Disclaimer: Do I even have to say it?

A/N: Yeah, well, I like the last part. The first part's a bit iffy. Oh well. Enjoy!

oOoOoOo

Harry nearly jogged down the hallway leading to room 108. It was almost six o'clock, and he didn't want to be late. Harry was bound and determined to make a good impression on this doctor, therefore proving that he needed no anger management. Sure, Harry got angry sometimes, but it was human, and besides, he had a right to be angry! Some power-happy wacko murdered his parents and ruined his life for Merlin's sake!

He was going to get this appointment over with, and then he, Ron, and Hermione would put Operation Ferret Season into play.

Harry reached the door to room 108 and, panting, put his hands on his knees in order to support himself. Then, straightening up, Harry glanced at his watch. 6:00. Excellent.

Harry turned the knob and entered the room. The place was completely empty, save for a few colorful posters and two chairs sitting directly in the center of the room, one of which was occupied by a cheery-looking, middle-aged man. The man looked up and stood, offering his hand. Harry took it, and gave a tight smile.

The man sat down, indicating that Harry do so also. Bright blue eyes peered at Harry through thick-rimmed glasses. "Hello, Harry, my name is Dr. Gerald Wynter. I'm to be your anger management therapist."

"I know," said Harry politely. "I'm Harry Potter. Your patient."

The doctor smiled. "I know."

Harry smiled again, weakly.

"You may call me Dr. Wynter," said the doctor, "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."

Dr. G? Harry quickly stifled a laugh.

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

That worked.

"Okay, Doc," replied Harry. "I have something to say before we begin. I don't think I belong here."

"Oh, really? But it is a fantastic school I think you'll find-"

"No," interrupted Harry, "I meant here, in this room. I don't think I need anger management."

"Ahh." Doc nodded, seeming to understand. "Well, Harry, I don't mean to contradict you, but your worthy headmaster seems to think that you do need anger management, and your demonstration with Mister Malfoy the other day proves to me that you may need a wee bit of help."

Harry frowned. "I didn't start the food fight. That was Malfoy."

"Ahh, but it isn't a matter of who started it, but who ended it."

Harry blinked. What? …Technically, hadn't Dumbledore ended it?

"I had the pleasure of meeting Mister Malfoy just yesterday."

Harry almost laughed. The pleasure of meeting Malfoy? Harry begged to differ.

"I can tell that the two of you have quite a history."

"More like rivalry," scoffed Harry.

"I see," said the doctor, leaning back in his chair. "Tell me about this rivalry of yours."

"Well," began Harry slowly, "He's an arrogant bastard whose goal in life is to make mine as miserable as possible."

"I see. When did this 'rivalry' begin?"

"The first day of coming here, at Hogwarts. He insulted Ron, said that I was making friends with the wrong sort. He offered his hand to me, wanted me to become one of his cronies. Obviously, I refused."

"Why did you refuse?"

"Well…I had met him before…" Harry furrowed his brows, trying to remember. "…At Madam Malkin's…got my first robe fitted right next to Malfoy…said muggleborns shouldn't be let into Hogwarts. …I remember I didn't like him at all," finished Harry awkwardly.

"Mmmm," mumbled Doc, scribbling something down on a clipboard. Harry shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "Can you tell me why you didn't like him, Harry?"

Harry stared at his feet. "Well, aside from the muggleborn stuff, he seemed pretty egotistical and self-absorbed. And ever since that first day at Hogwarts, he's proved to be just that. We've hated each other from that time on."

"Hmm," said the doctor, looking up. "How do you think your refusal of befriending Mister Malfoy affected him? Do you think he would have acted any different towards you if you did accept his friendship?"

Harry gritted his teeth. He didn't want to think about this. "How should I know, it didn't happen, did it?"

"No, it didn't," agreed Doc. "And I suppose we should move on to a different subject, as I can see you're uncomfortable with the current one. Do you think you're an angry person, Harry?"

"No," said Harry at once.

