Disclaimer: No, I don't own Harry Potter. JK Rowling does. Lucky woman.
Summery: We all have our problems; procrastination, depression, anxiety. It just so happens that Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter both suffer from extreme anger issues. Or at least, Dr. Gerald Wynter seems to think so. Join Harry and Draco as they are wrongly accused of suffering from deep-rooted anger and forced to attend anger management classes, eventually learning how to control their rage, how to express it in a healthy way, and maybe even how to…get along? Implied Slash (but not real slash, sorry)
A/N: Yes ladies and gentlemen, I'm at it again! But don't worry; I'll try my best to update Divine Torment, just saving up on my creative juices is all.
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All was peaceful at Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The sun had just risen from its hiding place, just behind the distant mountains, causing an orange glow to invade the inky blackness of night. The Lake was unusually calm, its glassy surface unperturbed by any restless sea creatures. The Forbidden Forrest was also serene, not even the sound of ruffling trees invaded the unearthly silence. Within Hogwarts was a tranquil stillness, absent of its usual hustling and bustling. The halls were completely empty, and one could tell that all the occupants of the castle were still tucked in their nice warm beds, blissfully unaware of anything other than their dreams-
"WHAT THE HELL?"
Or not.
The sound of the thunderous yell plagued the pristine silence, causing many a student to wake up with a start.
A/N: Whoops, I'm getting a wee bit ahead of myself. Better rewind here. Hits rewind button. Okay, here we go.
One Day Earlier...
Draco Malfoy had been having an unusually good day. He had woken up refreshed, told off Potter and Friends a couple times, earned house points from Snape for no apparent reason, tormented Longbottom during Potions, and even got the chance to aggravate Potter a bit more after lunch. Ah yes, life was good. At least, in the world of Draco Malfoy. But we all know that never lasts long, right?
Draco was just casually sauntering down the halls, humming a little tune, and searching for innocent first or second years to prey upon when he heard a strange sound emitting from the broom closet a few feet from his shoes.
Curious, Draco halted in front of the door, debating whether to open it or not. It could be that someone stuffed some barmy monster in there, thought Draco warily. Or…it could be Potter!
The temptation was too great. With his prefect badge Draco could easily punish Saint Potter, take points off his bloody Gryffindork house, and maybe even give him detention for a month! Or better yet, for the rest of his life!
Eager to punish Harry Potter for doing noisy things in broom closets, Draco quickly flung open the door, a horrendous sight meeting his eyes.
There, smothered against the school broomsticks and the empty potion jars, was none other than Blaise Zabini passionately snogging the pants off a blonde, and rather large-chested Ravenclaw.
Draco's mouth flew open in a silent scream as he instantly stepped back, suddenly realizing with distaste whom exactly was in the broom closet and what they were doing.
A/N: hits pause button. Now, let's get one thing straight: kissing was most certainly not a foreign thing to Draco Malfoy. In fact, Draco Malfoy spent about two thirds of his life kissing random girls (no, he's not gay in this fic). The thing was; he usually was one of the people doing the kissing, not the one watching someone else do it, least of all a fellow Slytherin. So, when Draco unwittingly stumbled across Blaise Zabini passionately snogging the pants off a blonde and rather large-chested Ravenclaw, you can imagine that he panicked. However, it could have been much worse for our young Slytherin; he could have found Blaise Zabini passionately snogging the pants off of, not a young sexy girl, but rather, a more…confused…male. In all honesty, Draco was surprised; he suspected Blaise of being gay for some time now.
Now, where were we? Oh yes…
"What the in bleeding hell do you think you're doing, Zabini?" exclaimed Draco furiously, frantically rubbing his eyes. "I'm going to have to burn my eyes out!"
Draco heard what sounded like a very wet plunger being pulled from the ground and he cautiously opened his eyes.
"Sod off, Malfoy," snapped Blaise irritably, looking quite peeved at the interruption. "Don't you have better things to do then disrupt our study sessions?"
"Study…sessions?" asked Draco skeptically, sending the pair one of his trademark Malfoy Smirks.
The girl glared at him defiantly. "Yes, and I was learning a lot too, until you showed up."
"Yeah, so get lost, Malfoy," sneered Blaise, tousling his already disheveled black hair. "That is, unless you want to join in…" Blaise waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
Draco wrinkled his posh nose in disgust. "In your dreams, you bloody pansy. Now, seeing as I'm a prefect, I believe it is my duty to give the both of you detention for…doing…such things…in broom closets!"
Draco held up his hand when Zabini and the girl started to protest. "But, since I'm so nice-" Here Blaise scoffed. "-I'll give you a chance. So you-" Draco pointed at the girl. "-take your nice-looking arse and get lost."
The girl pouted.
"Should I take points from Ravenclaw?" threatened Draco, pointing to his shiny badge.
