Dr. Weasley and the United Nations

The New York City Hard Rock Café is located at 221 West 57^th Street in Manhattan near Central Park and is one of the oldest Hard Rock locations in the United States. Thousands of patrons dine there everyday and it is a common tourist attraction for visitors to the Big Apple. The back half of a Chevrolet convertible emerges from the outer wall over the main entrance, signifying the restaurant's rock'n'roll theme. The interior walls are lined with countless bits of rock memorabilia, from Elvis Presley to the Beatles to Bill Haley. It is a spectacular destination for any music addict.

Presently, the Hard Rock was overflowing with eager customers, well beyond its seating capacity. This was due in part to the unexpected influx of over a hundred ambassadors from the United Nations a few moments ago. Waiters, managers, and hostesses dashed frantically about the interior in an unorganized attempt to swiftly satisfy the esteemed diplomats' demands. Meanwhile a troop of valets desperately attempted to organize the army of limousines that had transported the ambassadors from headquarters and were causing quite a traffic jam. Bitter taxi drivers hurled obscenities at the café officials while impatient riders anxiously watched their fare climb higher and higher. Barely able to shove their way into the restaurant at all, hungry customers were aghast to learn of the projected three-hour wait for a table. With what was quickly becoming a common characteristic of the United Nations, it had once again managed to instill widespread frustration in the minds of its citizens.

Meanwhile, with the overwhelmed waitresses struggling to prepare over fifty Diet Cokes and an assortment of alcoholic beverages, Secretary-General Kofi Annan sat at large, presidential table on the second floor. Below him sat most of the General Assembly, echoing the typical arrangement in the main chamber back at headquarters. Next to Annan sat his elegantly dressed wife, currently ignorant of the knowledge that every other U.N. official possessed about that day's session. The rest of the table was occupied by Annan's chosen guests: Dr. Weasley, Hermione, Sir Emyr Jones Parry, Mark Brown, Frank Star, and Juan Yañez-Barnuevo. Once everyone had received his or her drink (Brown was still slightly queasy and could stomach no more than water), Annan rose from his seat of honor and raised his glass.

"A toast," he spoke proudly, beaming at his companions. "To our dear friends from Britain: Dr. and Mrs. Weasley, Mr. Star, and Sir Emyr Parry."

"Here, here," responded Brown.

"Here, here," concurred Brown and Mrs. Annan

Annan continued. "I would like to extend a special invitation to you and your...beautiful, sexy, gorgeous, loving--"

"Ahem!" came a disapproving growl from his wife.

"Right," Annan said nervously. "Both of you are welcome to sit in on any WWD seminar anytime you'd like. Just as long as you inform Sir Emyr first. No unexpected drop-ins like we received from the nuisance, Bush, today."

The mention of Dubya's name incited a question from Hermione that had been disturbing her since the ex-president had first entered the General Assembly chamber. However, feeling that her question might be better answered by Sir Emyr, she addressed her question to him.

"Mr. Ambassador, is Bush a wizard also?"

Parry smirked. "No, he's a Squib. Why do you think his father had to do everything for him? Bush can't stand it of course. While Jeb is conjuring up all these votes to get himself elected governor of Florida, Bush has to gravel before his father."

"I see."

A pair of waiters arrived to take their orders and when they had departed, the Minister of Magic turned on his subordinates, inclined to unleash a river of obscenities upon them but choosing to extirpate his statement for dignities sake.

"So, Doctor," he said tartly. "Would you care to explain to me just how you ended up here in the first place? What prompted you to start fiddling with antique ceramic likenesses of ancient Asian deities?"

Ron shook his head. "You really don't want to know. But while we're on the subject, why were you using a Portkey? Why not just Apparate?"

Frank grimaced. "Well you know I've never been a fan of it. And I especially abhor transcontinental Apparition. With all the different magical fields you have to pass through, it's very easy to splinch. Remember the '08 Olympics?"

"Oh yeah," said Ron, then turned to ease the others' confused looks. "We were on our way back from the tennis tournament and had to get out in a hurry. Muggles, you know. Well, Frank here left his hair, two fingers, and a kidney in Beijing."

"I was lucky to get them back to," added Frank. "Damn Chinese black market."

Everyone at the table laughed heartily and were just about to tear into their delectable meals when James Brown approached the table, looking refreshed after a quick break in make-up. Brown was not one to hold a grudge, but he made no immediate attempt to glance at Annan. Instead, he directed his attention to the Weasleys, Frank, and Parry.

"Heyyyy, what's happenin' everybody?" he asked amiable, his voice laced with a thick Georgian accent. "Listen, Doc, I wanted to thank you for cutting me lose back there. I mean, I love those fellas to death but you just can't stand having that much stupid in one room all at once. Know what I'm sayin'?"

"Indeed," said Hermione, throwing a sideways glance at Ron. Ron snorted.

"No problem, Mr. Brown," he answered to his own discretion.

"Please, please," said the pop star, "call me James. And just to let you know, you're welcome at any of my future public concerts. Speaking of which they want me on stage in five. But thanks again, Doc. If there's ever anything I can do for ya, just give me a holler."

James Brown performed a quick 360º and had turned to leave when Hermione halted him.

"But Mr. Br--James, I thought you were dead!"

James simply grinned and ran an ebony hand through his sleek black hair. Placing his other hand on Hermione's shoulder, he replied, "My dear, legends never die. Isn't that right, Elvis?"

"Uh-huh, that's right big daddy," chimed the King.

They departed.

Hermione cast a befuddled look at her husband. The two of them, being of magical descent, had seen many strange and horrific things in their lifetimes, but this incident simply had them baffled. Neither Sir Emyr nor Frank offered any remark. Ron and Hermione simply shrugged in unison, simply choosing to accept it and enjoy the show.

