Harry Potter 1. Of Vegetables and Espionage

**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.**

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_**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.**_

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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._

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**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 **_


	2. Innuendo

**Chapter Two: Innuendo **

**Setting: Early days of camping during Deathly Hallows**  
** Disclaimer: Only the plot is mine**  
** Author's Note: I have made the assumption that Harry and Ron, at this point, do not have apparition licenses. Also, I am running under the assumption that when this spell is first mentioned, Harry and Ron are too busy being scared and traumatised to notice its comedic potential. Additionally, the book mentioned- _Guide to Self Protection- _is canon. **

Gasping in a breath of air, Harry felt his feet slam into the ground as he unsteadily appeared in the forest clearing. Ron was beside him a moment later, stumbling out of his also less-than-smooth apparition. Despite his lack of balance, Harry flung his wand out in front of him, his eyes scanning the area for any signs of disturbance or danger, an act which Ron joined him in once he had regained his footing. A moment later, Hermione appeared with a demure _pop _between the two boys, and immediately began casting the protective spells that she had selected to hide their campsites from unwanted prying eyes. The two boys continued to scan the forest, their eyes sharp and focused, until Hermione lowered her own wand.

The three stood momentarily, encircled by their ring of protective enchantments, their hearts still beating that little bit too fast due to the adrenalin from the saga that was changing location.  
'How was it that time?' Hermione asked, as she sat down on the long green grass and opened her handbag.  
'Not too bad,' Harry said as he dropped to the ground beside her, 'I didn't come out of my apparition as well as I should have.'  
'Neither did I.' Ron added, sliding his eyes surreptitiously along his long limbs to check that all was intact. The three of them had only changed campsites once before and while they were much more efficient than they had been on their very first night, they were far from as competent at relocating than they wished to be.  
'Well, considering you never got your licenses, we're doing rather well.' Hermione reasoned as she plunged her hand into the depths of her handbag, rummaging through their neatly piled belongings to find the tent.  
'How was your casting?'  
'Fine, though I think I'll have another look in the _Guide to Self Protection _to see if there's a way of simplifying the number of spells I have to cast…' Hermione cut her sentence short as she thrust both hands inside her bag, and with a colossal effort, pulled out their tent.  
'Useless thing was stuck behind my cauldron…' she muttered as she pulled the cover off the tent. She gazed down at the pile of tangled canvas and buckles with distaste, before pulling out her wand to do the task for her.

'Erecto!' Hermione said firmly, and the tent began to slowly assemble itself. She turned back to her two friends, ready to continue with their conversation, but a small frown tweaked her brow at the sight she was met with. Ron's hand had frozen mid-way towards scratching his nose, and Harry had raised a single eyebrow. Slowly, the pair turned their eyes towards one another.

They then dissolved into sniggers.

'_Erecto? _Seriously?' Ron choked out between snorts of laughter, as Harry leaned against his hand as he chuckled.  
'Oh grow up!' Hermione said mildly, disciplining her own face to remain perfectly straight. A small smile softened her face, however, when Harry let out a great gasp and fell- cackling like a madman- to the grass below, clutching his sides. In an effort to maintain her composure Hermione grabbed her bag and moved into the now assembled tent.  
'Honestly,' she called as she walked away, 'it's like travelling with a pair of five-year-olds!' But as she settled down with the _Guide to Self Protection _on one of the armchairs inside, her friends' laughter still ringing from outside, she knew that she wouldn't have it any other way.


	3. The Benefits of Being Invertebrate

_**Chapter Three: The Benefits of Being Invertebrate **_

_**Setting: Second year, during the first Quidditch match of the season.  
Disclaimer: Only the plot is mine.  
Author's Note: I have taken a dash of liberty in the dialogue of this scene, and also decided that like most serious medicines Skele-grow requires some form of preparation, rather than being poured out of a bottle. **_

Madam Pomfrey was sitting at her desk, filling in a student medical report at a leisurely rate. Thus far, the year had been relatively uneventful- apart from a surge in head colds as the weather deteriorated towards winter, the student body was faring remarkably well. Still, it was with apprehensive distaste that she let her eyes lift to look out the window beside her desk. Through the old panes she could see the large stadium where the first Quidditch game of the season was taking place, the flags fluttering atop the tall towers and the players, shrunk by the distance, zooming about above the sandy pitch like tiny insects as dark rainclouds deluged upon them from overhead.

