Made it before midnight! Haha, a not-too-late Christmas gifts for two of my sexiest, most in love-est boys ever! YAY FOR DRUNKEN DIALOUGE! HOPE YOU ALL HAD A MERRY CHRISTMAS! Happy Holidays and thanks to all my readers for all your year-long support!

His eyes wandered aimlessly along the other boy's legs. It was pointless to be there, really, he didn't understand why he was there himself.

"What do you want?"

That must have been the sixteenth time the other boy had asked. He pushed up his glasses,

"Don't act like that, it's Christmas,"

"As if that means anything to me,"

Harry wrapped his hands around his arms, rubbing shortly. The blonde cocked a brow at this, his constant frown twitched, the frown that was only ever replaced with a demeaning, self-satisfied smirk on the occasional demise of someone else's hopes and dreams. He shifted,

"You want to come inside, don't you?"

"Mm," Harry hummed pleadingly, "That'd be nice,"

Draco opened the door more to his home. Harry entered gratefully, glancing over his shoulder slightly to watch the blonde shut the grand entrance and follow him into the living room. French Christmas music was buzzing through the manor and there was a magenta drink sparkling and popping in a sophisticated and elaborately designed glass. There were purple and maroon, exotic flowers flustering the room, light brown furniture, and in Harry's opinion, the set up was just a tad gaudy.

"You're French?"

"Have you given my complexion a second glance? Yes, I'm French. Malfoy, what ethnicity does that sound like to you? Dunce,"

"You speak it?"

"Fluently. Most of my family does, it's a sort of required material, you know? I speak Italian and German too,"

"German? Why?"

He sighed, as if explaining his over-achievements was some great burden and Harry was just bothering him with his ignorance. He sipped at his glass, still standing as Harry sat into the unbroken-in couch,

"My family often travels there, and I'm meant to socialize with the higher ups, means I need to be more than fluent, I need to speak and learn dialects like second nature. It's a rather long story, really, as to the details into my family's connections across Europe, but I'm well-known and well-liked, as was my father, and now carrying the name him and my mother have left behind, their reputation lies with me, so learning German was a given,"

"I see…"

Draco huffed, crossed his arms; Harry noted that Draco's wrist was pointed and his pinky finger was posed in the air above the glass of his drink,

"Potter, you haven't said more than six words, and it was to criticize my holiday attitude. Open your damn mouth already, and tell me why you're here,"

"I'm not ready to…say it yet, I'm sorry, I shouldn't even be here," He struggled for the words as he stood.

He was shocked to feel Draco's surprisingly warm, right hand settle on his broad shoulder and push him back, gently.

"No," He started, "Don't leave. You should stay…I can wait until you're ready, it's fine…"

They locked eyes for a very dense and strange moment. Harry would have stopped himself before saying it out loud, normally, but he was far from feeling normal, this, the Christmas Eve of his senior year in Hogwarts.

"You're lonely, aren't you?"

Draco's icy eyes were wide, "I…suppose I'm not…very hard to read during these seasons…"

"I'll stay,"

"Good…just sit, and when you're ready to say what it is you came here to say, open your mouth. Talking at you will entertain me enough," Draco gathered all his egotistical façade back, "So…sit,"

Harry followed the instructions, planting himself into his un-used seat. He looked at his hands that twined between his knees shyly, looked up in alert at hearing Draco clear his throat,

"Remove your coat. It's rude for a guest to keep their coat on,"

Harry slid it from his shoulders and let it fall to his side, then bent back over, only for Draco to sigh and correct,

"Potter, really, sit up straight, your posture is hideous,"

Harry sighed deeply, wondering if maybe what he wanted to say wasn't really what he wanted to say, but just as doubt slipped into his mind, Draco shot up nervously and exclaimed,

"Dear, Merlin, I haven't asked you – are you hungry? Thirsty? This pixie wine is really rather lovely, would you like some?"

It was so ladylike. Even in how he held himself. The way his voice stretched and scrunched on certain words in worry or excitement or anxiety. It was very endearing. One of the few redeeming qualities of Draco Malfoy. His social grace, that charm that Harry lacked; though, it was much more a girl's charm than the type of charm Harry wanted. He brushed at his ebony hair awkwardly,

"Uhm…well, can I taste the pixie wine?"

Draco showed an expression then, Harry had never seen before on that face. It was a coy smile, barely there at all, nearly untraceable, but Harry had a good eye that night for the fine details. Draco walked around the glass coffee table between them to offer out his arm with the popping and zipping drink.

"It's got a bit of a bite and the reward of it is really in the aftertaste,"

"What's the, uhm, sparkles flying in it?"

The little lights were even jumping out of the glass, the surface of the drink had a small fog dancing along it; it was a work of art just by its looks.

