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It was a summer afternoon, and Harry Potter was walking down the streets, in a considerably devious mood.

He clenched a pound in his sweaty hand, and was prepared to blow it off on some junk. Harry scanned the street corners and saw an alarming sight – Hagrid, squished inside a giant cardboard lemonade stand, which read in sloppy writing,

By sum Rotted totos! (Tomatoes)

Fromm Hagrid!

Why was Hagrid here? Why was he selling rotten tomatoes? Can I get away before he sees me? The thoughts whizzed through Harry's head, as fast as lightning.

“ 'Arry! I got some totos for yeh!” Hagrid bellowed when he saw Harry, who was gaping at the stand, along with about twenty other Muggles.

“Escaped from the asylum?” one tittered.

“The circus?” another snickered.

“I'm buying no nuthin' from him, I'm telling you!” A little girl exclaimed.

Harry rolled his emerald-green eyes and started walking across the street to Hagrid's tomato stand, his cheeks turning slightly red. Harry brushed his sweaty black bangs out of his eyes as he walked.

Apparently, the ten-second wait was too much suspense for Hagrid, because he began to cry in earnest.

“Why are you bloody crying, Hagrid?” asked Harry when he reached the sobbing half-giant. He grimaced at the thought of being seen with Hagrid, then patted his elbow.

Hagrid sniffed. More people were watching them now.

“Oh, nuthin'. I'm just sad, yeh know – I'm finding tha' not everyone likes rotten tomatoes. Unexpected, eh?”

Surprise, surprise,” Harry muttered under his breath. “How much are the bloody tomatoes, Hagrid?” he asked in a slightly louder voice. Hagrid stared at him. “I dunno, I 'aven't worked tha' bit out yet,” he muttered. “And it's toto's, not tomatoes!”

Harry bought twenty rotted tomatoes, and a red wagon to lug bit all home, for a whole knut he found in his shoe.

Hagrid cried again, but this time of happiness.

“Bye, Hagrid!” Harry called as he began to wheel the wagon away from the spectacle called Hagrid. Hagrid waved back enthusiastically, and accidentally whacked a red-faced boy in the face.

“AUG! I HATE THIS COUNTRY!” the boy shrieked, and kicked the cardboard tomato stand, which of course, collapsed instantly.

Hagrid ran after the screaming boy, and out of sight.

Harry snickered, stile feeling vile and resentful with the world. He rolled the wagon home, and it was dark by the time he returned to Privet Drive, because the wagon was so full.

Harry gazed at his sixteen-year-old self in the refection of a window as he passed it, not immediately noticing the cold, creeping sensation, blocking out the moon and stars and lights......

When he finally glanced up, Harry found himself face-to-face with a dementor.

He did the only natural thing, and threw a rotten tomato from the top of his wagon at the dementor. It splattered against the dementor's cloak, near the face-hole.

“EW!” the dementor screamed. Yes, apparently dementors CAN scream if they want to, Harry found out.

It made sense, rotten tomatoes bring out the worst in everyone.

“I'm telling!” the dementor glided away as fast as it could. Harry laughed, and reached the doorstep of Number 4, Privet Drive safely.

Since the Dursley's were watching television, Harry was able to get the wagon up to his bedroom without being questioned as to why he had a wagon of rotten tomatoes with him.

Sitting in his room that night, Harry wondered what he would do with the tomatoes. The answer came to him in a sudden strike of awesomeness.

He would make Dumbledore think up something, as usual.

Harry powered on his magic-powered super computer. Dumbledore had given him one, as a reward for being “the prophecy kid”. Whatever THAT meant, but it had something to do with a stupid little glass ball Harry saw once at a building somewhere....

He was sure Dumbledore had told him about the prophecy, but why would Harry listen?

He had more important things to do, like take over the world and cheat a half-giant out of a few pounds.

Harry logged on to chat, and saw Dumbledore's screen name, BumbleDor.

BumbleDor: Hello there, Harry!

ScarPotter12: Hi. Whats up?

BumbleDor: Absolutely nothing, pal. Now, what problems in my life have you come to whine about so I can fix them?

ScarPotter12: Hagrid gave me rotten tomatoes!!!!!!! :( Or, totos, as he calls them.

BumbleDor: Ew, thats not right. Hagrid has some issues. He is mentally unstable, eh?

ScarPotter12: Tell me about it. Whoa, genius strike! Genius strike! Can you make the tomatoes into ketchup? Please?

BumbleDor: Oh, very well, but for five galleons.

ScarPotter12: OH MUDBLOOD! Fine. I am, after all, the Prophecy Kid.

BumbleDor: Now now, Harry, I thought we talked about that!

ScarPotter12: What WAS that bloody ball all about, anyway?




BumbleDor: Sorry.

BumbleDor has signed off.

Grape_Da_Snape has signed off.

ScarPotter12 has signed off.

Harry smiled. Hagrid had better watch out. Here comes Harry.

* * *

Harry woke early the next morning to find his new wagon filled with bottles of ketchup. They were perfect.

Dumbledore had done it again. Harry must remember to thank him, eventually. However, he had already forgotten who'd made the ketchup. He'd done all the hard thinking though, right?

Harry leaped out of bed and hurriedly dressed, brushed his teeth, and dragged the wagon downstairs. It was Saturday, and the Dursley's were still asleep.

After a hasty breakfast consisting of a piece of cheese and eggs with ketchup, Harry went as fast as his legs could carry him, out the door, and to Hagrid's street corner.

Sure enough, there was Hagrid, and by the looks of it, he hadn't gotten another sale.

Five minutes later, Harry had sold his ketchup bottles to Hagrid for 20 galleons a bottle!

Harry wasn't sure where Hagrid had gotten that much money, but didn't ask. As usual, he didn't care.

Harry and Hagrid both walked home with a smile on their faces that night, but for entirely different reasons.

A/N: So, did you like it? I've never done a humor fic before. Please review!


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