"I see. What does make you angry, Harry?"

That I'm in here, stuck with you. "Uhm…well, I assume you know that Voldemort killed my parents, and I have no family. Well, no real family, I guess. I was forced to live with my mum's sister's family until I was eleven. They were horrible to me."

Doc nodded. "Anything else?"

"Yeah…there's Malfoy, I guess, and…um, sometimes my friends or teachers tick me off, and, well, in forth year Voldemort came back, and no one believed me, and the ministry made a joke out of me in the papers…"

"And how did that make you feel?"

"Well, mad," said Harry pointedly.

The doctor nodded. Again. "Harry, anger can be caused by both external and internal events. You could be angry at a specific person or event, 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."

Harry raised an eyebrow. The doctor's speech sounded suspiciously rehearsed.

"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."

Like the one he was experiencing now?

"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."

"Only I don't have a real family," pointed out Harry irritably. "I grew up with some unloving muggle family who've malnourished me for ten years straight, not including a couple summers here and there, so I'd think it'd be reasonable to say that they don't really count as my family."

"Does that make you angry, Harry?"

Annoyance growing at warp speed, Harry groaned. Yes, it did make him angry! Hadn't they already established that?

Removing his glasses, the doctor paused. He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and applied it to his glasses, rubbing them gently. "Harry, you and Mister Malfoy both have anger problems. And both of you continue to deny them ardently. This is natural, and it is natural to feel angry sometimes. It's okay to feel angry. And it seems that you and Mister Malfoy do not understand that. While there are some similarities among your problems and his, and admittedly some connections as well, there remains a large difference between your anger and his. Mister Malfoy has a lot of anger, but most of it isn't pent up. In fact, he tends to express his anger continually, lashing out at his friends, classmates, and superiors. And while this is expressive, it isn't healthy or constructive. Mister Malfoy has learned to deal with his life the wrong way, and as a result every little irritation becomes a huge problem. You, Harry, on the other hand, have a lot of anger, and for good reason too, but it is pent up and confined within yourself. And while Mister Malfoy expresses his anger in a damaging way, you keep your anger to yourself, unwilling to express."

Harry shook his head disbelievingly.

Doc pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and leaned forward earnestly, keeping eye contact with Harry.

Harry shifted uncomfortably.

"Together, Harry, you and I can untangle your past," continued the doctor, eyes gleaming with something akin to mania. "We will unlock those doors, those fortresses of steel, repressing your anger. We will release your emotions!"

Harry gulped. He didn't like the sound of that.

oOoOoOo

Draco Malfoy moaned happily in his sleep. His bed-sheets were warmer and cozier than usual, as if there was extra body heat in the bed to warm them. He dreamed of happy things; he dreamed of children crying in pain, flowers being crushed, mallets being thrown at Potter's stupid head, giggling and snickering…wait, giggling? Snickering? Draco frowned. Unless it was Draco doing the giggling, which was abnormal, seeing as Malfoys did not giggle, then there was something amiss. His dreams should be filled with pain and suffering, not giggles.

However, Draco in his deep sleep disregarded the giggles, and focused on the image of Potter being attacked by raving kittens instead.

Draco snuggled deeper into his covers. Ah yes, life was good in the subconscious mind of Draco Malfoy. Except…why was he cold all of the sudden? He shivered, feeling around for his blanket. Aha, there it was…only…what was that lump under the blanket?

Draco opened his eyes, which hardly did any good, seeing as the room was pitch-black. Fishing out his wand from his pajama pocket, he muttered a quick "Lumos," and fumbled his way across the room, and turned on the lights.

Draco blinked several times, his eyes adjusting to the current brightness. Glancing around, he rubbed his eyes, wondering vaguely if he needed his vision checked. When had the room become so yellow?

It was true; the dorm was decked out in yellow and black, a hideous combination, in Draco's opinion. Was he in the right room?

