Disclaimer: Hello. My name is JK Rowling and I really enjoy writing fanfiction about my own books. Because, that really makes sense. Please.

A/N: Just kidding about that disclaimer, people, no need to get excited. I'm no JKR. But if I was, I would definitely write fanfiction about my own original works.

EDIT: Come on people! 143 hits and only three reviews? You guys are really breaking my heart here.

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Harry and Draco reluctantly followed Dumbledore through the twisting hallways, the rhythmic echo of their tapping shoes penetrating the suffocating silence.

Harry glared angrily at the back of Dumbledore's head, wondering how the hell he got himself into trouble again, without even starting it!

The raven-haired boy immediately recognized the snaking passageways they took; he'd been down them several times during his stay at Hogwarts. They were going to Dumbledore's office.

Harry chanced a side glance at the sullen Slytherin walking beside him. Draco's eyes darted around the halls suspiciously, turning his head to and fro as if expecting a surprise attack. He obviously had no idea where they were going. Seeing this, Harry felt a small twinge of satisfaction. It felt good to know something Ferret Boy didn't.

At last they reached the gargoyle statue, appearing as if it had never made the effort to lift a finger in a lifetime.

"Hershey's Kisses," announced Dumbledore cheerily.

Draco eyed the headmaster warily, a rather befuddled expression stamped across his face. Harry forced himself to repress a snicker.

The gargoyle leapt aside suddenly, causing Draco to yelp in fright and dive behind Dumbledore, as if using him as a shield.

This time Harry didn't try to suppress his laughter, on the contrary, he purposely laughed a little more loudly and boisterous than necessary. Just to annoy Malfoy.

Draco emerged from behind the headmaster's robes, face flushed with embarrassment and eyes flashing dangerously.

"It's quite alright, dear boy," chortled Dumbledore, patting the mortified Slytherin on the back good-naturedly.

Draco mumbled incoherently, then, thrusting his nose in the air, impudently sauntered into the stairway without waiting for the other two (salvaging a small amount of his dignity in the process).

Harry was still tittering by the time they were all inside Dumbledore's whistling, clicking, and all around noisy office. A great phoenix was perched expectantly on a golden post to the left of Dumbledore's large desk, as if waiting for them.

Dumbledore gestured to the two chairs in front of his desk. Harry sat down immediately, hands folded in his lap. However, Draco took his sweet time, as if demonstrating his indifference through his unhurried saunter. When Draco was finally seated Dumbledore sat down in his own, high-backed chair. He closed his eyes, making a small, bony steeple of his hands, and touched the tips of his fingers to his forehead. A few moments later he looked up, as if waking from a dream.

Harry was dying to defend himself, to tell Dumbledore that he had nothing to do with the food fight- because he didn't! Harry was a victim of circumstance! And, predictably, he, Harry Potter was blamed, once again, for something he didn't cause.

Oh, how life could be just so typical.

Harry watched Dumbledore nervously, waiting for the verdict.

"I've thought this over several times," began Dumbledore suddenly, startling a seemingly unruffled Draco Malfoy.

Quick thinker, admired Harry.

"But, as of yet I have not come to a complete solution."

"But, sir," said Harry quickly. "I had nothing to do with this, it wasn't my fault!"

"It's never your fault, is it Potter?" drawled Draco lazily.

"Shut up, Ferret."

"Now, now, boys," said Dumbledore authoritatively. "Though I do believe that one cannot judge someone else until proven guilty, I did notice two young men fighting with each other vehemently during the food fight."

Draco and Harry both opened their mouths in protest.

The Headmaster held up his hand, signaling for silence. "And while this does not prove anything about the groundwork of the food fight, it does suggest that those certain boys have a great deal of repressed anger, which they were expressing in a very unwholesome way. Many a student could have been injured by accident because of this quarrel, for the great mass that consisted of these two young men was rolling about everywhere and colliding with everything in its path. I congratulate you on your systematic warfare method. Very clever indeed." Here Dumbledore paused, giving the impression that he was reflecting on the food fight, blue eyes twinkling. Then, gazing back at Harry and Draco, continued. "Though it was, regrettably, also very dangerous. I'm afraid I must take one hundred points off of both Gryffindor and Slytherin."

One hundred points? Harry sighed. Of course.

"Is that all, professor?" asked Draco hopefully.

"No, Mister Malfoy, it is not."

Harry groaned.

"You may, or may not have been the cause of the food fight, but you both contributed greatly to the danger of what occurred in the Great Hall. If we do indeed discover who began the food fight, and it is proved, then we will most certainly punish them. But in the meantime the two of you must take the brunt of the punishment. The consequences will be reasonable and worthwhile, I assure you."

Draco sneered. "Reasonable and worthwhile? Oh, please."

Dumbledore smiled. "It may seem that way now, Mister Malfoy, but you both will learn of the situation's merit soon enough. I shall inform you of your punishments tomorrow morning."

Harry moaned inwardly. Tomorrow was going to be just peachy.

oOoOoOo

Draco Malfoy was having a wonderful dream. He dreamt the food fight had never happened, and he had successfully slaughtered Harry Potter and drowned the old coot, all the while bashing Blaise Zabini on the head with a very large sledge hammer. It was the best of dreams. But there was something wrong….someone…or something was jabbing at Draco's nose, and rather sharply too.

"Ouch, that hurts…stop it…" Who is that? Irritating thing. Who dares disturb Draco Malfoy's slumber?

Draco opened his eyes, vision slightly blurry. He could feel dream's release on his subconscious, and he found himself very groggy, but awake (much to his immense displeasure). He focused on the big brown object under his nose. What the hell is that?

Two large orange orbs for eyes, brown feathers, sharp…was that a beak?

OWL!

