Title: Metallic Boxes and Pans of Boiling Water
Rating: G for now, might go up if it holds my attention for long enough ...
Category: General/Humour.
Description: Ficklet of a hopeless boy. Be warned, I have a strange sense of humour.
Spoilers: PS/SS.
Disclaimer: The amazing JK Rowling owns all that is HP and co. I am not making any
money out of this - heck, I have no money.
The slight boy stared numbly at the object that stood in front of him, ignoring the
sound of summer holiday traffic in the distance ... he needed to remain absolutely and
completely focused. I say that he is a boy; he really is a young man in his first month
of freedom by himself in a small flat on the outskirts of inner London.
He had brought this box thing as he had seen one used on a sitcom on the television. It
had seemed almost magical, as it appeared to make things so much easier ... had he
done everything correctly? He had surely. He performed a mental check of all the
chaotic mess that surrounded him and his corner in an otherwise spotless kitchen.
He had to be doing something incorrectly, he thought angrily, as he tipped the box
(which had packaged this metal box) for the instructions; each one carefully
numbered:
One ... Yes ...
Two ... Check! ...
Three ... huh? - Yeah ...
He had done everything word for word perfect and the stupid thing was still freezing
cold.
There was nothing for it, he decided, gulping. He had to swallow his pride.
He got up and walked over to the telephone on the wall and picked up the receiver as
he slowly dialled a well known number ...
"Uh, hi there -"
A very amused, but sleepy tone replied. "What is it now."
"I've been having trouble with this stupid metal box of a thing -" the person on the
other end of the phone cringed as he heard something crash. He just prayed that there
were not any broken bones "- which absolutely, definitely, does not live up to what it
says on the box!"
A sigh, full of amusement, made the ranting boy turn an alarming shade of red, but he
still continued. "It's just not fair! You're the muddy."
"Actually, technically I'm not," a calm, rational voice, pointed out. "Anyway did you
plug the thing in?"
The boy looked across the kitchen floor to where the metal box sat sadly on its side on
the floor ...
Oops.
"Thank you," he replied sheepishly to the other boy on the phone.
"Anytime -" literally, it was nearing one o'clock "- when can I come round and enjoy
this splendid feast at your expense?"
"Five minutes?"
Five minutes later say the two boys on the sofa enjoying burnt toast.
The visitor shook his head. "I dare not think what is going to happen when I teach you
how to boil water."
The other boy simply grinned and popped the last piece of his toast into his mouth as
he looked over at the now very battered new toaster. "At least she looks like she has
tales to tell."
"She?" He ignored the question and continued.
"I just cannot believe that this has all happened."
"The burnt toast or living on your own?"
"Although I've wanted to do this for some time now, living on my own. Or rather," he
added, "living with you, considering the amount of time you spend here. I am going to
start charging rent you know."
"Spoil-sport," muttered the 'visitor'.
"I will!" Threatened the boy with an exceptionally burnt piece of toast.
"You don't need the money. Anyway, going back to our original conversation ...
believe it!"
The boy being ordered just muttered under his breath, calculating how much the
'visitor' had cost him over their month stay in the building, as he got up and dumped
the plates into the sink. The 'visitor' openly laughing at him, managed to get up and
follow him into the kitchen.
"Can I crash out on your couch?" The 'visitor' asked. "It is one thirty in the morning."
"Not yet," came the muffled reply, the sound of crashing pans onto the tiled floor
muted almost anything else. "I am going to show you I can boil water."
Noticing that the other boy was going to run out of the room in terror, he quickly
pulled out a thin, rod-like object - "Locomotor Mortisor!"
"Hay!" The 'visitor' shouted as he fell to the floor.
"Be careful," the fallen boy was hushed. "You'll wake the neighbours."
"I'd - what?!" He started to reach for his own wand but it was whipped out of his
pocket at the speed of light before he could grab it himself.
The now glaring boy in the leg-locking hex motioned to be picked up and aimed to
hop towards the cooker.
There was almost a hysterical, but at the same time calmness about boy who picked
up a pan as he stated, "I will boil water." He smiled an evil smile and got to work.
The 'visitor' gulped. "I cannot believe - actually I can believe that you would do
something like this."
"Believe it," the boy quoted the 'visitor' from earlier, keeping a close eye on the other
boy gradually hopping towards the cooker.
"Let's do a tin of spaghetti instead ..."
Draco watched Harry with a wave of terrified caution, having lost all of his previous
confidence. "You sure about this?"
A grin was his only reply as he was instructed on how to use a tin opener.
