A/N: This chapter is based on the music video "(You Drive Me) Crazy" by Britney Spears. I suggest watching it. Dedicated to TeenTypist. This is where it all began.
Draco sat up with his head ringing. Not his head. The ringing filled the room. Struggling to comprehend, no, no, taking his time, he stood on obviously steady feet. He swiveled around. Lights flashed in every corner and across the ceiling. And was that crap assaulting his ears supposed to be music? What are these people doing in such tacky outfits? Who cursed them into dancing like that? Then the tacky freaks surrounded him.
"This is driving me CRAZY," Draco yelled in his most dignified and clearly controlled manner. Dust swirled around him. Muggle dust. Yuck. No. Not dust. Glitter rained down on him. He looked down in horror as his perfectly tailored clothing was contaminated. His impeccable robes billowed around him and changed shape. He breathed a sigh of relief, or perhaps more of a forceful exhalation, when he saw that his creased slacks remained intact. He almost threw up, almost, Malfoys never do anything as vile as vomiting, when he saw what had happened to his pristine dress shirt. His upper body, part of it anyway, was encased in an uncomfortably tight green monstrosity, sadly too bright to resemble his Slytherin colors. The hideous garment left the milky skin of his belly bare. Draco prided himself on the appearance of his just-sexy-enough six pack (Well, his mentally-exaggerated six pack).
He was surprised to find that this dramatic wardrobe change had elicited no reaction from the people around him. Then again, how could people who look like that judge someone as superior as I? While he criticized those around him, Draco's platinum hair lengthened into waves that cascaded around his shoulders. If Malfoys fainted, Draco would have done so in the most graceful manner; however, they don't.
"You drive me crazy" in Draco's voice echoed around, reverberating off the stone walls. You drive me crazy. I just can't sleep. His face tingled. He reached a hand up and felt his lips moving. Not just an echo. He was singing? Oh, gods, I'm losing it. No, no. I'm taking an intentional hiatus from reality.
I'm so excited. As he contemplated this hiatus, Draco's body began to dance in sync with the hideously dressed imbeciles crowded around him. The uncontrolled movement reminded him of an unfortunate incident involved in a bouncing ferret. Don't tell me that one-eyed bastard is back. Draco looked around for any sign of Moody or ferrets. He saw neither.
I'm in too deep. His scrawny, lean actually, body began to adjust to the motions. An astute observer might have suggested that he had stopped trying to fight it, but that would just be unproven conjecture. Oh, oh, oh, crazy. The observer might also claim to have seen some shoulder shimmying, but that would obviously be a mistake. Voldemort would join Dumbledore for tea if it were confirmed that a Malfoy's shoulders moved teasingly back and forth to the oh, oh, oh of Muggle music. But it feels alright. A talented pirouette twirled the Slytherin around. Blond locks billowed around his cheeks. Baby, thinking of you keeps me up all night.
With his hands on his hips, still swaying to the beat, Draco ruminated on that last line. Who was keeping him up all night? Absurd. There was no way that anyone could possibly occupy enough of a Malfoy's thoughts to deprive him of sleep. In fact, his beauty rest, more like effective nocturnal rejuvenation, was always quite undisturbed.
Tell me, you're so into me. That I'm the only one you will see. The idea of someone being more attractive than himself was so ridiculous that Draco became half a step off beat in his Muggle pop music dance. Well, it was more like he improved the dance. Malfoys don't take missteps after all. Tell me, I'm not in the blue. That I'm not wasting my feelings on you. The fortuitous deviation snapped Draco from Drive Me Crazy-land long enough for him to yell, not yell, exclaim. Loudly.
"What the bloody hell is wrong with you people?"
One ugly participant in terrible orange pants turned around at the interruption of what must have been, based on his enthusiasm, his favorite song. In his haste to identify the perpetrator, his foot kicked the damnable white thing into the crowd. Someone picked it up. The room spun again. All Draco managed to think before he hit the floor, or rather took a break, was thank, gods, this is over.