She shook her head.
"I didn't think so. So bloody leave already."
The girl glowered murderously at Draco as she brushed past him, nose in the air.
"Now what'd you have to go and do that for?" asked Blaise grumpily, picking himself off the ground. "You sound just like Mudblood Granger."
Draco scowled at him. "Now, there's no need to compare me with such filth, Zabini. Besides, I'd bet my ridiculously expensive broomstick that you're only jealous of my prefect privileges."
"And what? Spend time sulking around the hallways when I could be snogging beautiful girls?"
Draco sneered. "Girls, Zabini? And here I thought you always played on the other Quidditch team, if you know what I mean."
"Aww, Malfoy," smirked Blaise. "I never knew you fancied me so much. Is the infamous Draco Malfoy feeling a bit lonely today? So sorry, Malfoy, but I can't help you there."
"Stuff it, Zabini."
"Now, now, Draki-poo, there's no need for such rudeness. Rejection is a natural part of life, you know."
Draco scowled. "Don't flatter yourself."
"Perish the thought! I was only trying to comfort you in your time of need."
"Zabini…" growled Draco threateningly, giving him a glare that would frighten even the most ferociously offended hippogriff (heh, he should have used that glare in third year, eh?).
However, Blaise seemed impervious to such looks, and continued his monologue happily as the two of them began to walk.
"Really, Malfoy, it's okay, you can say it: 'my name is Draco Malfoy and I have a problem: I hate my life and wish I had someone to love me and take care of me.'"
"Go shove a bloody spoon down your throat, Zabini; I do not have a problem!"
"They say denial is the first sign of insanity."
Draco Malfoy rubbed his forehead, feeling a throbbing headache coming on. He bitterly cursed his irritating friend, mourning the loss of his seemingly good day.
It was almost time for dinner, and both thought it best if they headed down to the Great Hall, since they both were starving.
Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini sauntered side-by-side, Draco glaring at anyone who dared smile or even glance in his direction, while Blaise winked and waggled his eyebrows at nearly every girl he passed. Both conveyed the impression that they were wealthy, pure-bred Slytherins, and damn proud of it too. And as they walked together, one could see that their looks completely contradicted one another, for while Draco was pale and possessed silvery blonde hair and icy grey eyes, Blaise had dark skin and thick ebony hair. One was light, the other was dark, but despite their contradicting appearance, both were equally wicked, cunning, and aristocratically handsome.
They both took their places at the Slytherin table, supper appearing on the serving plates as they seated themselves.
Meanwhile, momentarily unbeknownst to Draco Malfoy, a boy by the name of Harry Potter unwittingly seated himself directly in said Slytherin's line of sight. It wasn't until Draco was helping himself to the mashed potatoes (rather watery though they were in Draco's opinion. Really, these house elves were, in all honesty, really letting themselves go lately) that he noticed the Gryffindor Hero Boy, bloody show-off that he was.
Draco's eyes narrowed viciously, glowering at the back of Harry Potter's head. It was obvious to Draco that it was, in fact, the back of Harry Potter's head bobbing idiotically in front him. His black, notoriously tousled hair was unmistakable; Draco could recognize it anywhere. Not that he stared at Potter's head or anything, hell no. It was just that his hair was so black and so messy that you'd have be completely dim-witted to be incapable of comprehending that it was Harry Potter standing in front of you, and not some soiled mop. Though the resemblance was remarkable, Draco had to admit.
Pursing his lips as if he had just swallowed a lemon whole, Draco pushed his mashed potato-filled plate away from him, losing his appetite immediately. There was something about that boy that made him want to hurl. Now what could that be…? Maybe, his do-goodie, Gryffindor hero-complex? Or his complete lack of any brain cells? Or even his I'm-so-hurt-and-alone-because-some-maniac-killed-my-parents-and-now-he's-out-to-get-me act? Try all of the above.
Because, really, Harry Potter was not particularly special, besides the whole Lord-Voldemort-Out-To-Get-Him thing. Anyone with eyes could see that the boy was an attention-starved twit. Why did everyone feel the need to baby him? Draco certainly didn't know. Since everyone else pampered Potter, there had to be someone else to hate him (Dark Lords aside), right? Draco figured it might as well be him.
So, now that we have successfully established Draco's everlasting hatred for Harry, let's get on with the story, shall we?
Draco continued to glare hatefully at Harry Potter's head, furtively wishing it would miraculously explode somehow, when Blaise Zabini looked up from his plate and noticed Draco's staring contest with Potter's hair.