Draco sat down on his bed, utterly confused. He remembered walking into his dorm, laughing along with Zabini about their successful prank on Potter. He knew he got ready for bed and nearly fell asleep before his head hit the pillow. So where was he and how did he get here?

This is a dream, decided Draco. A rather strange dream, but a dream nonetheless.

Though, Draco couldn't help wondering if it was a dream, or a nightmare. There were no children choking on drumsticks, or puppies being fed to hungry pythons. There was no Harry Potter about to encounter a blunted guillotine. So how could it be a dream? On the other hand, it hardly seemed a nightmare…

Draco shook his head, deciding that maybe Blaise slipped him something. Yeah, that was probably it. That dammed excuse of a wizard slipped him something that made him mix up his colors…

Draco slithered into bed once more, resolved to give Blaise a piece of his mind in the morning. If that fop couldn't think of a better prank than this, then what the hell was he good for anyway?

He pushed his sliver hair out of his face as he snuggled back under his covers, drifting off to Dreamland. But as Draco was just about asleep, he suddenly felt cold again.

Draco felt around for the blanket, only to find that there was a rather large lump of heat in his bed, using it right at the moment. He was momentarily shocked. Why was there someone in his bed? What the hell did Blaise give him last night?

Draco tore out of bed and turned on the lights. There, in his bed, laid none other than Ernie Macmillan, Hufflepuff Extraordinaire.

Oh, yes, this was definitely a nightmare.

Draco screamed. Ernie was startled awake and took one look at Draco in his bedraggled green silk pajamas and screamed as well. The rest of Ernie's roommates, roused awake by Draco and Ernie's lovely duet, screamed simply because they could find nothing else to do.

"What are you doing in my bed, idiot?" shouted Draco, face rapidly becoming a deep shade of scarlet.

"My bed?" repeatedly Ernie angrily. "You're in my room, Malfoy! What are you doing in my bed?"

"In…your…room?" Draco paused, glancing around at the yellow and black décor. For the love of Merlin's Great Aunt Hessie, he was in one of the Hufflepuff dorms.

A boy Draco recognized as Zachariah Smith stood and cautiously approached Ernie's bed, inspecting the slight dent in the sheets next to a shaken Ernie. "So, Malfoy, you've been sleeping with Ernie, have you? Ernie, you didn't let him in, did you?"

Ernie gazed at him, mouth open. "Of course not! I wouldn't bother letting in trash like Malfoy! In fact, I've never let anyone in besides a fellow Hufflepuff; I didn't even know someone from another house could come in here!"

Another one of Ernie's roommates, Justin somethingoranother, stared at Malfoy in horror. "You slept with Ernie without him even knowing it!"

Draco scoffed at the accusation. "Why, I wouldn't dream of sleeping with a Hufflepuff, especially a male Hufflepuff! What do you think I am, gay or something?"

A mere second after Draco said this, he realized the answer. Five Hufflepuffs, one of which was staring at Draco in something like revulsion, glared at him accusingly.

Good Lord, thought Draco, disgusted, they think I'm a bloody pansy! They think I raped their friend or something!

"How did you get in here, Malfoy?" demanded Justin somethingoranother.

"I don't know!" exclaimed Draco, furious. "I fell asleep in my own room and I woke up in here!"

"A likely story," commented Zacharias Smith smoothly. "Tell us really, Malfoy, are you keen on Ernie?"

"As if I'd harbor attractions to that!" snarled Malfoy, gesturing to Ernie. "Now if you'll excuse me, I don't have time to associate with perverted, muggle-loving Hufflepuffs such as yourselves."

And with that Draco turned on his heels and sauntered out the door. His presence in the Hufflepuff common room was met with a healthy dose of shock and disbelief, but Draco merely ignored the stares and walked back to his own dorm in his pajamas, head held high.

oOoOoOo

A/N: Aha, that last bit was really fun to write. The next chapter we will see what results ensue from Harry's revenge, and how it applies to both Draco and Harry.

Anyway tell me of your adoration, your criticism, your hopes, your dreams, and your problems via reviews!