Disclaimer: No, I don't own Harry Potter. Blah, blah, blah. Oh, and I also got some anger management tips from a website called Controlling Anger Before Anger Controls You

A/N: I'm very sorry for taking so long, but I've been having computer troubles, so technically, it's not my fault! And for those of you who are awaiting an update from Divine Torment, you might have to wait a little longer. So sorry! My computer is really mean to me.

oOoOoOo

Draco Malfoy was having an exceptionally lovely afternoon. Exceptionally lovely, that is, except for the fact that he was to attend an anger management class taught by some idiot doctor in room 108 on the 5th floor. Today. At six o'clock sharp. Six o'clock. Which was why Draco forced himself to enjoy the rest of his day before he received the consequences of his so-called actions. What actions? Draco hadn't done anything wrong! In fact, he'd never done anything wrong his entire life! …Or was it the other way around?

Okay, so maybe it was. But Draco felt completely sure that he had done nothing bad this time. He was fully prepared to blame it all on Potter. And besides, he did not have an anger problem.

And Draco, very determined to prove exactly this to the old coot and his doctor friend, found himself stomping his way towards room 108 on the 5th floor, teeth gnashing.

After all, there was no need for him to attend, right? No anger, remember?

Before entering said room Draco checked his watch. 6:05. Good. He was late. He preferred to make others wait on him.

Taking a deep breath, Draco opened the door and sauntered in. He wanted to make statement after all. He was in no hurry.

At once Draco was met with the sight of a kindly-looking bald man, somewhere in his forties, slightly overweight. He wore a gray tweed suit, very proper. He sat in a cushioned chair in the very center of the room, with another empty chair facing him. The rest of the room contained nothing else, only uninteresting posters hung on the walls. Smallish blue eyes peeked out of large, square, thick-rimmed glasses. Smallish blue eyes that were directed right at Draco.

The man gestured to the chair across from him, grinning. Merlin, the guy is all smiles. This seemed, somehow, very ominous to Draco.

Draco sat down, sneering studiously. "What, no couch?"

The doctor only smiled wider, holding out his hand. Draco ignored it. The hand withdrew. "Hello, Draco, my name is Dr. Gerald Wynter, and I'm here to help you."

Draco smirked. "Your introductions are rather futile, I'm afraid, since I already know exactly who you are."

Dr. Gerald Wynter didn't seem the least bit surprised. "Oh? And who do you think I am?"

"You're some shrink whom that crackpot old fool of a headmaster has set me up with, hoping to rub off some of that do-goodie Gryffindor gallantry and chivalry that we all seem to adore here at Hogwarts."

"Very insightful," nodded the doctor. "But, unfortunately, incorrect. You see, I'm here to help you release some of your anger in a healthy, productive way. And not only that, but I also hope to untangle some of those anger issues already causing you turmoil in your waking mind."

Draco blinked. Slowly.

The doctor smiled again. "You may call me Dr. Wynter, or you may call me by my first name; Gerald, if you wish. You may also call me Gerry, Ger, Aldie, Dr. G, or any other variation of my name you can think of."

Draco pursed his lips. A nasty taste had developed in the very back of his throat. Vomit on the blithering idiot shrink? Hmm. Good idea.

"Or you could simply refer to me as Doc."

Better idea.

Draco sneered. "Alright, Doc."

"There," Doc beamed. "Now we have ignited the very first spark of introduction, familiarity, even. Hopefully this familiarity will help you become more comfortable confiding in me."

Draco smirked. Yeah. Like that was going to happen.

"I already explained to you why I'm here, Draco, but do you know why you're here?"

Draco tapped his finger against his chin in mock concentration. "Let's see…I'm here so that you have the ability to keep me in check, force me to improve my attitude, and basically render me dazed and helpless with all your fancy educated rubbish, until I have no choice but to behave like a good little boy for your headmaster friend."

Draco gave Doc a satisfied smirk.