Thank you folks for reading ... hope you enjoyed it!
Rating: G for now, might go up if it holds my attention for long enough ...
Category: General/Humour.
Description: Ficklet of a hopeless boy. Be warned, I have a strange sense of humour.
Spoilers: PS/SS.
Disclaimer: The amazing JK Rowling owns all that is HP and co. I am not making any
money out of this - heck, I have no money.
The slight boy stared numbly at the object that stood in front of him, ignoring the
sound of summer holiday traffic in the distance ... he needed to remain absolutely and
completely focused. I say that he is a boy; he really is a young man in his first month
of freedom by himself in a small flat on the outskirts of inner London.
He had brought this box thing as he had seen one used on a sitcom on the television. It
had seemed almost magical, as it appeared to make things so much easier ... had he
done everything correctly? He had surely. He performed a mental check of all the
chaotic mess that surrounded him and his corner in an otherwise spotless kitchen.
He had to be doing something incorrectly, he thought angrily, as he tipped the box
(which had packaged this metal box) for the instructions; each one carefully
numbered:
One ... Yes ...
Two ... Check! ...
Three ... huh? - Yeah ...
He had done everything word for word perfect and the stupid thing was still freezing
cold.
There was nothing for it, he decided, gulping. He had to swallow his pride.
He got up and walked over to the telephone on the wall and picked up the receiver as
he slowly dialled a well known number ...
"Uh, hi there -"
A very amused, but sleepy tone replied. "What is it now."
"I've been having trouble with this stupid metal box of a thing -" the person on the
other end of the phone cringed as he heard something crash. He just prayed that there
were not any broken bones "- which absolutely, definitely, does not live up to what it
says on the box!"
A sigh, full of amusement, made the ranting boy turn an alarming shade of red, but he
still continued. "It's just not fair! You're the muddy."
"Actually, technically I'm not," a calm, rational voice, pointed out. "Anyway did you
plug the thing in?"
The boy looked across the kitchen floor to where the metal box sat sadly on its side on
the floor ...
Oops.
"Thank you," he replied sheepishly to the other boy on the phone.
"Anytime -" literally, it was nearing one o'clock "- when can I come round and enjoy
this splendid feast at your expense?"
"Five minutes?"
Five minutes later say the two boys on the sofa enjoying burnt toast.
The visitor shook his head. "I dare not think what is going to happen when I teach you
how to boil water."
The other boy simply grinned and popped the last piece of his toast into his mouth as
he looked over at the now very battered new toaster. "At least she looks like she has
tales to tell."
"She?" He ignored the question and continued.
"I just cannot believe that this has all happened."
"The burnt toast or living on your own?"
"Although I've wanted to do this for some time now, living on my own. Or rather," he
added, "living with you, considering the amount of time you spend here. I am going to
start charging rent you know."
"Spoil-sport," muttered the 'visitor'.
"I will!" Threatened the boy with an exceptionally burnt piece of toast.
"You don't need the money. Anyway, going back to our original conversation ...
believe it!"
The boy being ordered just muttered under his breath, calculating how much the
'visitor' had cost him over their month stay in the building, as he got up and dumped
the plates into the sink. The 'visitor' openly laughing at him, managed to get up and
follow him into the kitchen.
"Can I crash out on your couch?" The 'visitor' asked. "It is one thirty in the morning."
"Not yet," came the muffled reply, the sound of crashing pans onto the tiled floor
muted almost anything else. "I am going to show you I can boil water."
Noticing that the other boy was going to run out of the room in terror, he quickly
pulled out a thin, rod-like object - "Locomotor Mortisor!"
"Hay!" The 'visitor' shouted as he fell to the floor.
"Be careful," the fallen boy was hushed. "You'll wake the neighbours."
"I'd - what?!" He started to reach for his own wand but it was whipped out of his
pocket at the speed of light before he could grab it himself.
The now glaring boy in the leg-locking hex motioned to be picked up and aimed to
hop towards the cooker.
There was almost a hysterical, but at the same time calmness about boy who picked
up a pan as he stated, "I will boil water." He smiled an evil smile and got to work.
The 'visitor' gulped. "I cannot believe - actually I can believe that you would do
something like this."
"Believe it," the boy quoted the 'visitor' from earlier, keeping a close eye on the other
boy gradually hopping towards the cooker.
"Let's do a tin of spaghetti instead ..."
Draco watched Harry with a wave of terrified caution, having lost all of his previous
confidence. "You sure about this?"
A grin was his only reply as he was instructed on how to use a tin opener.
Thank you folks for reading ... hope you enjoyed it!