She watched the game for a moment with wary eyes, lamenting the fact that her intuition was niggling at the edge of her brain, telling her a long night's worth of work was going to stem from this match. Just as she let out a gusty sigh, she saw the tiny flying figures head back towards the ground, signalling the end of the game. With a sigh of relief she turned away, glad that no one had been sent into her care as of yet. Glancing at her watch, she began to pack her things away in preparation for heading to lunch; just as she exited her office and turned to lock the door, however, she heard the doors to the Hospital Wing swing open. She turned to see Oliver Wood, soaked to the skin and trailing muddy footprints across her pristine floors, skidding towards her.

'Who is it this time, Wood?' Madam Pomfrey asked resignedly, bustling towards her storage cabinet.  
'Potter, he broke his arm.' Wood panted, while with a sense of satisfied relief Madam Pomfrey turned away from her supplies. All a broken arm required was a quick wave of her wand…  
'But,' Wood spoke up again, drawing the witch's wary attention back to him, 'Professor Lockhart tried to fix it down on the pitch, and…' Before Oliver could finish, the doors to the hospital wing swung open once more, revealing a gaggle of red-clad students escorting a pale Harry Potter into her care.

The boy stumbled into the Hospital Wing, clutching is arm to his chest with his good hand, being gently guided by Hermione Granger, her eyes bright with concern, and a blanching Ron Weasley at his other side. The rest of the Quidditch team followed not two steps behind, chattering at such a rate and pitch that Madam Pomfrey knew that Potter's injury must be of a particularly glorious disgustingness. When Wood had said that Professor Lockhart had been meddling with the injury down on the pitch her eyes had narrowed, her distaste for the new teacher climbing at his interfering with her area of expertise. He may have a ream of novels professing his skill in repelling the dark arts, but he was yet to procure a Certificate of Advanced Magical Healing, such as the one she took three gruelling years to attain, and so in her eyes held very little right to attempt any such magic on her patients. But even Madam Pomfrey was unprepared for the sight of the damage he had inflicted upon Harry Potter's arm, lolling from its socket in a most alarming manner. Unfortunately her earlier prediction was proving all too true: tonight was going to be a long and painful night.

Harry stumbled into the hospital wing, his gelatinous arm clutched tightly to his chest by his functioning hand. Hermione was at his side, grimly guiding him through the door, and a mildly nauseated Ron followed, his sickened eyes staring at the hand uselessly flopping against the Gryffindor crest stitched across the upper left-hand corner of his Quidditch robes. Hermione steered Harry down the ward to a bed that Madam Pomfrey had indicated, pressing him down onto the mattress before turning to give a withering stare to the gaggle of Gryffindors who had followed the team up to the Hospital Wing. Having his teammates by his side was all very well, but she really didn't think Parvati Patil needed to follow them all the way up to Harry's bedside, a feeling much accentuated when she saw her giggling hysterically with Lavender at Harry's attempts to remove his jumper to allow Madam Pomfrey give his arm a thorough examination. With an angry sigh she yanked the hospital curtain across, blocking Harry's bed from their immediate view, before turning back to her friend anxiously.

With some help from Ron, Harry had finally removed his jumper, and was sitting in a plain white t-shirt and mud-splattered Quidditch trousers, his legs dangling in the air over the edge of the bed. A barely-disguised grimace of pain was etched onto his features as Madam Pomfrey prodded and twisted his arm in assessment, clucking her tongue and scowling at the damage that had been done.  
'It appears, Mr Potter, that Professor Lockhart has unwittingly removed all the bones from your arm with his attempts to repair the broken one.' Harry blanched, staring at the affected appendage with horror.  
'It is repairable, of course, but it is a rather unpleasant experience. I shall have to keep you in overnight to make sure all goes as it should, I trust that is not a problem?' Harry shook his head mutely, still looking down at his flaccid arm rather forlornly.  
'Very good. I will have to prepare the draught for you; it will only take a few minutes. In the mean time,' Madam Pomfrey drew out a small vial of liquid resembling red cordial from the folds of her apron, 'take this, it is a mild analgesic, it should tide you over until I can give you the Skelegrow.'

