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Dare Speak Its Name	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 2477 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am not making money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Dare Speak Its Name
- 2-Chapter Two
- 1
- 2
Title: Dare Speak Its Name
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Harry/Draco, background Lily/James
Content Notes: AU (Voldemort died without Horcruxes, Lily and James lived), mild angst, mild violence
Rating: R
Wordcount: This part 4400
Summary: AU, with Harry raised by his parents. Harry learns of a secret Quidditch field, run by one Draco Malfoy, that tests all comers and trains them to a higher level of perfection. Sneaking out to the field is only natural for Harry. But what he encounters there changes his life at a level he's never let anyone see before.
Author's Notes: An Advent fic written for the following request by autumnaubergine: AU. Harry/Draco, don't care who tops. Harry is raised magical, and he hears through the grapevine that there is a field where guys go to play Quidditch at night, a secret league. The field is on Draco's estate. Harry sneaks out of his house, apparates or floos or takes the magic bus or otherwise gets there, says the magic word, and sneaks in to play. He meets Draco, and discovers the players aren't just playing, they do stuff in the outdoor showers too after the game. Basically, a secretive coming out story, have the ending surprise me? The second part will be posted tomorrow.
Dare Speak Its Name
"And, you know, they play Quidditch there. Real Quidditch."
Harry shifted closer to Ron, intrigued. They were sitting in front of the fireplace playing Exploding Snap as usual on most summer afternoons. But the way Ron had just looked over his shoulder and lowered his voice wasn't usual at all. "What do you mean? They say the rules don't apply or something?"
"More than that, mate," said Ron. He stretched and arched his neck and scratched it, and Harry chuckled a little at how elaborately casual it looked. But Ron turned back to him, and there was nothing casual about the glow in his eyes. "They don't let anyone play who can't meet a certain standard."
"Who sets the standard?"
"Malfoy."
Harry frowned a little. Malfoy was distant blond hair in a crowd of Slytherins and a name that his father still cursed because Malfoy’s father had been a Death Eater. But James's curses were as distant as the hair, now. Harry had never directly interacted with Malfoy through years of being in Gryffindor; someone had finally seen sense and separated Gryffindors and Slytherins in all classes except NEWT ones. "How can he? He was never on the Quidditch team."
Ron snorted. "Apparently he was too good to play with us plebeians. He has all these tests you have to pass. And the tests are brutal, mate. Brutal. You can't use any magic to help you. He even has spells that strip away the broom's magic if people are leaning on it too heavily. It's pure physical skill."
Harry felt a stir start in his stomach. "Safety spells?"
"None."
"Not even--"
"None, mate. At all. On the brooms or the grounds or the equipment. The Bludgers can't be stopped short of capturing them again. You can't even Summon them the way you can your dad's. Nothing but skill."
Harry felt his breath come short. He had been so frustrated playing on the Gryffindor team, no matter how good he was. What was life without a challenge? And there had been no one who could challenge him, not even when little Alessandra Zabini became Seeker for Slytherin. Harry had taken to doing things like casting handicap spells on himself that would keep his hands sticking to the broom for a certain period of time. It was no fun otherwise.
"What kinds of standards do you have to meet?"
"Your own broom." Ron sighed longingly. Harry nodded. He knew Ron didn't have his own broom, and he had shouted so hard at Harry when Harry offered to buy him one that there was no chance of that. Ron was working at Fred and George's shop and would eventually earn enough money for a Nimbus, but it would take six months or so yet. "Enough skill at Quidditch to stay in the air through the initial tests, which I reckon Malfoy conducts himself. A desire to win."
"And what else?"
"What do you mean, what else?"
"I know you, Ron Weasley, and you're holding something back. What is it? Come on," Harry added, watching Ron's neck. "Did you know all your freckles disappear in the red when you lie?"
Ron sighed and dropped his head back. "Well, you know those rumors about Malfoy?"
"No." Sometimes Harry loved that they lived in Godric's Hollow, which was isolated from the main magical world, but other times it irritated the hell out of him. He was never up on the gossip.
"He's, um."
Harry watched Ron in fascination. It must be something special if he was blushing. "What?"
"He likes to fuck blokes." Ron lowered his voice. "That's another part of the test. If you lose a game to Malfoy, he's the one who decides if your skill's great enough to stay. And you have to pay him a forfeit. It's usually fucking, apparently. Or making other blokes do it together, so he can watch."
