The Flying Flour Fiasco

Scotty’s tail drooped a little, but only a little. He was a determined puppy, and a good witch, even if he did sometimes worry about it in the quiet moments before sleep. This cake for Sparky absolutely *had* to be perfect. The bubbly blue goo that had smelled faintly of forgotten socks and the wiggly worms that had tried to escape the cauldron were certainly not cake batter. He’d managed to scoop them out before Sparky could get too curious, and now he was back at the drawing board, or rather, the cauldron.

“Okay, okay,” Scotty muttered to himself, pawing through his spellbook. “More flour. That’s what makes a cake a cake, right? Lots and lots of flour.” He peered into the depths of the cauldron. It was still warm from its last, peculiar performance, giving off a faint shimmer that made the air above it wobble like a heat haze. He’d read in chapter three of his spellbook, “The Fundamentals of Flour,” that the right amount of flour was crucial for binding magical ingredients. He’d definitely used *some* flour before, but maybe not enough.

He trotted over to the pantry, his little witch’s hat tipping precariously with each step. He grabbed the largest bag of enchanted self-raising flour he could find. It was a special kind, milled under a full moon and infused with a whisper of levitation charm, just in case. He hefted the bag back to the cauldron, his small legs wobbling under the weight.