The matron quickly moved to her office and shut the door with a snap, leaving Harry looking warily at the small bottle in his hand.  
'What's an analgesic?'  
'A painkiller,' Hermione answered automatically, 'she must have noticed how uncomfortable you were while she was looking over your arm.'  
Harry took a grateful swig from the bottle, draining the unexpectedly sweet syrup in one mouthful. He immediately felt the effects; his head felt as if it were floating upon his shoulders, his limbs oddly numb and feeling almost as though he were submerged in water. He gave an appreciative sigh at the relief, particularly from the uncomfortable ache in his arm, interrupted midway by a very loud _hic. _His eyes bugged out in surprise, before he began to giggle, dropping back against his pillows as he did. Ron and Hermione exchanged a wary glance, each taking a side of his bed and moving in to sit down beside him, the remaining members of the Quidditch team huddled at the bed's end.  
'Feeling better, mate?' Ron asked with a tentative laugh, looking down at Harry's abruptly serene face as he lay back against the pillows with his eyes drifting closed. Ron met Hermione's eyes across the bed, seeing the relief washing over her face as the odd effects of the potion seemed to settle down over their friend, providing relief rather than hyperactivity. But their eyes were quickly drawn back to Harry when he suddenly bolted upright, a look of ominous excitement dancing across his face in the form of a cheeky grin.

'Did you know, my dear Hermione Granger,' Harry asked in a tone of pompousness to rival Percy, 'that it is impossible to lick your elbow?'  
'Well, yes, that's… that's what I've heard.' She replied slowly, internally hoping very much that Harry was not thinking what she thought he was.  
'Given the circumstances,' Harry lifted his limp arm by one finger in demonstration, 'and for the sake of scientific enquiry,' he added with a nod to his intellectual friend, 'I think it may be time to remedy that situation, don't you agree?'

He promptly grabbed what used to be his forearm and twisted it sharply around; without the bones, he met no protestation, the lifeless limb easily twisting until its underside faced upwards. Still grasping his arm firmly, so it wouldn't unwind itself, Harry unceremoniously lifted his arm to his face, and with much relish ran his tongue across the rough skin of his elbow. The group huddled around Harry's bed stood dumbstruck for just a moment, staring down with incredulity at Harry's smug expression of extreme accomplishment. The silence was broken by a hearty chuckle from Ron, clapping his hand down on Harry's shoulder in mirth.

Hermione rolled her eyes with a grin as the people around her broke into a mixture of laughter and groans of exasperation and repulsion. She turned to see a sickened-looking Lavender speedily exiting the wing with Parvati, while Fred and George scrambled to Harry's side to shake his hand- of course deigning to shake the boneless appendage, sending jiggling waves down to his shoulder. Wood had taken to talking to his three chasers, having heard Madam Pomfrey's prognosis and seen Harry's light hearted joking as evidence for the general wellbeing of his game-winning seeker, his mind once more turned back to the game he was yet to properly analyse.

It was to this babbling, laughing crowd that Madam Pomfrey returned, a fresh cup of Skele-grow in hand, smoking slightly over the rim of the glass. She was loathe to break up the uncommonly jovial scene in her hospital, so often associated with some form of suffering; yet she was more unsettled at the idea of leaving a patient unattended, so she quickly pushed aside any unprofessional feelings, however kind hearted they may have been, and bustled into the midst of her students. She did allow a smile to briefly soften her face at the sight of Mr Potter, so world-worn and caught up amidst unforseen dangers in the school when she last had him in her care, grinning childishly up at his friends, patiently allowing the Weasley twins to corkscrew his flaccid arm in increasingly tighter circles. Allowing himself, for once, to be a child, a twelve year old boy who was not defined by his gloomy past, but by boyish things, by playing sport, getting caked in mud and body humour. And as his arm swivelled rapidly out of its corkscrew, the slapping sounds sending the boys cackling and the girls' eyes rolling, the matron allowed a sliver of optimism into her heart. Maybe this year could be a little less sombre; heaven knows the end to the last school year had been terrible enough. But she narrowed her eyes at the children clad in bright red robes that surrounded her; with that infernal game still being played, she knew she would never get any peace.

_**Enjoy the irony of a complacent Madam Pomfrey the afternoon before our first human is petrified. **_


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