Harry blinked, and blinked again, hyper-aware of the way his eyelashes brushed against his cheeks. "No girls?"
"No. It's Malfoy's Quidditch field, so I reckon he runs it the way he wants to." Ron shrugged and took a sip of the butterbeer that Harry's parents had finally decided they were old enough to have without supervision. "And that means no girls, because he doesn't want to fuck them."
Harry smirked a little at the thought of what Angelina and Katie would say to that, but he had to admit he was intrigued. He was male. He had his own broom. He wouldn't really care about Malfoy fucking him or ordering him to fuck other people, come to that. Harry had come to the conclusion, after more than a few disappointing experiences, that sex just didn't excite him much. If it was one more test he had to pass to play real Quidditch, then he could take it.
And he longed so badly for the challenge that just knowing this Quidditch field existed suddenly made the rest of his life taste like stale water. He wanted it, wanted the challenge, wanted the endless yearning possibilities of it.
"Thanks for telling me, Ron," he said. "The Quidditch field at Malfoy's house?"
"'Course it is, mate. And I've heard--" Ron shot a suspicious glance towards the kitchen as Harry's mum spoke loudly about dinner "--that he holds tests for new players at the dark of the moon and the full."
Harry smiled more widely. The full moon was tomorrow, which meant Remus, the most likely person to see something was up and stop him, wouldn't be around to do it this time. "Thanks, mate. You're a good friend."
Ron casually turned over a card as Sirius walked past the doorway and made one of his usual faces at Harry. Then he whispered, "A good friend would deserve a description of all the things Malfoy does differently. As far as the Quidditch goes, I mean. You can shag blokes on your own time."
Harry grinned. "Will do."
*
"Harry, don't you want any more dinner?"
Harry looked up and smiled tiredly at his mother. She was always trying to get him to eat more, eat healthily, clean up, study more often. He loved her, but she didn't know him.
She thought he was some sort of frustrated genius, with all these abilities that he didn't work on because it was pointless at Hogwarts, where the professors only wanted right answers, and at home James and Sirius were always taking Harry's time and attention for themselves. Harry didn't have the heart to tell her that he wasn't frustrated with anything except his lack of privacy and friends. He wasn't a genius. He was lazy.
"You haven't had any carrots," Lily went on, and pushed the steaming bowl towards him.
"Thanks, Mum." Harry dished up the carrots, keeping his eyes strictly on the bowl and ignoring the way she leaned over as if to count how many he took. Then he made sure to eat several. Lily finally nodded and turned her attention back to the Charms book sitting by her plate.
Harry ate and watched Dad and Sirius joking on the other side of the table, and wondered. Maybe Mum felt this way about him because she was something of a frustrated genius herself. She'd gone into Healer training, but not liked it, and then she'd started on Charms work, but there were few careers available for a pure specialist in Charms. Lately she was trying to combine them with something else, maybe designing custom spells. Harry didn't think she'd really decided yet.
And Dad and Sirius...Harry loved them, he really did, but they thought he was a prankster who would someday, after a suitable period taking it easy, become an Auror. Harry hadn't found a way to tell them he was neither. Really, after eighteen years of knowing him, they hadn't figured it out yet?
Remus, who was making casual conversation with Lily and sometimes smiling at Harry, was the only person Harry felt truly understood him. But Remus didn't understand why Harry wanted to get some space from his family. Harry could appreciate that--Remus was a werewolf, he'd never felt loved or accepted until he met the Marauders--but it wasn't Harry's fate.
Harry had plenty of love and acceptance. What he needed was freedom.
"Potatoes, Harry?"
For the sake of his mum not suspecting him, Harry mustered a smile and a nod, and ate some potatoes, too.
But his mind was two nights away, on a private Quidditch pitch, in the light of the full moon.
*
"State your name."
"Harry Potter." Harry had pulled off the Invisibility Cloak the minute he felt the edge of the protective spells around the gates, and so had walked up to them in plain sight. It made all the instincts his dad had trained into him prickle. You weren't ever supposed to be seen in the process of planning a prank.
But this wasn't a prank. This was Harry taking control of his life again, the only way he could. Merlin, let me have this diversion before I probably end up being an Auror like they want.