***

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, PUT YOUR HANDS TOGETHER FOR MR. JAMES BROWN!"

A puff of purple smoke enshrouded the high balcony inside the Hard Rock Café accompanied by a discharge of static lightning. From within this hazy phenomenon stepped the announced superstar, microphone in hand, and his troop of back-up singers To the mortal observer, this would appear nothing more than a cleverly enacted stage trick commonly used for lead singers to make a spectacular entrance; to a witch or wizard, it was just a fancy, exaggerated form of Apparition. Brown glided to the edge of the balcony and flashed a set of sparkling white teeth upon the cheering (and mostly foreign) patrons. Taking the mike up to his lips, the aged black man declared: "HELLO NEW YORK!"

An even louder applause emanated from the crowd.

"I'd like you thank y'all for coming out tonight. It's good to be back here in the good old US of A! I tell you what, I just got back from Canada and those people are cracked! I mean, what the hell's a mounty?"

All but one person in the restaurant laughed.

"Moving on, I'd like to dedicate this song to some very special guests out her this evening. Give it up for Dr. Weasel--"

"WEASLEY!"

"Right, sorry. Give it up for Dr. Weasley and his smokin' wife Hermi-, Hermy-, Hermo...Mrs. Weasley!"

One could barely hear himself think over the din that ensued, though whether it was from admiration of the Weasleys or from James Brown's command, no one at the high table was certain. Either way, they were soon silenced by Brown's booming voice echoing throughout the eatery once more.

"Let's get this show on the road."

The King of Pop turned about, followed by a sudden anthem of music projected from an unseen (yet clearly magical) source. As the introductory rhythm reaching its climax, Brown performed another trademark about-face and began:

Yeah, uh! Get up, now! Ow! Knock out this!

Super highways, coast to coast,

easy to get anywhere

On the transcontinental overload,

just slide behind the wheel

How does it feel

When there's no destination - that's too far

And somewhere on the way,

you might find out who you are

Living in America - eye to eye, station to station

Living in America - hand to hand, across the nation

Living in America - got to have a celebration

Rock my soul

Smokestack, fatback,

many miles of railroad track

All night radio, keep on runnin'

through your rock 'n' roll soul

All night diners keep you awake,

hey, on black coffee and a hard roll

You might have to walk the fine line,

you might take the hard line

But everybody's working overtime

Living in America - eye to eye, station to station

Living in America - hand to hand, across the nation

Living in America - got to have a celebration

I live in America, help me out,

but I live in America,

wait a minute

You might not be looking for the promised land,

but you might find it anyway

Under one of those old familiar names

Like New Orleans,

Detroit City, Dallas

Pittsburg P.A.,

New York City

Kansas City,

Atlanta (Atlanta), Chicago and L.A.

Living in America - hit me

Living in America - yeah,

I walk in and out

Living in America

"Yeah, take it Elvis!"

You ain't nothin' but a hound dog

Fightin' all the time.

You ain't nothin' but a hound dog

Fightin' all the time.

Well, you ain't never helped a country

And you ain't no friend of mine.

When they said you was U.N.,

Well, that was just a lie.

When they said you was the people's friend,

Well, that was just a lie.

You ain't never helped a country

And you ain't no friend of mine.

By the time James Brown and Elvis had completed their first pair of classic hit singles, every one of the Hard Rock's occupants, including the waiters, hostesses, and managers, had leapt to their feet and begun dancing feverishly. A rush of adrenalin suddenly permeated everyone's bloodstream, sparking an energy that many of the diplomats had not felt since before the King had supposedly kicked the bucket. Most had entirely forgotten their gnawing hunger in favor of the thrill of dancing. Even Kofi Annan and his wife, to Ron's surprise, had quite a bit of beat left in them. Mrs. Annan managed to share a shag with the two superstars, which would have upset the Secretary-General had a very attractive waitress in ludicrously short shorts and a revealing tanktop not passed by the table at the time. While the Ghanaian was drawn off by the tug of his own lust, Ron excused himself from the party and left Hermione to get down with her bad self, Frank, and Sir Emyr (the British ambassador's dancing shall not be detailed). The three glasses of orange juice he had ingested that morning were finally coming back on him.

Standing idly before a urinal in the men's restroom, Ron lethargically waited for nature to run its course. He was in the middle of deducing the particular denomination of marble utilized in the restroom walls when, to his horror, large, jagged letters began to materialize on the tiles before him. Two feet tall and inky black, the letters spelled.

WE'LL MEET AGAIN, WEASLEY! M.S.C.

Ron gapped at the declaration, completely stunned.

Copperfield is alive!

Granted, Ron had never really concluded that the old man had been destroyed, but he had at least hoped that he and the deranged American would never cross paths again. Now, however, it appeared Magnus was alive and vengeful.

At that moment a rotund black man sporting a mammoth red t-shirt and a Yankees ball cap entered the urinal next to Ron and, with an exasperated sigh, read the graffiti on the wall.

"Kids," he chuckled, shaking his head. "What they won't write on these darn walls. I tell you if I ever caught my kid spray painting in some bathroom I'd lay into his hide like nothin' he'd ever seen. You know in my day..."

Ron tuned out the New Yorker's unstructured rambling, completed bewildered by the warning magically scrawled on the tile. He quickly zipped up his trousers and without even bothering to wash his hands he dashed out of the restroom. Bemused by the implications of what he had just seen, Ron hurtled back into the madness, leaving the flamboyant New Yorker to babble away to an audience of toilets and sinks.

THE END...for now