Madame Mildred Magnolia's Magical Self-Making Baby Milk Mix
In which there is a lack of the aforementioned. To solve this problem, a young man tries to work a microwave so that he can feed his hungry 11-month-old.
In the West Country of England is a quaint village where the streets are cobbled and narrow, the businesses are small and independent, and the town square is surrounded by only a few pubs, a post office, and a church.
In this quaint little village was picturesque cottage; a generous size considering its small number of occupants. It was slightly outside of the town, but close enough where it was a convenient walking distance. The cottage was surrounded by a little stone wall; it had sparse amounts over ivy growing hither-tither on the exterior of the house, and there was a charming collection of flower bushes on either side of the front door. This little cottage, as it happened, was invisible to all of its passersby.
And in this little invisible cottage, in the little village of Godric's Hollow, was a young man of about 21 years of age, which scruffy black hair, glasses, an infant at his foot, and a bemused look on his face.
At this moment, the man and infant were situated together in the kitchen. It was half-past-two in the afternoon, and the infant (bearing an uncanny resemblance to the bemused-looking man) was sitting on his bottom, wearing a blue shirt and a nappy, and flapping his arms about in some sort of attempt to communicate with his counterpart.
The young man was standing in front of the tap holding a silver tin bearing an image of crème-colored powder on the label, and a glass bottle.
"Ehhah!" whined the baby, looking up at the man with frustration, and flapping his arms some more for emphasis.
"I know, Harry, give me a minute," replied the man, who was, incidentally, his father. He was reading the label on the tin, which read, "Mme. Mildred Magnolia's Magical Self-Making Baby Milk Mix." He looked into the tin. It was empty.
"Ahhew!" whined the baby again. He then let out a high-pitched squeal. He was hungry.
"Harry, shh!" said the man, James, turning and looking down at the baby. "Mummy is taking a nap! Shh." James returned to looking at the tin. Putting down the baby bottle, he sighed in exasperation. He'd already checked the fridge for food suitable for an 11-month-old, but they were in dire need of a shopping trip. In fact, one of James's friends was due to drop off their groceries later that day.
"Well this is just magnificent," James finally concluded, putting down the empty tin and running a hand through his already-messy hair. He looked around the kitchen, trying to think of an alternative.
"Ahhea!" whined the baby, now looking as though he were trying to gain flight. His face contorted and the beginnings of a sob escaped his two-toothed mouth.
"No-no-no-no-no-no," said James, quickly, bending over and picking up baby Harry under the arms. "No tears! No sads!" He held Harry up to him and danced him around a little. "We're-not-going-to-cry!" he said rhythmically, bouncing Harry with every beat. The baby's face didn't brighten up. "We-can't-wake-mummy-up!" James continued. An irritated groan from the baby was the response. James kept bouncing the baby (who didn't seem pleased at this decision) and said, "If we do, Mummy will emerge from the bedroom like a ferocious lion, and screech 'Potter!' at us. And we'll both turn looking guilty. You for your whingeing, me for having the wit of a flobberworm and being incapable of feeding a baby when he's hungry." James poked Harry's nose. The baby finally smiled.
"That's more like it," James said. Carrying his son in one arm, he frantically began to open all of the cupboards in search of a spare, secret tin of Madame Mildred Magnolia's Milk Mix.
But it was to no avail. After opening several cupboards (and forgetting to close them), James Potter had only found dishes, crumbs, boxes of dried pasta and other assorted, inappropriate-infant-foods. "Come on, come on," James was muttering under his breath. Finally, he opened the last cupboard, shoved around its contents, and saw a blue-and-white tin hiding in the back. "This could be promising," James muttered. Harry put his head on James' shoulder and babbled in agreement. He reached for the tin and pulled it out. It read "Powdered Milk- Infant Formula."
"Excellent," said James, one-handedly attempting to open the tin. He scooped out the crème-colored powder, put it into the bottle, and waited.
Nothing happened.
"You're joking me," James cried, exasperated. Harry let out a wail too, and laughed, reminding James of their mission to stay quiet. "Shh," reminded James, as he dumped the useless powder back into the tin, picked it up, and read the back of the label.
"Now you can mix your own baby formula at home in a few small steps! Simply mix 3 scoops of powder with 8 oz. of water, and microwave for 90 seconds!"