"Pixie wine is a very delicate and rare drink. Highly intoxicating, if you're a light-weight, Potter, now's the time to back away. It's vicious. Pixie wine is made with the energy that falls from Pixie wings – it's nearly impossible to catch a Pixie, even more so to brush its wings of some of the energy flying off it. My father got three bottles from Romania a few years ago, and seeing as this is my first Christmas without him, I thought I couldn't celebrate it better than opening the bottles he swore never to open," He chuckled cynically, "Old bastard was such a hoarder. In any case, it tastes even better if your palette is wet for vengeance,"

Harry gulped nervously, "Wet for vengeance? How do I prepare my mouth for an emotion?"

Draco raised his arm and slapped Harry hard across the face with a resonating echo throughout the house. Harry held his face, feeling skin hot under his hand from the violent contact. He opened his mouth to ask what the hell that had been for, but before he could make a sound, Draco told him,

"Now, you're palette is wet for vengeance, is it not?"

Harry ground his teeth, half-smirking, "You're a real piece of work, Malfoy,"

"Go on, take a sip,"

He went to take the glass, but Malfoy didn't hand it over. Draco responded to Harry's bewildered expression by explaining,

"I don't want your mudblood-loving germs all over my collectible crystal glass,"

He tipped the rim of the drink to Harry's lips, and with an apprehensive sigh and glare, he accepted the gesture and swallowed. Draco was right – there was a small bite to it. It popped in his mouth and as he was about to let it slide down, Draco shot his right hand to Harry's throat, scaring him half to death. Harry looked at him with wide, emerald eyes, the hold wasn't threatening, but still shocking; Draco's serpentine voice finally hissed,

"Don't swallow it yet, Potter," His lashes lowered as Harry's face relaxed and he stilled his muscles.

"Swirl it around your mouth, then let it rest on your tongue for a while,"

Harry did as told, and felt it pop and wash over every inch of his mouth, eventually being ordered again,

"Swallow,"

The word alone made him blush wildly.

"Trust me, it feels fantastic,"

Another rush of blood to his face. He ignored it and tried to bleach it as closed his eyes and felt Draco's thumb slowly but gently drag down his throat as the toxin slid down. It didn't just slide, though, it danced and swirled and left waves of sensations in its wake. The aftertaste was a combination of flowers, sugar and cinnamon – very hard to describe, but a gorgeous taste. He looked up to Draco and nodded,

"Lovely,"

"Understatement of the century," Draco smirked, "So? You'd like some?"

"Yes, I would,"

With that, Draco's hand left his heated flesh and he left into the kitchen. He sauntered back in with an elegant bottle with a twisted neck. He sat down across from Harry again and announced,

"You still didn't tell me if you're a light-weight or not,"

"You're left-handed,"

Draco looked up to him, "I am. You know, it's a sign of a royal blood to be left-handed. Why did you notice?"

"You choked me with your right hand and have been holding the glass with your left hand all this time,"

Draco rolled his eyes, "You're such a prat, I hardly choked you,"

"Still. I always wanted to be left-handed,"

"Doesn't surprise me that you're not. Everything but that overgrown zit on your forehead keeps you as boring as bread. But out of curiosity, why?"

"Why do I admire left-handed people?"

"Yeah,"

"Well…I find that most left-handed people have really nice hand-writing, and I have chicken-scratch. I always wanted nice hand-writing,"

Draco planted his pretty face in his palm, his elbow resting on his knee,

"Penmanship is important in my family. We predominantly write in cursive to each other when we send owls and such. It's a charming quality to have, really, defines a certain part of growth, I believe,"

Harry parted his legs, leaning back on the couch again, "You certainly talk a lot, Malfoy,"

"Well, it's not my fault you talk so little," He pouted in a snide, obnoxious way, "Not that I care to hear anything you've got to say. And do remember you're the one that showed up at my door in the snow on Christmas Eve, not the other way around, it is very rude to insult your host. And for the love of Merlin, straighten your back,"

Harry frowned, "You're not sitting up straight, though,"

"I'm the host. Not to mention, I've taken years of etiquette lessons, I've worked long and hard enough on posture to have earned my right to be sloppy sometimes. And I haven't really practiced my etiquette since the population in my life dropped to below zero, so I'm allowed to do as I please,"

"There you go again – I say a few words and you reply with essays,"

"Shut up," He snipped, "If you want more Pixie wine, drink from my glass. I figure if you're a light-weight and don't want to say it out loud, we'll found out together, and if it's a dangerous drink for you, I'll take the majority,"

"Gross, backwash," Harry's mouth tilted in distaste.