Doc raised his eyebrows and scribbled something down on his lap-bound clipboard. Seeing this, Draco frowned. He had never had anyone take notes on him before, nor had he expected such a thing from a doctor. No, Draco's superior immunity system due to his pure, untouched blood (aka inbreeding) forever kept him from attending any sort of doctor appointment up until now. For as any normal human being would know; doctors always take notes on you, which most people seem to find rather unnerving at times.

Hmm. Not a bad idea, thought Draco. Who wouldn't want to take notes on Draco's aristocratic good looks, charming disposition, dashing personality, and witticism? He really couldn't believe nobody thought of it beforehand. In fact, Draco would have taken notes on himself, if common sense and propriety would allow.

Doc looked up. And smiled. Draco nearly gagged. Enough of all this grinning already! Draco wanted the embodiment of pain and anguish etched into the very skin cells of the man's face! Let Draco cause agony! Let Draco cause misery!

Ahhh. The man was grinning like the Cheshire Cat himself (I'll just ignore the fact that Draco probably has never seen or read Alice in Wonderland in his entire life…).

…

(Okay, maybe he has, who knows?)

Doc glanced up at Draco from his clipboard. "Draco, I get the feeling that you don't want to be here."

Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner! Someone give the man a prize.

Draco simply glared.

"You're here," started Doc, "not because we want to correct your behavior, although behavior is a big part of it, you're here because you have an anger problem, whether you care to admit it or not. You're here because you need to learn how to control anger, before anger controls you."

Draco couldn't believe this, why did everyone think he had an anger problem? He had no anger problem, dammit!

Doc continued. "The first thing you need to know is what anger is, the nature of it. Do you know what anger is, Draco?"

Yes, and I also know my ABC's. Imbecile.

"Anger is," said Doc gently, "an emotional state that differs in intensity from mild irritation to intense fury. Anger can be caused by both external and internal events. You could be angry at a specific person or incident, or your anger could be caused by worrying or brooding about your personal problems. Memories of traumatic or enraging events can also trigger angry feelings."

Draco scowled. This is getting ridiculous…

"There are many people who are angrier than others. These people have a low tolerance for frustration, or they feel that the situation they are experiencing is somehow unjust."

The doctor paused, apparently waiting for Draco to respond. When Draco ignored the opportunity to speak, Doc continued.

"There is evidence that some children are born irritable, touchy, and easily angered, and that these signs are present from a very early age. Another may be cultural. Anger is often regarded as negative; we're taught that it's all right to express anxiety, depression, or other emotions but not to express anger. As a result, we don't learn how to handle it or channel it constructively.

Research has also found that family background plays a role. Typically, people who are easily angered come from families that are disruptive, chaotic, and not skilled at emotional communications."

Draco vaguely wondered whether the man consulted a dictionary before speaking to him. It really wasn't natural for a person to use all those large words in one sitting.

"So, Draco, I would like to understand what first triggered your issues. Tell me about your father..."

oOoOoOo

Dear Mister Potter,

I am sorry to say that I have procured a rather beneficial punishment for you and Mister Malfoy. 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 Malfoy will learn how to deal with your anger and express it in a healthy way.

Yours sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

Harry stared at the piece of parchment he held in his hand. He couldn't believe this! Dumbledore was actually making him pay for what was obviously Malfoy's fault! Him! Harry Potter! The-Boy-Who-Seldom-Ever-Gets-In-Trouble!

Ha. Yeah, right.

Harry gave a furtive glance around the Great Hall. Most of Hogwarts' occupants appeared as if they were enjoying their breakfast, some were simply chatting, and others stared into their cereal bowls expectantly, as if waiting for the future to depict itself amidst the soggy dregs of cornflakes. Harry glanced at the occupied redhead next to him, busy stuffing his face with sausage. Hermione sat across from him, her nose buried in The Theological Musings of Stubby Boardman. Harry's snowy owl, Hedwig, sat on the plate of bacon in front of him, waiting to be rewarded for the letter she had just delivered to him. Harry stroked her absentmindedly, studying the Great Hall. What was so great about it anyway? It was only a dining hall, really.