"Microwave?" asked James. He looked at Harry. "Do you know what that is?" James asked him. Harry put his fingers in his mouth and said something that resembled "nnnnmmm."
"Me neither," said James. "This is what I get for falling madly and passionately in love with a muggle-born and then reproducing with her," said James conversationally to Harry. "Weird muggle products." James looked around the kitchen, and the miniature-electric-oven-thing (as James had come to know it as) caught his eye. It was on an area of the counter that was rather out-of-the-way and in the corner, overshadowed by the cabinets above it and its adjacent walls. "Wait, isn't that a microwave?" James asked Harry. (The device was in the house when they had moved in. James had occasionally seen his wife use it, but rarely.) Harry wiped his saliva-covered hands on James's face. "By Jove, you're right, Harry, it is!" exclaimed James. He looked around for something in which to mix the water and the formula (simply mixing them in the bottle did not, unfortunately, enter his mind). "Okay, well I'll just mix it in this empty Madame Magical Marigold's Milk tin, or whatever it's called," conversed James with Harry, as he scooped, again, the powder out of the muggle-formula tin and into the empty one. He then added 8 oz. of water, mixed it up, and placed the container and its contents in the microwave.
He then looked at the nob, placed it so the arrow was between 1 and 2, and pushed it.
"We've done it!" cried James gleefully, and Harry laughed again. James did another sort of dance with his son about the kitchen (much gentler this time) and Harry continued laughing.
Suddenly there was a BANG!
The two dark-haired boys immediately looked over in the direction of the microwave oven.
BANG! Again. BANG!
There was orange and blue light emitting from the microwave, and a smell of fire.
"Oh, shit, shit, shit!" yelled James, putting Harry on the floor and running over to the microwave. "Why is this happening?"
The interior of the microwave was ridden with flames; explosive sounds filled the kitchen. James was afraid to open the door of the microwave for fear of Harry somehow getting hurt. "Merlin—where's my wand!" James frantically looked around the kitchen –BANG!—for his wand. He found it on the kitchen table, turned to the microwave, pointed his wand and shouted "aguamenti!"
It was a good thing Harry Potter was so far from the microwave in question, because as James may (or may not) have remembered under a more calming environment, water and electric objects don't mix well.
The microwave made some highly-threatening sounds.
"Merlin's pants!—look at this kitchen—JAMES POTTER!" screamed a red-haired, angry looking young woman, standing in the doorway. "ELECTRICITY AND WATER DO NOT MATCH." She ran farther into the kitchen, picked up her child, ran back out and deposited him in the next room. She then re-entered the kitchen, where she heard a "BEEEEEEEEP," signifying that the microwave was done.
She glared at her husband.
James stared back, scratching the back of his neck, looking ashamed, and giving a sideways glance to the smoldering mess of a microwave.
"How was your nap, love?" he asked awkwardly.
She closed her eyes and breathed in, willing herself to relax. "Ma ma!" called Harry, crawling in from the next room.
"You are forbidden," she said slowly, "from using the microwave ever again," she finished quietly.
"Agreed," said James quickly, bending over to pick up Harry, who had made his way back.
Lily walked over to the wreckage. She opened the door. The inside of the microwave was blackened. Lily took out the metal tin, held it up to James and said, "Tin, or any sort of metal, does not EVER go into a microwave. Understand?"
James nodded quickly.
"You are lucky Harry is okay," finished Lily.
James glanced at Harry. "I'm the worst," James concluded.
Lily stared at James. James stared back. "The kitchen looks ridiculous," said Lily. And then, she laughed. "This is what I get for falling for a pure-blood," she giggled. "Someone that doesn't even understand basic appliance science."
James grinned. Lily continued to laugh, and walked over to Harry, taking him from James's arms. "Your daddy is a silly nitwit!" Harry began whining again. "I know, you're hungry, sweetheart," Lily consoled. She walked over to the counter. "If ever we are out of the regular formula again," said Lily, taking the muggle formula and scooping it into the glass bottle. "You can just boil the kettle to heat up the water."
James, feeling ridiculous, rolled his eyes and collapsed into a kitchen chair. "Harry really needs to grow in his teeth."
Author's Notes: Please review! Be sure to inform me of any spelling/grammatical/syntax errors! Let me know what you think! :)