1st October, 1895 — Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour, Diagon Alley

The delights of ice cream – which were many and manifold – also included a slight relaxing of societal expectations. At least that was what Sybilla was telling herself as, dressed down, she attempted to catch the drops of a flying bat on her tongue. Nobody she knew would be here, and if they were, they would certainly not let on that they had been here too.

She laughed gaily along with everybody else, feeling a sense of giddiness that was sorely lacking from her life.

“Your lips!” She gasped as the person next to her turned and displayed positively vampiric lips.

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   Ritchie Fortescue

Tiger had decided to treat his eldest to some ice cream. Tiger had just bitten into the one called Blood Orange Bite. It tasted very orange, indeed. And goodness, did it have a spicy kick to it as he bit into one of the cinnamon specks. His mouth felt like it was on fire but no worse than Firewhiskey in Tigers personal opinion. He did not notice anything else amiss until the woman at another table gasped at him. "Is there something wrong with them?" He asked, his twenty year old son hiding a laugh instead of being particularly helpful.

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