WARNING: This story is insane, as I am.
You've been warned, my friend, you have been warned.
Harry Potter stepped out of his giant mansion, his two burly foreign bodyguards at his sides.
His butler led him to his limousine and opened the door.
Harry nodded respectfully, and climbed into his limo.
Ah, it was good to be rich.
Not to mention famous.
All thanks to JK Rowling, the woman who had created him and inserted him in a bestseller novel series.
But more importantly, thanks to Warner Bros, who directed all his fabulous chart-topping high-grossing movies.
Harry was quite spoilt, being the super-wealthy, known-by-everyone hot snot he was.
He was heading to a special meeting in London, where he would discuss with the Warner Bros executives all the details of the next movie, soon to be filmed.
He would meet his almost equally rich snobby friends, Hermione and Ron, again.
Harry sighed happily and brought his Starbucks Frappucino to his so-called "handsome" lips.
Ah, it was good to be rich, Harry thought again.
And not to mention famous.
Soon the limousine arrived at a tall building in London.
Harry stepped out of the limo door. "Oh God," he whispered.
Word had gotten out about the meeting. The paparazzi closed in on Harry.
"Mr. Potter, who will be the director for the next movie?"
"When will it be filmed?"
"How successful do you think this movie will be?"
"Are you excited about working with Warner Bros again?"
"Look over here, Mr. Potter!"
"Smile for the camera, Harry!"
"Say CHEESE!"
Camera flashes blinded Harry. Microphones were harshly shoved in his face.
"Paolo! Ricardo!" Harry called into the limo.
The two burly body guards stepped out of the limousine.
The smarter paparazzi ran for their lives, but most stayed.
Paolo, one of the foreign bodyguard giants, lifted a paparazzi into the air. He squeezed the air out of the cameraman, and then handed him to the other bodyguard, Ricardo. Ricardo took the paparazzi and smashed his head onto the ground. A mind-dulling skull-cracking sound pierced the air, and the rest of the paparazzi ran away screaming. Paolo threw the dead man onto the road.
"My gratitude, Paolo, Ricardo," Harry nodded toward the bodyguards.
"Ah, it's no provlem, Havvy," Paolo replied in a heavy Italianish accent.
"It's our job, Havvy," Ricardo added, in the same accent.
Harry walked into the building through the revolving doors, Paolo and Ricardo at his sides.
A/N: I know this chappie isn't all that funny, but I promise the next one will be! Not too much plot at the moment, and I know Paolo and Ricardo are stupid and foreign, and they have nothing to do with the story that much, but I thought they were funny and they were created to emphasize the point that Harry's a rich and spoilt brat.