Harry sighed, simmering resentment setting in permanently, along with dreary acceptance. And dread. What was he in for anyway? Harry had never been to a shrink before. What would the doctor do to him? Talk to him about his childhood? That was going to be fun. Harry was going to kill Malfoy for this…

Harry felt a horribly familiar tug in his lower intestines.

He was going to kill Malfoy for that, too.

In fact, Malfoy simply remaining alive and healthy in Harry's life was enough reason to kill Malfoy.

Harry stood up, fists clenched tight.

Hermione sighed. Ron glanced up at Harry, mouth stuffed with scrambled eggs, cheeks bulging like a hamster. "Again, Harry? Shouldn't it have worn off by now?"

Harry scowled.

"Well, what did you expect, Ron?" asked Hermione huffily from behind her book. "It was obviously an enchanted laxative that Harry devoured. Malfoy is a wizard, after all…albeit, a very immature one."

"I told you, I didn't mean to!" snarled Harry.

"You didn't mean to? Honestly, Harry, you gobbled that stuff up like it was your last meal."

Harry was about to retort, when his stomach complained loudly, interrupting the argument.

Harry grimaced. "I've got to go…"

He hurried out of the Great Hall, Ron and Hermione staring bemusedly after him.

Traversing the hallways on a full…gut…proved to be more difficult than Harry had anticipated. Why on Earth were the restrooms so far away from the Great Hall? The Great Hall was a place to eat, after all.

The halls loomed endlessly in front of Harry as he continued on, clutching his stomach, searching fretfully for the nearest bathroom. Where was it anyway? Was it down this hall? Up these stairs?

Finally, though Harry was in too much pain to pay any attention to where his feet were taking him, he found himself standing in front of a rather ugly tapestry depicting Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach trolls to dance. Aha! Harry nearly wet himself with glee. The Room of Requirement!

Harry turned around, and glancing at the plain wall where the doorway to the Room of Requirement was to appear, Harry paced down the hall, thinking repeatedly, I need someplace where I can use the bathroom…

Harry stopped. And turned. Sure enough, the large door leading to the Room of Requirement was there, on that plain wall.

Harry grasped the doorknob and quickly walked in, a cozy little bathroom meeting his eyes. But Harry didn't notice anything about the lovely décor. He only had eyes for the toilet.

After Harry was all done, and relieved of all that extra luggage, he exited the premises and strutted happily down the hall, a long piece of toilet paper trailing after him, stuck to his left shoe.

Harry had no idea where he was going; all he was aware of was that he felt good. His bowels were, mercifully, empty, and his face sported a rather goofy grin, baffling several third year Hufflepuffs who passed by (No, Harry Potter doesn't grin very often. He was orphaned when he was only an infant, and left in the care of a family of gorillas, remember?). So when a hand shot out of a nearby classroom doorway and grabbed Harry by the front of his sweater, it came to be a rather nasty surprise to Harry. He was having such a nice day so far. The hand pulled Harry into the classroom and let go, Harry steadying himself on a desk so that his feet didn't give way. He heard the door slam and looked up to see the grinning face of Ron, and a disgruntled Hermione.

Harry gave a start. He had expected Death Eaters, or some other variation of evil out to get him. "…What's going on…?"

"I have an idea!" cried Ron happily.

Harry raised an eyebrow and looked to Hermione for an explanation.

"It's one of his first, you can't really blame him for being excited," said Hermione.

Harry sighed. "What's this about then, Ron?"

"I know how we can get back at Malfoy!" declared Ron triumphantly. "I've got it all planned out. It's completely foolproof."

Hermione pursed her lips. "Ron, I don't know if anyone will believe it…"

"What do you mean?" Ron frowned. "Of course they'll believe it; he acts like such a pansy already."

Harry looked from Ron to Hermione, and back to Ron. "I still don't know where you're going with this…"

"Okay," said Ron, lowering his voice, "Here's what we do…"

oOoOoOo

A/N: Hooray! Another chapter finished!

Next Chapter: Harry meets the doctor, and also gets to reap his terrible revenge on Draco, which creates a rather unwanted rumor about the both of them.

Review and make me happy:)