When they are not preoccupied with preventing evil overlords from smothering the freedom of wizardkind, surely the Golden Trio must have some semblance of day-to-day life that we all can relate to? This is my collection of one-shots, highlighting the delightfully normal facets of attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – well, as normal as such a life could possibly be.
Chapter One: Of Vegetables and Espionage
Setting: Summer between first and second years at Hogwarts
Disclaimer: Only the plot is mine
Author's Note: I have taken some liberty and given the Dursley family a pool. Deal. Also, mild incontinuity- Harry is reading a spell book when- at this point in the series- all this school supplies were locked in his cupboard. Again, sorry, but deal.
It was a lazy afternoon in Privet Drive, the summery warmth oozing through the houses, seeming to melt time itself as the day slowly sunk into the dusky respite of evening. The Dursley family of Number Four had whiled away the afternoon beside their newly implemented pool, an installation to welcome home their precious son from his first year attending Smeltings. Vernon Dursley lay upon a deckchair, unknowingly becoming progressively redder as the sun hungrily burned his pale skin; his wife Petunia floated upon an inflatable pool chair in the most atrocious shade of pink, idly watching her young son Dudley perform backflips and belly-flops and all other manner of aquatic tricks that came to mind.
The only resident missing from the scene was one Harry Potter, who had sprawled ungracefully upon the living room couch, his angular limbs akimbo in an attempt to cool down. He flipped the pages of one of his spellbooks idly, contemplating just how much trouble he may get into if he conjured an oversized fan to follow him around for the next few days until the heatwave broke.
His ponderings were woefully cut short when a yell echoed from the backyard, asking him to start on the dinner. Harry peeled himself off the couch and tossed his spellbook down with a sigh. Stupid book didn't even have a spell to conjure a giant fan…he mused as he plodded into the kitchen, his bare feet slapping against the floor as he moved to the fridge. From within its unbelievably icy depths he pulled the meat that his aunt had purchased for dinner, which he quickly pulled from the butcher's paper and placed into a pan to cook. From the pantry he took some ears of corn and an armful of potatoes, which he carried to the sink to begin to peel. Relishing in the cool water running over his hands as he washed each vegetable, Harry contemplated the tuber in his hands. His thumb traced over a lumpy eye on its surface, and with mild satisfaction he ran the potato peeler over the dark blemish, revealing the clear creamy surface below. Rolling his eyes slightly at the lengths he was going to amuse himself, Harry continued to peel the potato, carefully removing all the eyes and skin before dropping it into the pot of water beside him. He continued to clean the vegetables, but just as he moved to pick up his third potato, Harry heard his relations' voices from the backyard.
'Diddykins, don't walk on my floors with wet feet, I just had them polished!' Harry heard the backdoor fly open, and heard Dudley's heavy footfalls plodding up into the kitchen, his decidedly un-dried feet wetly slopping against the tiles. He strode straight to the fridge, yanked open the door and began to rummage for a can of soda.
'I thought your mum said you weren't supposed to walk on the tiles with wet feet?' Harry asked, his voice slightly tinted with annoyance- he had been the one that had 'just polished' the tiles the weekend prior.
'She'll never know' Dudley said with a huff as he extracted an icy can from the fridge and cracked it open, tipping his head back to take a hefty gulp. Harry sighed as he realised that she probably never would. But then, quick as lightning, an idea came to him. A marvellous plot, a wicked joke, brilliant in its simplicity. Something to break the monotony of the heat, but harmless to all but his simple-minded cousin still dripping chlorinated water all over the tiles he had spent hours polishing.
'Won't she?' Harry asked quietly, his voice benign but somehow still full of potential danger. It had the desired effect; Dudley froze in place, his eyes suddenly trained on Harry's calm face. He slowly lowered the can and turned to face his cousin, trying to maintain a mask of menace, but his eyes betraying fear at Harry's implication.
'They can see you, Dudley. They watch everything you do.' Dudley blanched and his eyes widened, and Harry could hear the liquid in his can sloshing as his hand trembled.
'Who,' Dudley cleared his throat as the words came out unusually high-pitched, 'who is watching me?'
'Why, the question is not who, but what,' Harry reached down to the counter beside him and lifted a lumpy potato up to eye level. Dudley eyed the vegetable with a mixture of horrified disbelief and disgusted knowing, almost as though he had always suspected the vegetables were against him.
'You…you can't be serious.'
'These vegetables, they know how much you hate them, and were more than happy to oblige my requests, when I asked them for a little bit of help. So the potatoes became my eyes. And the corn,' Harry picked up a cob in his other hand, 'ears. They know everything, and through them, so do I.'
Dudley's eyes moved from Harry's face and to the two vegetables he held up, his face filled with horrified enlightenment.
'I knew it!' He hissed, staring at the offending vegetables lying innocently on the bench top, before glaring up at Harry, his face equal parts accusation and fear.
'DAD! Harry has done some you-know-what!' Dudley screeched toward the backyard, and a yell followed by a huge splash ensued; Harry assumed that his uncle had jumped to his feet, lost his balance and fallen in the pool. They could hear the water sloshing, followed by wet footsteps up the garden path, before Harry's aunt and uncle came tearing through the door. Vernon looked furious, his eyes bulging and his already sunburnt skin reddening with rage; Petunia looked alarmed, quickly running to her son's side.
'What is it, pumpkin? What did he do?' She asked urgently, her hands running across her son's face and body, hastily checking for any damage- or growths. Harry had to stifle a grin as he thought of the fiasco with Hagrid in the island shack the summer prior to his first year at Hogwarts.
With eyes filled with the malicious joy that boys such as Dudley received from dobbing people in, he pointed accusingly at Harry.
'He's making the vegetables watch me!' He declared, his eyes dancing with delight at the gasps of horror from his mother and the angry growls from his father. Vernon began to approach his nephew, who quickly scrambled back towards the sink and out of his reach.
'I did no such thing!' Harry countered, his voice filled with- somewhat exaggerated- offence.
'He did too! He just told me!' He turned to his mother with imploring eyes.
'He said that the potatoes have eyes!' Vernon paused in his approach towards Harry, and Petunia's panicked expression became confused and slightly suspicious. Dudley – in one of his more perceptive moments – could see that he had said something wrong, and quickly tried to remedy the situation.
'And…And…and he said that the corn were ears!' Silence ensued for a moment, before Petunia and Vernon turned to the skinny boy standing beside the sink, their faces both expressing disbelief that their nephew would dare, or even had the wit, to make such a joke.
To their shock and disgust, he waggled his eyebrows and his face broke into a winning grin.
'Well it's true, isn't it?'
Petunia let out a hissing sigh, her eyes filled with disdain for the young boy before her. Vernon shoved his nephew towards the door, yelling at him to go to his room and not to come out until the next day. Harry, stumbling along after the shove from his uncle, continued to jog up the hall and to the stairs. Still wearing a lingering trace of his former grin, he clambered up the stairs and into his room, flinging the door shut lightly behind him.
He dropped onto his bed and reclined back against the pillows, feeling decidedly pleased with himself. In the space of three minutes, he had got himself out of cooking dinner in the stifling heat. Not to mention his spontaneous wit; he was still mildly surprised that he had come up with that off the top of his head.
If this magic thing doesn't work out, he mused, I could always become a comedian.
I am loathe to ask for reviews, seeing as people don't seem to respond well to this at all on this part of the website.
One would be appreciated, but they will by no means interrupt the publication of this story. That is, if anyone is truly interested in it anyway.
Thanks- from your mildly cynical author