A/N: Uh, hey. Yeah, don't ask me where this came from.

A while back, I had a problem with my computer's hard drive or something, and all my documents got deleted. So the really awesome, long, epic and funny fanfiction that I REALLY DO SWEAR I WAS WORKING ON got deleted.

So instead, you get this.

Enjoy.

DISCLAIMER: I don't bloody own Harry Potter or Soothers or ANYTHING, okay?! The only thing I own is a sandwich full of pocket lint named Beelzibub.

It was some day or another in the amazingly boring castle of Hogwarts (I hear you ask, "How can a castle full of witches, wizards, elves and other wonderful magical things be boring in the slightest?" and to that I answer, because once you're used to the witches, wizards, elves and other wonderful magical things, life in Hogwarts gets incredibly dull. Anyway, on with the story.) and after several high-volume shouting matches about hair products that had left his throat very raw, Draco Malfoy sat in the Slytherin common room, sucking on a Soother. Yes, they were muggle sweets, but he could tolerate them as long as they did what the packet said they would do and relieve his sore throat.

In his hand he held a book entitled Twenty-Six Point Three Half Decent Reasons Why Purebloods are Infinitely Better than Muggleborns, but he was far from concentrating on the page he'd been staring at it with glazed eyes for over ten minutes. The reason he wasn't taking in the information the book was trying to provide was because he'd been overcome with the very strange desire to dance on the very top of Gryffindor tower. 'Oh, yes,' he thought maliciously, 'that'll certainly piss off several unimportant people. Plus it's better than reading this insufferable book that my father got me for my birthday a few weeks back. Seriously, who gets their son a book for their birthday? I was expecting new robes or a new broom or maybe a pony...'

With a sigh, he ended his fantastically interesting inner monologue and heaved himself up, crushing the Soother in his mouth with his molars and swallowing the shards of the purple sweet. He hummed merrily under his breath as he exited the common room and made his way into the entrance hall.

--

Whilst Draco went through the huge Entrance Hall doors to retrieve his Nimbus 2001 from the broom shed near the Quiddich pitches, a certain greasy haired Potions master spied on him from the banister of the staircase.

"I do hope he's bothered to complete his Potions essay this time," Snape sighed to himself. He raised an eyebrow when he realised what he'd just said. "My God, I really have become a boring old git."

He then proceeded to his office to get very drunk indeed, if only to help him feel young again.

--

Draco shuddered with excitement as he mounted his broom and prepared to take off. Oh, how fun this was going to be! He could just imagine the look on his friend's faces when he told them, "Well last night, I danced on top of Gryffindor tower!"

He took off with a loud, "SQUEE!" and zoomed upwards, just high enough to skim the clouds with the top of his head, and then dive-bombed towards Gryffindor tower, yelling all sorts of profanity as loudly as he could.

He leapt off of his Nimbus 2001 as he reached the tower, letting the broom fall down from a tremendous height and splat into the mud far below.

"I win at life!" he exclaimed, and then randomly began to dance.

Draco wasn't the best dancer. His arms and legs jutted out at odd angles and his face took on a weird, crazed expression. Once he had danced in front of Pansy at a party when they were about nine and she had gone into hysterics at the sight of his face, exclaiming, "You look like a jellyfish!"

What that meant he didn't know, but Draco Malfoy kept on dancing just because he felt like it.

"Er, Malfoy? What the hell are you doing?"

Draco spun around (and nearly fell to his untimely demise in the process) and stared at the intruder.

It was Harry Potter, clutching his broomstick and a packet of cigarettes, looking very startled indeed.

"Oh God," said Draco, panicking. "Er, you weren't supposed to see that."

"If I wasn't supposed to see it, then why on earth were you doing a spaz dance on my tower?" cried Harry.

Draco bit his lip. "...Because I felt like it?"

"Go away!" said Harry, swatting at him.

"No, you go away! I was here first!" Draco exclaimed indignantly.

"It's my bloody tower!" Harry roared.

The two faced each other with dark expressions for just under a minute, and then threw themselves at each other, flailing their arms in some sort of impression of a windmill.

After a few moments of crazy spaz flailing, Harry seemed to remember that he had his wand. He whipped it out of his trouser pocket and pressed the tip hard against Draco's cheek.

"Owwww!" Draco groaned.

"Good!" said Harry. "Why did you even come up here?"

"I told you, because I felt like it!" said Draco, rubbing his cheek. There was a mark where Harry's wand had pressed into it. Harry tried not to feel too smug.

"Well, I'm up here to have a fag. Go practise your seizures or whatever somewhere else." Harry pulled out a cigarette and lit it with a flick of his wand.

"Fine, it smells funny up here anyway," Draco retorted rather lamely. Suddenly he realised he was stuck up there without his broom. "Er, my broom is kind of all the way down there..."

"Well get it and leave, then," said Harry, taking a long drag.

"...I can't reach."

"Oh, for God's sake," moaned Harry, facepalming. "Are you a wizard or what?" He stuck his cigarette between his teeth, pulled out his own wand and pointed it towards the broom on the ground. "Accio broom." The broom twitched, and then sped towards them, flying into Harry's outstretched hand.

Draco sneered and snatched the broom from Harry. "Whatever, Potter." He mounted his Nimbus 2001 and flew back down to the broom shed.

Harry smirked and popped a purple sweet into his mouth.

"Too bad for him; I managed to nick his Soothers."

YES. INDEED.

Please review, or Harry will steal your Soothers too.

I am my own Beta. I am also a very bad Beta. So yeah, if there's any kind of mistake, then I don't care. Stfu.

And if Adria's reading this, I fricken love you. But I WON'T marry you because you fail.

Buh bye.