The flare of light in front of him caught him by surprise; the gates and fence of Malfoy Manor had been dark so far. Out of the light came a rapidly-striding figure, who stopped behind the fence and stared at him doubtfully.
Harry looked back. His breath was light and fearless. He had come here for a good reason, and while he hadn't ever known Malfoy well, he could pick him out of a crowd. He was sure Malfoy could do the same to him.
"Well." Malfoy's voice was soft. He lifted his wand, and the brilliant light coming from it in a halo--an interesting version of the Lumos Charm that Harry had never seen--narrowed to a cone. Harry could see his face now.
Malfoy had grown up fox-like, intent and pointed and predatory. He looked at Harry with grey eyes flaring bright enough that Harry was sure it wasn't all the light of the charm. Then he nodded slowly.
"I wondered when you might show up," he said, and his eyes dropped to the Firebolt in Harry's grasp. "That's your own broom?"
"Yes, it is." Harry started to turn it around so Malfoy could check the engraved name if he wanted, but Malfoy gave his head a small twitch.
"And you know the rules here? No safety spells? Of any kind? And that you'll fuck other blokes, or let me fuck you, if you fail my test?"
"Yes," Harry said. The words made sharp tingles spread down his shoulders, the way they hadn't when Ron was speaking of these rules. Then again, Ron hadn't had the power to make them come true.
Malfoy paused. "The fucking doesn't bother you?"
It seemed impossible to be other than honest, here in the half-lit darkness. "I've had lots of sex, with both blokes and birds. I wanted to see what the fuss was about. And when it didn't excite me, I did it some more, because I thought there must be something wrong with me or the people I'd messed around with. It never changed. Sex honestly doesn't matter to me, Malfoy. I'll do it if you say I have to."
Malfoy's face was startled for an instant, making him look far younger than Harry had thought was possible. He shook his head a little. "You'd give up your chance--"
"I highly doubt your version of Quidditch is for life. I'm not a virgin. I'm not a poor Quidditch player. I'm not someone who can't stand the thought of having a bloke's dick in his arse. I'll do what's necessary. And," Harry leaned nearer and let his breath out on Malfoy's cheek, "I don't mind taking orders if I lose."
There it was. The thing Harry had always imagined but never seen. The light of challenge kindling to flames in Malfoy's eyes, the challenge Harry had always been seeking on the Quidditch pitch and never found.
"Then you sound perfect, Potter." Malfoy's voice was soft as heather, and so was the hand he raised to cup Harry's cheek. "Of course I'll have to test you myself, to see if you pass."
"Let's play."
*
Malfoy on a broom was a sight to behold, one Harry was sorry that he'd had to wait so long to see.
On the other hand, Harry could also see why Malfoy hadn't wanted to play at Hogwarts. Just from the way he sat his broom, leaning back a little to scan the dark sky for the Snitch, he wouldn't have had Harry's patience with the lack of challenge.
They were on a pitch so green and flat it made Harry think longingly of ideals and sheep and Ireland, where he'd only been once when he was much younger. Floating globes of light, with only faint shapes of iron cages around them to suggest what supported the spell, hovered on either side of the pitch. The Keeper's hoops shone silver.
Malfoy had told Harry he played Seeker by preference, and then cast the spells that would strip the brooms' magic and led Harry to the pitch in silence. Before he rose on his broom to join Harry, he'd released both the Snitch and the Bludgers from confinement.
And now the race was on to see who could find the Snitch first. But honestly, Harry thought, as he leaned into a gust that made his Firebolt sway harder than normal, this test was more than that. Malfoy wanted to see how he could fly.
Malfoy had a Starblaze, the better broom, newer by a year than Harry's Firebolt. But Harry could show him things that he hadn't dreamed of.
And above him was a night sky streaked with moonlight and clouds just waiting to be explored.
Harry tilted back his broom. He could see Malfoy immediately pull in one knee as he dropped into a defensive maneuver, since he probably assumed Harry had seen the Snitch and would try to foul him.
But Harry had seen a cloud. He wondered if he could catch it. He tilted back until he was pointing straight upwards at it, and then he crouched a little, and then he took off.
Faster.
Harry felt his blood leap to life in his veins. He crouched down further, as much as he could when he was aiming up, and he soared. He had never let the Firebolt reach its full speed before, since he would slam into the side of most pitches.
