A/N: This just a small fic I wrote for an exercise set during my creative writing class. It was inspired by Harry's recollection of the strange occurrences of his childhood (see HPatPS, p. 23). The title is a homage to Harry's uncle, who refers to Harry's magical accidents as as "funny business".
Disclaimer: The series and characters of Harry Potter do not belong to me...Unfortunately.
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Funny Business
"It...It must have shrunk in the wash," said Aunt Petunia breathlessly having finally ceased her efforts to get the knobbly jumper over Harry's head.
Harry, whose head was still trapped inside the scratchy wool of Dudley's orange and brown christmas present, couldn't see his Aunt's face but he could guess at the expression it wore. Her long neck would be red and her horse like face would be twisted into the same expression of distaste it wore whenever Harry was in the immediate vicinity.
He knew that he should be preparing himself for the inevitable punishment that awaited him on his release, but instead he found himself contemplating the strange predicament he was in. At some point in the very near past, this jumper had been slightly too small for his dumpy cousin and far too big for Harry. Yet now, after Harry had attempted to refuse the jumper and Aunt Petunia had just as vigorously tried to force it over his head, it was hardly large enough to cover a medium sized teapot.
These musings were rudely interrupted by Harry's aunt ripping the jumper from her nephew's head and causing his glasses to fly across the room and break against the fridge door.
"Well?" snapped Aunt Petunia.
Confused Harry stopped rubbing his smarting ears and stared in the direction of the large blur he assumed was his Aunt, trying to look innocent. He was certain that he was about to be blamed for the faulty washing machine, even though he always used the cold wash and the jumper had been a normal size just 10 minutes ago.
He flinched as his glasses were thrust into his hands.
"Don't just stand there," said Aunt Petunia, "you're making my kitchen look dirty."
Harry held one half of his glasses up to his right eye and saw his Aunt glaring at him, her nostrils dilating furiously. Deciding that the most prudent course of action was to obey her orders Harry half ran from the kitchen, one lens still help up to his eye.
Once he was safe in the cupboard under the stairs he turned to the only occupants of number 4 Privet drive who didn't mind his company. As he absentmindedly ran his fingers over the lightning shaped scar on his forehead Harry sighed.
"Why," he said dejectedly to the spiders on the wall, "are these strange things always happening to me?"