It All Started With A Handshake

Author: SOrion
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Word count: 845
Warning: It turned out to be quite silly (not that I had that in mind, originally, but oh well…)
Rating: All audiences
AN: Answer to the hdflashfic challenge (handshake).
Thanks to Chatona for the beta.

It had all started with a handshake. That is, a handshake that had never actually taken place. But it would be the moment to mark their enmity.

The turning point in their lives, the crux of the matter, the egg of Columbus, the beast's core, the ring of Saturn… In other words: The Thing That Mattered.

And matter it did.

Harry would never forget the arrogance.

Draco would never forget the ignominy.

"And it was all your fault!" twin voices shouted, grey and green eyes blazing at each other from one uncomfortable looking (and feeling, too, to be precise) office chair to the other.

The man in the third and slightly less uncomfortable looking chair folded his hands on his desk, while trying to keep a firm grip on his calm centre that, at the moment, felt anything but calm. It took him only twelve seconds and two insults of the rapidly-getting-old variety uttered by the two men in his office to discover that his calm centre was obviously out of duty. He made a rather useless attempt of ordering it back by rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"THAT IS ENOUGH!" Kingsley Shacklebolt yelled in a voice that could not under any stretch of imagination be called 'calming' and hit the fist that had lost the firm grip on his calm centre on the desk. In his opinion, the sound was not nearly satisfying enough, and he wished – not for the first time since the two young men in front of him had finished their Auror training – that he had a hammer like the judges he saw in muggle television. (He wouldn't have minded the wig, either, but for now the hammer promised effectiveness and a more satisfying thud.)

But evidently, the hammer was not necessary, since both Auror Potter and Auror Malfoy swivelled around in their seats to look at the head of the Aurors somewhat contrite.

"Now…" Kingsley sighed and folded his hands, again. He concentrated very hard on keeping his voice very, very calm and very, very controlled (so much so, in fact, that he would require a visit to the massage parlour, later). "As you well know, you were the only two Aurors of your year to actually pass the exams. This means, unfortunately, that I cannot team you up with anyone else." His dark eyes wandered from one of these walking and talking, headaches-causing menaces to the other. "I do not want any more disruptions of the team dynamics in my division by the two of you." He pointed – quite rudely – at his employees. "You will shake hands and get along, or I shall be forced to resort to more drastic measures."

Kingsley's hands disappeared out of sight and heaved a dusty tomb from under the desk that had dark letters on the cover:

1001 Ways To Punish Those Who Deserve It And Those Who Don't – By Argus Filch

Kingsley tapped on the cover with one finger.

Potter and Malfoy gritted their teeth quite audibly and shook hands while looking ready to spit nails.

"Now, get out!"

Grumbling, the two men left his office and closed the door.

Kingsley considered ordering tea with a healthy helping of rum, when the voices on the other side of his door rose, again.

Tiny hairs at the back of his neck stood up and a moment later so did Kingsley. He walked composedly up to the door and held his ear close to understand the words spoken through the thick wood.

"—the hell is this my fault, Potter? You started it!"

"I started it?"

"Yes, you did!"

"Did not!"

"Did, too! You thought yourself too good to be my friend!"

Spluttering. "Well, you had to attack the only friend I'd ever had!"

Snorting. "Only shows your lack of taste." A deep breath, obviously Malfoy tried for a lengthy rant. "You could have had me. You could have had prestige, style. Instead you went and made friends with the Weasel and the- Granger. You could do no wrong and everyone favoured you. And on top of that, you had the gall to beat me at Quidditch at every turn, never mind that your arse looks damn near perfect in the Quidditch leather gear, too, and…"

Ominous silence.

Quietly: "I did not just say that…"

"Actually, Malfoy, I think you just did."

Kingsley fancied hearing a leer in that sentence… Merlin forbid.

"Well, well, well… How about a ride, Potter?"

No, he didn't imagine the leer.

A chuckle. "You sure you can handle my broomstick, Malfoy?"

"Bring it, speccy git."

Steps. Quiet.

Kingsley turned from the door, dazed. And he had thought them fighting was bad...

That healthy helping of rum started to sound better and better. "Mordred's lacy pants! DOBBY!"

The House Elf who had of course followed Potter from Hogwarts to the Ministry popped into view. "Yes, Master Shacklebolt. What can Dobby do for you, Sir?"

Did he say a healthy helping? "Get me a bottle of rum."

He had the strange feeling that he was going to need it…

End