Now he rose, and the air chilled around him so fast that he panted in exhilaration. This was him. This was a true wonder. This was how rapidly his Firebolt could fly.
He had to struggle to breathe. The cloud remained impossibly far above him. But that was no reason not to struggle after it. Harry drew himself back against the broom some more and urged it on.
No protective spells preventing the wood from splintering in the cold. No charms that would spring automatically to life to warm him as his body steamed white clouds. Nothing between him and death but a slender piece of wood and his own skill.
Harry banked abruptly, knowing he could go no further, listening to his body instead of his fear. He dropped his gaze and made out the Malfoy pitch as a point of light far below, glimmering in the dusk; the moon was nearer. Harry couldn't see Malfoy himself at all.
Time to fall.
Harry whipped his broom down, half-curving it like a peregrine's wing, and fell. And fell. The air around him changed from cold to warm. He didn't flinch. The light came nearer so fast that it was like watching an eye open. But Harry had given himself over to his instincts now, and he swerved in and out among the Keeper's hoops when he reached them exactly as if it hadn't made his shoulders strain, pulling the broom out of the dive like that.
There was a gleam of gold off to the side. Exactly where it should be.
Harry turned. But there was someone rising in front of him, so graceful and on point that he had to pause in speechless admiration, and Malfoy kept going and took the Snitch in full flight, anticipating where it would turn before it did.
He turned and stared at Harry. Harry stared back.
"In some ways," Malfoy said lazily, "that wasn't much of a game. With you gone for so long." He tossed the Snitch in his hand. Even its furious buzzing couldn't carry it out of the age of his fingers. Harry waited and said nothing. "How did you see it from that height? Were you using spells?"
"I couldn't see it. I came down and listened to what my instincts were telling me. They positioned me right."
"And that's the right answer," Malfoy said, with a breath like a speech, and leaned forwards. Harry anticipated everything from grabbing his broom shaft to dragging him off it, and went with the drag, leaning forwards to kiss Malfoy as fiercely as the brooms bucked beneath them.
"You're mine," Malfoy said, when he pulled out of the kiss. "You won't play with anyone else. You're going to be here in a fortnight, on the dark of the moon, and play next to me. If we can't beat a seven-person team with only two, it'll be the first time I was wrong."
Harry nodded, and glanced around, wondering if anyone else was here right now. "And you don't want me to fuck someone for your pleasure?"
Malfoy's grip shifted from his shoulder to his throat. Harry whipped back, light-headed for more than one reason.
"Only me," Malfoy whispered to him. "And now. Showers."
*
Harry didn't expect to be nervous as he headed into the showers. He had had sex with blokes before, what he'd told Malfoy was perfectly true, and there was no reason to think this would be any different. Maybe Malfoy would be experienced enough not to hurt him the way some of his partners had, Harry thought finally, but that would be the only noteworthy thing.
Quickly, he discovered some of the differences.
Malfoy had created showers in a huge stone building that might have been a stable for Abraxans once. He had plenty of benches where people could sit, and slick stones on the floor that Harry walked across carefully, and surprisingly modern showerheads that had knobs next to them for sending out various streams of water. Harry paused to study them, and Malfoy stepped up behind him and kissed him on the back of the neck.
Slow enough to melt my mind, Harry thought, and arched back into it before he thought about what he was doing. Malfoy looped an arm around his waist and kissed him again, and then ran his hand down Harry's hip. Harry was already naked. Malfoy had insisted he strip before they entered the showers.
"You look," Malfoy said, and didn't finish the sentence. He ran his fingers around Harry's nape and down his arms, using only one hand.
Harry shivered and tried to turn around to see Malfoy in turn, because he thought Malfoy would probably want a compliment, but Malfoy shook his head and held him against the wall with a grip only around his wrist. Harry stilled anyway, because he thought he knew what would happen if he challenged that grip.
"You're wonderful," said Malfoy, and he reached out and turned the knob on the wall nearest them.
Harry braced for a stream of cold water at first, the way it always happened at Hogwarts, but the first thing that hit him was a mist of warmth. Harry sighed and let himself sag forwards so his forehead was resting against the wall. Malfoy chuckled.
"Yes, I thought you might like that," he said, and his fingers slid and twisted and dipped into Harry's navel.