Now normally Blaise would simply pass it off as Draco envisioning his secret fantasy for really cool, black hair (much like his own), for what else could it be? He knew of Draco's jealousy for a long time, and he felt rather sorry for the poor albino. He was such a prissy Drama Queen all the time; Blaise could only assume that it was some sort of perverse cover for Draco's deep-rooted envy for his incredible good looks. Who wasn't exceedingly envious of his good looks, after all? But, nonetheless, Blaise decided to have a bit of fun with Draco's stupor.
Noticing that Draco's hand was placed conveniently next to a large bowl of watery cranberry sauce, Blaise grinned wickedly, already forming a nice little plan in his twisted, yet devilishly good-looking, head.
Draco, meanwhile, was imagining various ways to drown, torture, destroy, and ultimately become the cause of the Great Harry Potter's demise. He did not notice the way Blaise's lips curled into a smile like that of a madman, nor did he perceive the action of Blaise's head moving very close to his ear. And, quite ironically, Draco suffered the consequences of his actions (at least, the ones he envisioned in his mind's eye).
"DRACO MALFOY, YOUR FAMILY HAS GONE BANKRUPT AND YOU'VE LOST ALL YOUR EXPENSIVE HAIR PRODUCTS IN A VERY LARGE FIRE THAT OCCURRED IN YOUR DORM ROOM!!!"
Draco screamed like a sissy girl as his hands flew up in a panic, knocking over the cranberry sauce bowl, the contents of which immediately spilling out into the lap of none other than Marcus Flint.
Understandably startled, Marcus gazed down at his lap, slowly coming to the conclusion that someone had spilt the cranberry sauce on his pants. Growling menacingly as he looked up, he found himself glaring at the frightened and rather guilty-looking face of Draco Malfoy, and the delighted face of Blaise Zabini.
Smiling weakly, Draco gave a little wave of his hands.
Marcus's face grew furious as he identified the person who had soiled his brand new pants, vision blurring until all he saw was the frantic face of Draco Malfoy sitting in across from him. Draco Malfoy who was going to beg for mercy. Draco Malfoy who was going to pay for ruining his new trousers. Draco Malfoy who looked about ready to soil his own pants. Marcus Flint was glad to be the cause of such an event. He never really liked the little ferret anyway.
Marcus grabbed a handful of the mashed potatoes in front of him, hurling it straight at Draco's head. But, since Draco was gifted with abnormally fast reflexes (it wasn't only his father's money that got him the position of Slytherin Seeker, you know), he quickly ducked as the mass of potatoes hurtled over him, colliding into the back of an ill-fated and very vengeful Justin Finch-Fletchley's head.
Feeling the impact of the popular food dish being thrust into his hair, Justin turned around, immediately snatching up a plate of biscuits and throwing them at as many Slytherin heads that he could spot, also hitting a few Gryffindors in the process.
And thus began the legendary Hogwarts Food Fight.
In minutes the food fight spread throughout the Great Hall as fast as gossip in a girl's dorm room. Students were hurling plates of peas and dishes of turkey and gravy at each other everywhere while the Hogwarts Staff, powerless to stop it, yelled themselves hoarse as everybody else ignored them. Although, many of the staff, including Dumbledore himself, happily joined in as the fight became fiercer and fiercer.
Draco Malfoy growled angrily as his pristine robes were splattered with pumpkin juice, all the while ducking and dodging the many food dishes that were tossed his way.
Bloody Gryffindors probably, thought Draco furiously. He turned to Blaise next to him, who was chucking sausages at everyone within a 20-foot range, cackling gleefully. Draco smacked the back of Blaise's head, causing Blaise to drop the pile of sausages he held in his arms.
"Ow!" yelped Blaise, rubbing his head. "What was that for?"
"For being the cause of this, you fop," sneered Draco. "Come on, let's get out of here."
Draco quickly ducked and dived under the Slytherin table, pushing a few first years out of his way as Blaise grumbled grumpily, following Draco's lead. The two Slytherins crawled their way through the Great Hall, Draco desperately searching for an exit and Blaise purposely tripping people as they did so.
But alas, our antiheros could not find the way out, for the air was filled with masses of food being hurled in all directions, and bodies of unconscious students blocking their way. It was as if the Great Hall had become a war zone; students fighting valiantly against other houses, professors trying desperately to stop the downpour of edible ammunition with charms and spells, first years sobbing for their mothers here and there.
Suddenly, as Draco began to realize that his hair would never be the same again, he spotted three familiar pairs shoes under his nose; a pair of polished Mary Janes, a pair of Chudley Cannon sneakers, and a pair of rancid old tennis shoes that could only belong to…
Harry Potter.
Draco Malfoy was sure he was going to perish in this hellish reenactment of World War II, and he decided that if he was going to go down, he might as well take Harry Potter with him.
Everything else but Draco's hatred was instantly forgotten, and Draco vehemently tackled Harry's shins, forcing Harry to the ground. Harry cried out, but his misfortune was unbeknownst to his friends, for the Great Hall was already filled with the sound of screams, maniacal laughter, and the occasional battle cry.
