaps it means it doesn't protect Muggles that well. However, anyway, this will be a good start... hopefully."
"Why?" Mr. Weasley said. "I guarantee when drafting we completely approached it from protecting Muggles' perspective. And we're already encountering considerable resistance. A colleague—I won't name names—pessimistically thinks she won't see the bill pass in her lifetime. Dumbledore started a club. You know about this?"
"Yes. The Albacore Club." Teaching content included screaming, voice breaking, Bubble-Head Charm, and throat-soothing potions. Dumbledore was truly versatile.
"Right. Fudge is extremely uneasy about it," Mr. Weasley leaned closer, carefully looked around.
Under the grapevine trellis, three tables away, a couple was kissing each other obliviously. Didn't spare a glance at the four boring people here. The other side was a gloomy middle-aged man, sitting alone by a small round table, slowly picking cookie crumbs from his ice cream.
"Mr. Fudge is the Minister for Magic," Anthony quietly explained to the Jones father and son.
"He thinks this proves Dumbledore wants to cultivate his own people. People wholeheartedly loyal to Dumbledore. He thinks this is all because Dumbledore wants him to..." Mr. Weasley tilted his head, gestured. Indicated "step down."
"Dumbledore is Hogwarts' Headmaster, right?"
"Yes. He's a great wizard. Hogwarts' best Headmaster ever," Mr. Weasley said, shook his head. "As if Dumbledore still needs some club. If not for when he refused... Anyway, Lucius Malfoy and those people have been coming to the Ministry much more frequently lately. My colleague thinks this isn't a good sign."
"Mr. Weasley, your ice cream melted," Kevin reminded. He'd already finished his three-scoop ice cream covered in sprinkles and nut pieces. Was swinging his legs studying pedestrians' socks.
"Oh, damn!—Sorry," Mr. Weasley held the rum ice cream high. As if this helped. Fumbled trying to pull out his wand to clean his robes.
Anthony cast a cleaning charm for him. The gloomy middle-aged man stood from his seat. Picked up a shabby suitcase. Left.
"Can't magic stop ice cream from melting?" Kevin asked regretfully. Looked longingly at ice cream dripping on the table.
"It can. Mine is," Anthony showed Kevin the paper cup in his hand.
"What? But mine melted! I also want non-melting ice cream!" Kevin said unconvinced.
"Non-melting costs an extra fifteen Knuts," Mr. Jones told Kevin. "Buy non-melting next time you buy yourself. Save some anticipation for the future, Kevin."
"Dad, I think you just don't want to calculate carrying two fifteen Knuts," Kevin accused. Not much dissatisfaction in his tone.
Mr. Weasley rapidly finished his wafer cone, wiped his fingers. "Where were we? Ah, right. We encountered considerable opposition trying to pass this protection act. But I still believe it can take effect... What does 'doesn't protect Muggles that well' mean, Henry?"
"Nothing. Just my guess... Because there's not a single Muggle in the Ministry. Those drafting the protection act aren't Muggles either," Anthony shrugged. Felt this was like having teapots legislate to protect teacups. "But forget it. Let's change topics. Isn't today Saturday? I thought you'd be home—or are you actually supposed to be working overtime now?"
"No. I am resting. It's Scabbers," Mr. Weasley explained. "We said in the letter, wherever Scabbers goes, Erol watches it closely. So we had to keep Erol in his cage.
"However, not long ago Fred and George let Erol out—they said they didn't lock the door tight when changing owl food—Erol immediately flew to Ron's room trying to attack Scabbers. Ron struggled to snatch Scabbers back. But Scabbers was already injured.
"Ron was extremely angry... He called Erol a crazy bird. Also quarreled with Fred and George. Molly fed Scabbers some medicine. It recovered the next day. But Ron still worried. So Molly had me come to the magical creatures shop to ask." Mr. Weasley sighed. "I don't know what to ask either."
Anthony explained to the Jones father and son who these names were. Mr. Weasley asked with a smile: "What about you, Kevin? Do you have a pet?"
"I don't yet. Professor Snape said we shouldn't waste time on those things."
Anthony scraped the last half spoonful of ice cream from the paper cup. "That's fine. We have plenty of time now. Next stop, magical creatures shop. What do you think?"
"So wizards really use owls to send letters. We didn't quite believe it when reading," Mr. Jones said.
"Of course," Mr. Weasley said in surprise. "Just like you use pigeons to send letters."
"We used pigeons to send letters," Mr. Jones corrected. "We now have post offices."
"I know post offices," Mr. Weasley said confused. "But—but aren't post offices just a flock of pigeons?"
Under curious questioning from Anthony and the Jones father and son, Mr. Weasley described a post office similar to an owl roost.
Stamps were currency among pigeons. Could buy comfortable nests and better bird food. If not enough stamps were stuck on, pigeons would strike. The way to ensure letters arrived was to cover envelopes with stamps—in other words, bribe pigeons.
"Do you know the word 'postman,' Arthur?" Anthony asked.
"Of course. I thought they were pigeon keepers," Mr. Weasley said. He looked at Kevin staring at him wide-eyed. "Am I completely wrong?"
"Thinking carefully, it's somewhat reasonable... I guess you didn't read Life and Social Habits of British Muggle Families sent to you?" Anthony pondered.
"I did! But only read the first half," Mr. Weasley admitted.
Kevin bought a long-eared owl.
"If I can't keep a dinosaur, at least I can have a bird!" Kevin said, pressed his face against the cage, smiled at the owl. "I'll call him Archie."
Mr. Jones pointed out: "You have at least three hundred dinosaurs in your cabinet, Kevin."
"What—" Mr. Weasley tried to understand Kevin's naming blankly. "Why 'Archie'?"
"It's Kevin's nickname for Archaeopteryx," Mr. Jones explained. He added: "Archaeopteryx is a feathered dinosaur... probably."
Mr. Weasley and the clerk both looked like they didn't understand what "dinosaur" was. Let alone the strange word "Archaeopteryx." After leaving the shop, Mr. Weasley quietly asked Anthony what owls had to do with "mercury fusion."
Kevin held up his bag trying to explain. But Mr. Weasley continuously raised questions: Why was there a slit on its spine? What did it eat? Was it a magical creature? If dinosaurs and Muggles were separated so long, how did Muggles discover them? What does "fossil" mean? How is this thing related to owls—four legs and a tail, isn't it closer to cats?
Kevin got more anxious explaining. Mr. Jones tried to stop. Anthony also interrupted: "What did you buy, Arthur?"
"What?" Mr. Weasley said. "Oh, I didn't buy anything. I told the clerk what happened. He said trained owls usually don't attack domestic pets. Then told me if really worried about that rat, bring it next time. By the way, Ron said you also keep a rat?"
"Yes. Much smaller than Scabbers," Anthony said. "Good pet."
"I heard about your cat's temper," Mr. Weasley said enviously. "How exactly do you keep a rat with your cat, Henry?"
"I think they just got used to each other."
"That's what I mean. Before they got used to each other, what did you do?"
"I let them fight. Then repaired cabinets," Anthony said. "God, sounds terrible."
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