Author's Notes: For the slythindor100 advent challenge.
Draco wouldn't have thought that he'd allow himself to be caught dead doing something so pedestrian and Muggle as public arm-wrestling.
That, however, had been before some nameless fool had temporarily lost touch with reality and decided it was a good idea to seat him directly beside Potter at the Christmas Dinner. When it came to Potter, Draco never could seem to remember that Malfoys were above acting like common ruffians.
Idiot event planners. They couldn't possibly have expected that anything good could come of this.
Anyone at all would be preferable to sit beside, surely, even that annoying Peach girl who giggled at such a high register that it could practically only be heard by crups every time Draco deigned to speak to her. So Draco had frantically tried to switch Potter's placeholder with someone else's, but the damn label wouldn't budge, obviously having been secured to the table with a sticking charm. Before Draco could even pull his wand to attempt the counter-spell, Potter had already appeared by his side, looking from Draco to the placeholder with Potter's name on it and back again. He showed no intention of picking up the placeholder himself and moving, and Draco certainly wasn't going to be the one to retreat. He was here first.
It was clear, then, that it was already too late to prevent this disaster from occurring.
As they sat, they shuffled their chairs as far away from each other as they could, not taking their eyes off each other all the while. Then they almost simultaneously glanced down and noticed the single Christmas cracker lying between their place settings – between the two of them – its presence like a dare that had to be answered.
They stared at each other again, as if questioning whether they were really about to do this, but there was no real chance of either actually backing out. It was like they were twelve years old and duelling for the first time all over again, except that Draco's 'scared, Potter?' was silently asked, and Potter's glare was response enough.
Before the last of the other Aurors were even properly seated, Draco and Potter were already writhing together on the ground, practically nose to nose, the cracker being jerked back and forward between them ineffectually until, in the end, the cracker fell entirely by the wayside in favour of them freeing up their hands to shove and punch and yank violently at each other's clothes.
Somewhat bizarrely, Draco couldn't fail to notice how intense Potter's eyes were up this close. Nor could he ignore how warm and firm Potter's body felt against his even through their robes. He'd long thought the madness of nearly being burned to death by Fiendfyre had caused him to hallucinate it the last time he and Potter had touched so intimately, but no. It turned out Potter was even fitter than he'd remembered, apparently.
Which was rather an unfair distraction, Draco thought, when he was supposed to be despising the man and attempting to pummel him into the ground.
A loud bang – five times as loud as if the cracker they'd been struggling over a minute ago had gone off – caused them to jump apart and whirl towards the noise, Auror instincts peaked. But instead of some outside threat, they found themselves aiming the business ends of their wands at the Head of the Department, who was looking mightily unimpressed with both them.
After tucking his own wand away, Robards started applauding them slowly, contemptuously, and his expression was thunderous enough that none of the other Aurors dared to laugh or to clap along with him. "And that, ladies and gentlemen," Robards said, "is why Potter and Malfoy will never be teamed as partners as long as I have anything to say about it. They'd be too busy having a pissing match to just get the job done." He kicked at the abandoned cracker – barely recognisable after being so badly manhandled, but still distinctly unpopped – to make his point.
Potter, clearly embarrassed at being called to the mat like that, wouldn't even glance at Draco for the rest of the night, as if Draco was suddenly no longer worth paying attention to.
Draco had always hated Robards, he decided.
Of course, Robards wasn't going to remain Head Auror forever, or even for very much longer.
And with the sheer quantity (not to mention the quality) of the dreams Draco suddenly started having about himself and Potter rolling around on the ground together, using mouths instead of hands to attack each other's skin, he had built up more than enough impetus to quickly find the right person to bribe just as soon as Robards was out the Department door and the new Head's overhaul had begun.
When the announcements of the new partner pairings were made, Draco had to force himself not to look smug as he met Potter's eyes.
Now that they'd be in each other's faces all day every day, Draco figured (Malfoy dignity notwithstanding) that it wouldn't be too long before he ended up engineering another brawl.
From there, Potter didn't stand a chance against him.
~FIN~