AN: For PoisonParadiseExpress. Thanks for encouraging me to write...
He assumed it was frosting that coated the foreign article. The colour of the 'frosting' was brown sugar and blood, drizzled with bleached white teeth on a base of decrepit looking cardboard.
Mr Weasley poked it with the end of his wand, cautiously, as if it would spring up and attack him at any moment. The toaster pastry remained still.
Clever, he thought, lure the victim into a false sense of security. Then Bam! It would attack, and it would be all over for him.
He prodded it again, ever weary of the possible assailant...
"You're supposed to toast it, Dad." Ron walked into the kitchen, his hair a matted mess, his pyjama trousers were an appealing cacophony of orange and blue tartan. He was only a little confused as to his father's sudden appearance in his flat.
"Toast?" Mr Weasley cocked his head, and lifted his wand in preparation. Ron quickly snatched the offending article from off his father's plate and popped it in the toaster.
The sticky sweet smell of sugar wafted from through the air and began a full frontal attack on Arthur Weasley's nostrils. He scrunched up his already wrinkled nose, not all too pleased with the artificial aroma.
As the pastry did god-knows-what in it's chrome coffin Mr Weasley's daughter-and-law entered the kitchen. Her hair stuck out at all angles giving her the appearance of a brunette lion, she wore one of her husband's large T-shirts emblazoned with the words 'I'm a Keeper'.
"PopTarts again?" She questioned, giving Ron a peck on the cheek, grabbing the kettle.
"PopTarts?" Arthur tested the word in his mouth, he was unsure as to whether or not it sounded appealing. The word was hot and heavy like a badly cooked casserole.
Still mulling it over, he watched the newly-weds shuffle around their kitchen in a post-sleep stupor. Suddenly remembering why he was there.
"Ah, yes..." He mumbled to himself, withdrawing a tattered green box from his coat pocket. He placed it resolutely on the countertop with a clearly discernible, finite sounding 'humph'.
"Your mother found this," Ron turned, "while she was doing some cleaning." his son looked perplexed; reached for the box.
Inside was a walkie-talkie, nestled in brown paper. "When you touch it it makes an awful sound, and sometimes it talks. She made me swear I would get rid of it."
Ron watched his father pull a face, he looked like a dejected puppy. "But I couldn't part with it, not really." He sadly pushed his prize towards his son.
"We'll keep it safe for you Arthur." Hermione smiled and accepted the box with as much sincerity as she could muster at such an early hour.
"Thank you" Mr Weasley said sombrely.
There was a weird silence for just a moment, it was shattered, however, by a loud beeping from what Arthur could only assume was the so-called-toaster initiating its self destruct sequence. With all the bravery a man of his age could muster Arthur yelped and threw himself under the kitchen island.
The couple exchanged a look. Their eyebrows high, their smiles genuine.
Hermione stepped over to the beeping machine, extracted the PopTart and placed it on a small green plate, a wedding present. She slid the plate to where she assumed Mr Weasley would reappear.
Sure enough he came back into view forehead first, suspiciously eyeing the steaming sugary something in front of him.
"Fascinating" He murmured as he reached towards the new thing. Quickly recoiling as it scolded him for his impatience. Ron tried very hard not to laugh.
Once it had thoroughly finished cooling, he took a tentative bite. The sweetness exploded in him mouth, sticky and dry all at once. Disgusting.
He spat it out, back onto the plate. They are trying to poison me, he thought playfully.
Arthur Weasley had survived two Wizarding wars but he was convinced these PopTart things were going to be the death of him.
Inspired by my pet-hate and a fondness for Muggle objects. Review anyone?