Disclaimer: See previous chapter.
Chapter Two: Never trust men with beards, unless they pay you to do so.
The alley was littered with a grey display of empty bottles, cigarettes boxes, and (in some cases) people, as Harry hurried down the concrete slabs. Privet Drive may be famous for its general nastiness and excessive raving, but in Harry's mind it should've won a prize for sheer bleakness. Not a splash of colour could he see as he walked head down against the wind, save the clothes the women who hung around on every street wore (and frankly, Harry wished they didn't. Bright orange mini skirts, turquoise heels, florescent pink crop-tops were truly far more offensive than any of the language you could find on Privet Drive, and gave you worse headaches).
It came as shock, as he stepped out of the network alleys into the main road, to discover the sun was in fact out. You began to forget it even existed, after spending too long in among the maze of grey concrete towers, and now he squinted against the glare as he re-read the beer-mat, and then hurried in the appropriate direction- and ran right into a seemingly innocent by-stander
"Whoa! Sorry man, I didn't see you there!" gasped Harry, staggering.
"Watch where you're fucking going, man," snarled the by-stander, glaring at Harry and tossing his head as he swaggered past.
"What?" exclaimed Harry, staring with outrage at the back blond. "Yeah. Well. Fuck you!"
The by-stander turned his head slightly, and laughed and probably swore back, but he was far away now, just a departing figure in the general masses… just a flash of blonde hair… just a speck in the distance… then he turned a corner, and was gone.
Harry blinked, and laughed too, realising how stupid he probably looked standing in the middle of the pavement with smeared make-up, gawping into the middle distance.
"Asshole," he muttered, grinning to himself and hurrying on down the road lined with tall glass buildings and posh offices.
*
10 minutes later Harry was safe inside a shabby bar, and felt a lot more at home in the suitably dingy atmosphere. He got a beer, and then settled in a dark and smoky corner to wait. And if the guy didn't turn up, he could always drink himself into oblivion which was just as fun.
"I wouldn' get too comfortable, mate," said a voice in his ear.
Harry spluttered, snorted beer all over his jacket, and fell off his stool; how horrifically embarrassing.
"Fuck," gasped Harry, staring up at the dark overcoat that he could only assume contained the Beard Guy. "Fuck, man. What you trying to do? Give me a heart-attack?"
"No," said the overcoat blandly, taking a slurp from Harry's beer. "Just freak ya out suffic'ntly."
Harry raised an eyebrow, choosing not to dignify the overcoat with an answer, and snatched his beer back possessively. The overcoat laughed mildly, and sat down opposite Harry, a glint of an eye just visible and clearly fixed on the teen. How on Earth could he be held to meeting people he'd agreed to meet whilst so drunk he couldn't open doors? It was amazingly unfair, and this overcoat guy was freaky. He was still staring.
"Yeah, right. So what's this about man? 'Cause I've got a busy schedule and it says on this beer mat you only wanna talk," Harry waved the beer mat to emphasise his point, glaring at the overcoat/beard.
"Oh, no doubt ya have. No doubt ya have," said the overcoat with what sounded like a grin. "But I'm far more important than any schedule yer've had in yer 'ole life. Even," he added, seeing Harry open his mouth. "more important than that rich business guy yer… saw to a few months back."
"What the fuck? How…?"
"Oh, I know everything about you, Mr. Potter. We all do…"
"Yeah, right," said Harry again, slowly standing up. "But believe it or not, I don't have time for some freaky-deaky stalker and his pals. So I'm gonna go now, and you aren't gonna bother me again, got that?"
"Quite, Potter," sighed the overcoat, sounding for all the world like a disappointed school teacher. "Ya do that. Sure. Whatever. Walk away from the most life changin' thing to've ever happened to anyone, least of all yer. Not my problem. I've got a busy schedule. Other people more important and more interested to see to. Don't wanna be wastin' me time with you, mate."
Harry sighed, slowing down on his walk to the door. Then, cursing himself and the overcoat guy and Petunia for having reminded him, he turned around and slowly walked back to the table.
"Alright, fine, whatever. You've guilted me into it. But this better worth my while, mate," he hissed, sitting back down in the recently vacated chair.
The overcoat grinned, fumbling in its deep pockets.
"This worth enough for you, mate?" it chuckled, throwing a small brown bag onto the dusty table. Harry raised an eyebrow, and picked the bag up cautiously, half expecting it to explode or something. It clinked the dull kind of clink money makes when it knows it doesn't have to make loads of noise to sound expensive. Harry blinked, and glanced up at the overcoat guy.
"It's yours," said the overcoat. "And there's more where that came from. Now do you trust me?"
Harry grinned, "Hell, yeah!"