Slowly, as though he had until the next moon phase to do all this, Malfoy rubbed shampoo into Harry's hair. Harry arched his neck back and gasped when one hand ran down his spine, and there was some warm liquid smeared across the palm and fingers that wasn't shampoo.
"Body wash. Relaxant. My own creation."
Harry remembered, hazily, hearing that Malfoy was really talented at Potions, but his thoughts slid away again as the warmth made it hard for his legs to support him. Malfoy finally turned him around long enough to kiss him, and then made Harry sink down on a bench that was within the spray of water.
"Lie back," he whispered.
Harry did, but not before he cast a Cushioning Charm. The bench had a dip near the far end that would support his neck, but he didn't fancy his chances of escaping pain with what he suspected Malfoy was going to do to him.
He watched Malfoy pace towards him through the glistening stream of water. His eyes were like hematite, and Harry flushed, because he didn't often think in such poetic comparisons. But it was the truth.
Malfoy bent over and kissed him, and Harry kissed back, his nervousness fading. He'd done this before, he was warm and relaxed, and he lifted his legs in his hands and bent them backwards to his chest without needing to be told.
Malfoy stared at him, face bowed a little so his hair was hanging in his eyes and Harry couldn't see his expression. Harry was just starting to worry that he'd done something wrong when Malfoy lifted his head.
The look in his eyes warmed Harry more than the water and the potion combined.
"Whoever had the training of you taught you well."
"I know what to do. That doesn't mean it's ever felt really good."
Malfoy shook his head in what seemed to be genuine caring, not pity, and said, "Then they didn't train themselves well," and slid towards him. He had another potion on his fingers, one heavy and slick enough that it didn't rub off under the water. He reached out and circled a finger around Harry's hole. Harry thought it always felt weird at first.
This didn't. It was light and tickling, and went on long enough that Harry lifted his legs again, obeying some urge that he'd never felt before. Malfoy smiled at him, and opened him slowly with two fingers.
When Harry felt a spark of merciless pleasure, he thought it must be Malfoy's potion. But then Malfoy probed and twisted, and Harry strangled on his groans. His head tilted further back, into the space on the marble bench, and Malfoy stroked his chest.
"It's easy to give a man pleasure, like this," he murmured. "Although I like to think I'm exceptional at it. Your lovers must have been poor."
"Or I was," Harry managed to say, as he concentrated on his breathing and forced it back under control. "I couldn't believe that that was--all there was to it. I kept trying it again and again, because I thought there must be--something more."
"You should have come to me from the beginning. I would have taken care of you."
Harry wanted to retort that he and Malfoy had basically ignored each other at Hogwarts, but Malfoy was easing in with more than his fingers now. He pressed one hand on Harry's chest, massaging more potion in and making him breathe instead of tense up like Harry always wanted to do instinctively.
"Ah, yes," Malfoy sighed, as he entered him.
He kept hitting that spot inside Harry with small, subtle strokes, and Harry let go of his grinding teeth and cried out again and again. Malfoy smiled down at him, and whispered, "Let me give you as much pleasure as watching you fly gave me."
And he kept on moving slow and soft and merciful, and Harry never got cold, not with the endless enchanted warm water pouring across them. He felt the pleasure increasing, though, even though Malfoy wasn't "riding him hard" the way Harry had sometimes heard his roommates groaning about.
Then Malfoy bent himself down, sliding a little out of Harry. Before Harry could even protest, he lowered his head and breathed across the head of Harry's cock.
Harry arched and sprayed himself and Malfoy. God, that was good, it was so good, and it made him feel like he wanted to come again immediately. He squeezed down around Malfoy, half-hoping that he could get hard from the fucking and do it that way.
But Malfoy rolled his eyes back and sprayed himself, and Harry had to let loose a hiss of lesser satisfaction at having someone come inside him. Malfoy managed to make even that feel good, instead of just wet.
It wasn't so much prior experience as knowledge of the kind of Quidditch pitch Malfoy ran that made Harry expect him to pull out immediately once he was done. But instead, he lingered, and massaged more shampoo into Harry's hair, and kissed the edge of his eyes.
"Beautiful," he said.
Harry was too blissful to open an eye and glare at him the way he deserved, but he did think about it.
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Dare Speak Its Name