Oooh, another chapter. I kept all of you waiting, your fingers poised to review, I know. Now that I've released you from that terrible imprisonment feel free to actually click those lovely little buttons and leave lovely little reviews telling me how much you loved, hated, or were ambivalent about my story. Please?
"Fees? Fees! Who says I even want your help, Malfoy, much less want to pay you for it?"
Draco finished ordering his own drink with orders to put it on Harry's tab before turning back to his companion with a calm and derisive look on his face. "Potter, for once in your miserable little life, think. Do you truly want your return to the Wizarding World to be nothing but lights, cameras, interviews and never a moment of peace? That's what it's set to be right now. Even you must realize this. You disappeared for years and yet you expect to be able to slip back into society without so much as a ripple.
"You're famous. You are an icon. Little boys dress up as you and pretend to cast spells with their toy wands at other little boys, vanquishing the dark lord all over again. And as much as the thought sickens me it remains true day after day as the same little boys play their same little games even as the adults play their own games, searching in vain for your body, reading the hopeful articles in the newspapers and all the time venerating your dead and rotting carcass. Which, unfortunately," he added wryly, "is neither dead nor rotting."
Harry sank down on his stool, resting his head in his hands, and groaned slightly. "Why does it all have to be so difficult?"
Draco turned to the barkeep, "I would like to take a room here, one with at least two chairs, two beds, a table, and I would appreciate it if you would provide us with some parchment, a quill and ink. No, no. I don't want your room, any regular one will do just fine. Thank you. Come along, Potter."
Harry followed Draco meekly up the stairs, not saying a word. They entered the room Draco had asked for and he sat down in one of the chairs, chewing his lower lip thoughtfully.
The room was a fairly standard double room, sparsely furnished yet indelibly comfortable. It was a far cry from Harry's muggle apartment and he reveled in what to him now passed for luxury as he sat in one of the two chairs.
Before a word was spoken a boy ran into the room, arms laden with parchment and quills. He set them on the table along with a stoppered bottle of ink he pulled out of his pocket, bowed deeply to a surprised Harry and ran out of the room. The two men listened to the sound of his footsteps fade away as he descended the wooden staircase.
"All right." Harry jumped as Draco abruptly broke the silence. "We've got some work to do here, Potter. First let me congratulate you on not having said or done anything particularly stupid during your first half hour back in this godforsaken part of the world. Secondly, let me tell you that if you happen to do or say anything stupid that I haven't expressly ordered you to do or say I will personally hang you by your ankles and flay you. Are we clear?"
Draco waited for Harry's apprehensive nod before continuing with his tirade. "Very well. Now let me make something else very clear. I am not doing this for you. I don't even like you. I find this overdone appreciation of your 'great exploit' sickening. I am doing this for money and perhaps even a little bit of regained respect. I would like," he said bitterly, "to be able to walk into a store and be treated with some small respect, even mere acknowledgement of my presence would be appreciated. Pathetic though it may be you are the most contact I have had with any wizard for the past several years.
"Now I am not going to be your secretary, watchdog, or otherwise personal assistant. I will arrange interviews, make up some hogwash story of where you've been for you to spout at those interviews, and generally take advantage of the situation. If you don't like that I'll leave now and you can deal with the, erm, ravenous hordes by yourself."
Harry blinked once and agreed with an indifferent shrug.
"Excellent. Now go and amuse yourself. Your fans await you."
A few moments later Harry was walking nervously out into Diagon Alley, headed in the direction of one place he sincerely hoped was still around. Sure enough he rounded a corner and caught a glimpse of bright flashing signs and a chattering crowd.
Peering over the vulture hat of a woman in front of him he confirmed that it was indeed the Weasleys' shop, unchanged despite the years it had been since he last set foot inside. The only remarkable difference was that the posters had been replaced for newer, more vulgar ones advertising all manner of aids for the casual practical joker.
When he reached the store he cast caution to the winds and stepped inside, not caring about the growing crowd that had been following him since he'd left the inn.
He stood on tiptoes, wishing not for the first time that he was taller, and looked around anxiously for a red head of hair. After a moment he saw one. "Fred!"
It turned. "I'm George, but how may I help...Harry?"
"In the flesh."