"Don't act disgusted, my saliva can only make you stronger. And be appreciative, honestly, you're just a horror of a guest, Potter. Did no one ever teach you manners?"

"And it wasn't an insult,"

He yawned, cracking his neck by tilting his head, "Don't let your legs just hang open like that, cross them or bring your knees together like a damn gentleman. It's really by the majesty of Merlin you haven't been kicked out of a home before. And to what are you referring?"

Harry fixed his body again, "I mean, in how you talk. How you talk so much. It wasn't meant to be an insult,"

Draco looked at him strangely, "That's fine, I don't give half a damn what you think of me, Potter, I never have cared and still don't. Say whatever you like, doesn't matter to me. It's not because I'm lonely. It's just how I am, I talk a lot,"

Harry nodded and looked at him knowingly, "It's okay,"

"It might be because I'm lonely, I can't be sure, I haven't been in this sort of loneliness before. I mean, even the maids and butlers are gone. The manor is huge. I hear my own footsteps and nearly half hope that someone has broken in just to have someone. My aunt and uncle have been paying my bills from France – no one needs to know I'm unsupervised, but come next December, I'll be eighteen and it won't matter if I'm living separately. But…I suppose I am talking a bit much,"

Harry nodded again, "It's okay. And it's okay if you're lonely,"

"I don't know if I am, don't jump to conclusions, I never said I was lonely, I said I didn't know if I was lonely or not,"

"You are,"

"I know," He admitted rather dejectedly – he must have known it was a worthless and no-win battle.

"And that's okay," Harry smiled gently, "I can certainly empathize with you more on that sort of feeling. Trust me, I know it sucks. I know how bad it can get,"

Draco looked away, to the grandfather clock across the room, then back to Harry. He quirked a brow,

"It's almost Christmas Day. Shouldn't you be with your friends?"

Harry stopped thinking to note that there wasn't a crude nickname in place for the word "friends" – Draco, while still condescending and demanding and demeaning, was certainly losing his touch.

"I was with them all day. They're the ones that talked me into coming here,"

Draco shot up out of his seat unexpectedly again, "Talked you into coming here? What, am I some freak show now? It's got to be some dare or prank to get someone to approach my door? To hell with that, Potter, if you're here to fulfill some sick and stupid trick or prank or laugh on my account, then get out. You're not the first but I will damn well make you the last,"

Harry stood, his hands up in a defensive surrender, "No, no, Draco, I'm not here to do anything cruel,"

"You swear it? Swear it, I'll take your word for it as I'm too tired to argue with you right now, but go on and swear it if you can, if you swear it I'll trust you,"

"…yeah, I swear it,"

Draco gripped the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes in frustration, "I've made a fool of me, haven't I?"

"Not in the slightest. Loneliness can make someone paranoid like that,"

"Fantastic, I'm a paranoid orphan consumed by loneliness in the most dreadfully furnished manor on the continent," He whined.

He looked to Harry briefly, removing his hand from his unhappy face, "No offense, not that I'm offended to be an orphan or anything,"

"Really, you're just shoving your foot in your mouth every time you go to explain yourself," He chuckled as he re-seated himself.

"Yes, I suppose I am…Potter, what did you come here to say?"

"Draco, would you mind getting drunk?"

"You're a light-weight, aye?"

"That's not what I mean, I just mean, if you're drunk, this might all be easier to say to you,"

"Why's that?" Draco inquired, sitting down again.

Harry laughed half-heartedly, "Well, probably the prospect of you not remembering it in the morning. It would just make me more comfortable,"

The blonde hummed curiously, "Very well,"

He picked up the full glass and met Harry's eyes with his, "To you, Harry J. Potter,"

Harry blushed furiously at hearing his name roll off Draco's lips, his tone so friendly, his aura so less threatening than it had ever been. He took a swig and faster than Harry could blink, the glass was empty. Draco smiled, sighing a cloud of sparkles, lowering his gorgeous eyes,

"That'll kick in soon. The effects are quite strong, but it's too light to make one sick, so don't go thinking I'll need any nursing. Could result in a terrible migraine by morning, but it will just make me tipsy. The German and French blood in me makes me a towering competitor in drinking,"

"More talking and talking, talking. It's cute," Harry complimented.

"You know, Harry Potter," Draco's head lolled back lazily onto the back of the couch, slurring, "It's all about the Ministry,"

As that hour had passed, very slowly, Draco Malfoy cared less and less about posture, his comebacks became less quick-witted and his comfort level became more and more dominant over his social eloquence to the point he was hanging on the couch beside The Chosen One, whom he kept calling Harry Potter.

"How do you mean?" Harry smiled, taking small sips from the newly half-filled glass; he settled on the slight buzz and didn't exceed it.