Breathing heavily, the dark-haired boy scooped up a handful of food and smeared it all over his attacker's triumphant face. Draco sputtered, putting a hand to his hair. Draco's moment of weakness was all Harry needed and he pinned Draco down, hands holding down Draco's wrists.
Unable to do anything but hopelessly kick the thin air, Draco smirked. "Why Potter, I didn't know you were so keen on shagging me. But if you don't mind, I'd rather go on top."
Disgusted, Harry immediately withdrew, giving Draco the chance to pounce back on top of him, much to Harry's horror.
"Now then, isn't this better?" asked Draco, smirking triumphantly.
"Shove off, Malfoy!" spat Harry, furiously trying to wiggle his way out from under the Slytherin's body.
"You never were the most articulate with words, Potty. But I suppose hanging around mudbloods does have that effect."
Harry's face flushed a deep red, but he recovered quickly and a sneer soon graced his features as he said, "How's your father doing in Azkaban, Malfoy? I expect you won't be getting any new broomsticks for a while?"
"At least my father's alive, you infuriating poof!" jeered Malfoy, jabbing his foot into Harry's knee.
"Not for long, most likely."
And with that Harry kneed Malfoy in the crotch, and the both of them began to roll across the floor of the Great Hall, with Blaise Zabini whooping gleefully after them.
Many a student was knocked over as result of being in the way of the violent, rolling mass that was Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, each struggling to beat the other to a pulp, but failing considerably since their strengths were almost equivalent to one another.
However, before one of the pair could achieve that goal, an earsplitting siren-sound filled the room, causing every student (and a few professors) to drop whatever they were about to throw and cover their ears.
Draco and Harry halted their fight, Draco reluctantly releasing Harry, while the Gryffindor ceased his relentless punching of Draco's vital organs. Both too exhausted to do anything but pant, the pair of arch enemies simply sat back against the Ravenclaw table, grimacing at the noise.
And then, just as suddenly as it started, the sound stopped, and the Hogwarts students found themselves tired, covered in supper, and staring dazedly at the staff table where the sound had originated from.
Draco looked up and could see McGonagal wiping off her wand, glowering furiously at the crowd of students. Dumbledore, however, was smiling merrily and looked as pleased as punch to be wearing his dinner.
The senile old coot, thought Draco noncommittally. He was extremely tired, after all.
Dumbledore cleared his throat, a sure sign that he was about to rant off about what they had done, probably blaming Draco for the whole mess, too. Trying not to appear worried, Draco fixed a bored expression on his face as the headmaster began to speak.
"Students," smiled Dumbledore, raising his outstretched arms. "I do hope that you have all enjoyed that lovely break from tradition, it was quite a nice change! Perhaps we should have another food fight again some time, eh?"
This was met with a loud chorus of cheers, though a few groans were heard from the crowd, one of which emitted through the lips of Draco Malfoy. As was said earlier; his hair would probably never be the same again, and Draco rather resented Blaise for that fact.
McGonagal promptly silenced the students with one of her hard glares, directing another at Dumbledore also.
"But I'm sure that it wouldn't be appropriate," added Dumbledore quickly, eyes twinkling. "For the house elves would not appreciate preparing such a grand feast, only to be thrown about the room. Though it would be a nice change of scenery…"
The Head of Gryffindor House gave a sharp cough, casting Dumbledore a strict frown.
"Ah, no, it wouldn't be a good idea," said the headmaster, stroking his long white beard. "As I was saying…I hope you have enjoyed this pleasurable event, but I'm afraid it cannot happen again. I do wonder how it started though…which one of you was clever enough to find a new way to utilize our supper?"
The students looked about themselves nervously, Draco flushing a faint pink.
"Anyone?"
The crowd stared back at him blankly.
"Anyone at all?"
"Alright!" barked the headmistress, eyes flashing dangerously. "Which of you was the cause of this foolishness? Show yourself immediately, or everyone in this room will be scrubbing this hall with toothbrushes!"
A low murmur of panicked whispers swept through the crowd, frightened students trying to remember how the food fight began. Marcus Flint squinted his eyes, scratching his head confusedly.
Draco could feel his ears burning.
"Reveal yourself!"
"They did it, professor!" came a shout from the crowd.
Horrified, Draco frantically searched for the source of the voice until his eyes locked with the brown eyes of Blaise Zabini. He was pointing at Draco and Harry, a wicked grin forming on his face.
That little bastard! I'll get him for this!
"Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, please come with me," commanded Dumbledore somberly.
"Shit," muttered Draco darkly. He was having such a good day.
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A/N: Don't worry; the little excerpt at the beginning will be in the next chapter.
Anyway, like it, love it? ...Hate it? Tell me so!