Draco sat up immediately, causing the owl to fall onto his lap. Draco brushed the thing off, making a mental note to wash his face very thoroughly today.

The owl fluttered away to perch on the edge of Draco's bed post, hooting reproachfully. Draco sneered back at it. The owl ruffled its feathers crossly, thrusting out its leg as if to say, let's get this over with.

Noticing the letter tied to the owl's leg, Draco quickly untied it and snatched it from the owl's clutches, using his super seeker reflexes to pull his hand back before the owl had a chance to peck it.

"Ha!" cried Draco triumphantly, smirking at the glaring owl. He waved the letter about a few times, causing the owl to narrow his eyes at Draco evilly. The owl launched into the air, suddenly diving at a shrieking Draco and flying out of the conveniently open window.

Draco slowly curled out from his defensive position, making sure to close his window securely before sitting back onto his bed and ripping open the envelope.

It read:

Dear Mister Malfoy,

I regret to inform you that I have come up with a rather ingenious punishment for you and Mister Potter. Starting this evening, every other day at six o'clock you will go to Room 108 on the 5th floor. There, you will attend private anger management classes instructed by Dr. Gerald Wynter, a close friend of mine and a fantastic therapist. You will obey his every decision and follow his tactics and strategies, however strange they might seem to you. I'm sure after these anger management courses both you and Mister Potter will learn how to deal with your anger and express it in a healthy way.

Good luck,

Albus Dumbledore

Draco's eyes widened disbelievingly. Heart beating faster. Anger building. He could feel his breathing grow shallower by the second. Eyebrow twitching. Draco Malfoy was going to blow.

"WHAT THE HELL?!"

A/N: Ah, yes, here we are. Draco's rather loud question has now woken up everyone within 500-mile radius. Anyway, back to the story.

Draco panted; exhausted from the enormous effort it took to wake all of Hogwarts. Meanwhile, Blaise Zabini had just awoken, mildly startled by Draco's announcement. Blaise had, after all, been expecting such an awakening. Draco Malfoy was never one to simmer silently, oh no. When Draco Malfoy was mad, everyone knew it. But not only would everyone know it, but everyone would suffer for it too, for Draco always made sure that his problems were also everyone else's, by means of a rather grouchy demeanor, violent behavior, and never-ending complaints delivered at the loudest decibel possible.

Yes, our antihero had anger issues, no matter how much he denied it. The longer Draco remained woefully unaware of his problems, everybody else continued to grow tremendously conscious of them.

So as Draco Malfoy began to lapse into a furious temper tantrum, Blaise watched with interest. He had only seen Draco this mad twice before; when Draco was turned into a ferret and when he was denied a pony. Of course, the pony thing was when Draco was nine, but Blaise took care never to mention it to him.

Nevertheless, Blaise always found it rather entertaining when Draco went into a fit of rage. Which was quite often, if anyone would believe that.

Right now Draco's face was turning a deep crimson color, as if his head was about to explode. His breathing would get faster and faster, until he'd wind up snorting like an enraged bull. At times Blaise could easily imagine that steam was billowing out Draco's ears. And if Blaise was really lucky, Draco's eyes would roll back into his head, and he would bellow his curses to the heavens and very often injure anyone in the premises. But that was only on special occasions.

As it was, Blaise regretfully decided that it would probably be best to calm Draco before he got to that point, since Blaise didn't much fancy the idea of visiting the Hospital Wing today.

Draco, meanwhile, was having quite a hard time trying to come to terms with his current situation. Meaning, he was preparing to throw a major hissy-fit, give or take a few curses and hexes here and there.

Draco furiously hurled his pillow across the room, hitting his Slytherin comrade, Vincent Crabbe, right at the back of his head, just as he was about to make his escape. I do not have an anger problem! Draco's blankets and sheets were flung to the ground as he stood up. I don't see why the old coot has to make a big fuss about nothing! Potter started it anyway! Draco stomped over to his dresser, and, heatedly yanking out his clothes and chucking them around the room, found something suitable to wear. Stupid Potter. He jammed his legs into his pants and shoved his shirt over his head, still brooding angrily. Bloody old coot. Who the hell does he think he is, making up rules and punishments as he pleases! Draco finished dressing and snatched his comb from the top of his dresser, dragging his comb through his hair. I don't need anger management! Throwing down his comb, Draco grabbed his hair products, coating his head with them and feverishly pushing his silver mane back with his long fingers. I don't need a therapist, I'm not angry!

Blaise sauntered over to Draco, watching him as he impatiently shoved his feet into his shoes. "Whatcha doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing, you twit!" snapped Draco, fingers fumbling as he tried to tie his shoe laces.

"It looks like you're about to have a go at your trainers."

"Oh haha, you're hysterical."

"Do you ever check that sarcasm at the door?"

"No. Leave me alone."

Blaise frowned. He was, admittedly, very good at getting Draco mad, but not very often was he forced to cheer Draco up. Such extremes were nearly impossible! What on Earth could get a gloomy Malfoy back in good spirits?

Torturing little children and then eating them, that's what.

Well, unless Draco wanted to get arrested and shipped off to the Psychotic Ward for Chronic Cannibals, then the situation called for less extreme measures.

Blaise grinned suddenly; he had an idea.

"Malfoy," said Blaise casually, examining his fingernails. "Do you know what would satisfy your need for blood, an evil, conniving devil such as yourself?"

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Zabini."

"Are we feeling up to a little trip to the Kitchens, Drakie-poo?"

Draco looked up, eyebrows knitted. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"What I mean," said Blaise, looking up from his perfectly manicured cubicles, "is that you owe a favor to a certain someone, say, a friend of ours."

Draco stared back at Blaise blankly.

"Have you ever tried out the house elve's new, Breakfast in Bed Service?"

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A/N: CLIFFHANGER OMG.

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