"Always-always wondering what the Ministry's got to say 'bout all the-the-the shenanigans," his voice went up an octave, "when they 'aven't got a coherent thought to offer in that armpit of magical society! What's the Ministry got to say 'bout the matter? What's the Minister got to say 'bout the matter? Stupid, stupid people trusting the damn Minister, I mean, it took seeing the damn man to believe the Dark Lord was back at-all! Dunces, buncha dunces, right, Harry Potter? Don't you agree with me, Harry Potter?"

Harry chuckled again, "Yes, you're entirely right, Draco,"

"Damn right, I'm entirely right. You know, Harry Potter, you are…blessed comp'ny…it's-it's-it's as if I'd gotten so used to all the quiet 'n lonely 'n all that I'd forgotten what a good night had to offer, 'specially on a night like Christmas Eve, you know? Beautiful night too, beautiful night 'n to-'ven think it could've gone utterly to waste, total waste, being lonely 'n quiet 'n such 'n all, you know?"

"I do," He agreed, "I certainly do,"

"Damn right, you do," Draco ignored Harry's chuckling, advancing towards him so that their breaths were running past each other, their noses almost touching.

"Something…you want to say, Draco?"

"Nope," He bit, a sharp air hitting Harry's lips on the hard "p" sound he made, "But you've certainly got something on your mind, aye?"

Harry blushed lightly, "Yes, I have,"

"It's probably sex,"

Harry laughed out, "What?!"

Draco chuckled, "Oh, come now, Harry Potter, Harry Potter, you've been undressing me with your eyes since you-you-you walked in here, you came here to say you wanted to fuck, 'n that's mighty fine by me,"

"Draco," Harry laughed, blushing wildly, "It's not…it's not sex,"

"It's love, then?" His head dropped onto his out-stretched arm that laid across the back of the couch.

His fingers tangled with the back of Harry's hair, twirling some tuffs flirtatiously.

"Well…"

"You see, when you walked in, I mean, before you even walked in, the fact you were 'ere at-all meant something was up," He moved over, straddling Harry's waist, wrapping his arms around Harry's neck, "You're so easy to read 'n all, with your eyes 'n your mouth 'n the way you talk to me 'n all 'n such, you know, you're so easy to read, Harry Potter…want to kiss me?"

Harry wasn't entirely sure he was awake as he only encountered this side of Draco Malfoy in his wildest dreams. Had Draco really done all the talking for him? What a favor.

"I do…"

"Even though I'm mean 'n sarcastic 'n snobby 'n all 'n such? I mean, you're such a damn martyr, Harry Potter, Harry Potter must think, you must think I'm just about a snob 'n a half 'n all with all my attitude 'n such 'n all, I bet, don't you? Don't you think I'm a snob 'n a half?"

Harry nodded, too overcome with repressed want and butterflies to laugh at Draco anymore,

"Yeah, you're definitely a snob,"

"Then why d'you like me?"

"I love you,"

"I don't believe you,"

"I knew you wouldn't,"

Draco pouted childishly, then giggled with bedroom eyes, "Oh, shut up, you prat, now just in spite of you I'll believe you,"

Harry chuckled, "Draco, kiss me,"

"What have I yelled at you about all night?"

"…my posture?"

"Your manners, Harry Potter, where are you manners?"

"Please?"

He was rewarded with a kiss; passionate, heated, but not sloppy and drunken, no, quite graceful and controlled.

"You're everything I'm not," Harry breathed out when they broke to catch their breaths.

Draco smirked, "You're everything I'm not,"

"That's why I love you,"

"I bet so,"

"You've got all I lack,"

"Yes, I do,"

Harry smiled, "There you go, being snobby again,"

"You're talking more than me now, you should just shut up 'n take me upstairs,"

"Will you remember in the morning?" Harry wondered; he wanted to touch Draco, very desperately, but didn't want to be some watered down memory.

"Pixie wine doesn't have alcohol in it,"

Harry's eyes widened in shock,

"…what?"

He grinned from ear to ear, "You're such a dunce, Potter. I'm not drunk, all that's in Pixie wine is energy and endorphins. It's called wine because of its color, not an ounce of alcohol in that entire bottle,"

Harry wanted to kill him.

"Y-y-you dirty liar!" He shot.

"Made you comfortable enough to say what you wanted to say, though, right?"

"Screw you, Malfoy,"

"Please, I've been waiting,"

Harry's face was nearly purple with anger and embarrassment.

"Don't be angry, Harry, it doesn't suit you,"

"How am I supposed to feel?"

"Cheated. Now take me upstairs, and take it out on me," He kissed Harry again, nearly violently, pulled away and hissed, "It's all about forgiveness and giving, right, Potter? It's Christmas, after all,"