Disclaimer: JKR owns. I only play. You do not sue.
Length: 500 words
Summary: Painting a bull's eye on Harry Potter's back isn't funny.
Note: Written for the Amazing Weekly Drabble Thing. The challenge this week is Dare you to move. Also inspired by an addendum to 50 Things I'm Not Allowed to Do At Hogwarts.
Concrit: Always welcome and appreciated.
Harry hears their jeering, vicious laughter and he keeps walking. After six years, he's used to ignoring Malfoy with his cronies. Their guffaws echo in the hollow dungeon, dancing along the walls, chasing him. He will not give in. They don't matter. Harry makes his way to Gryffindor Tower, vaguely aware of friendlier voices calling his name, but he doesn't pay attention to them. He's dirty and sweaty from flying; he wants to take a shower and clear his head. When he reaches the dormitory, Harry strips off his robe, throws it onto the bed and freezes. There are large red concentric circles all over the back. Harry lifts the robe and holds it up -- it's a bull's eye. He drags his finger along the edge of a circle; it's a magical mark, not paint.
Harry stalks into the bathroom and slams the shower stall door so strongly that there is still ringing in his ears when he emerges ten minutes later, still furious. He should have known better than to turn his back to a Malfoy. Enough is enough. Harry grabs another set of school robes from his wardrobe, gets dressed and walks downstairs, not bothering to dry his hair. Malfoy and his sycophants are still there, near the dungeon staircase. Their harsh conversation is replaced by an uneasy silence broken by the occasional nervous titter as Harry approaches. He grabs Malfoy by the front of his robes and slams him against the wall. Crabbe and Goyle can only gape. Harry shoves his thigh between Malfoy's legs and leans down to whisper in his ear, his still-wet hair sticking to Malfoy's face where it touches.
"Think that was funny, did you?" hisses Harry. Malfoy makes no reply, but Harry can feel it -- Malfoy's hard against Harry's thigh. "I dare you to move," he whispers. "I dare you, right here in front of your mates. Let them know how fucking hot you are right now. You know that if you move now, you're not going to stop. You want nothing better than to bring yourself off, rutting against my leg like a fucking animal."
Malfoy's breaths are quick, short gasps; Harry can feel Malfoy's heart thundering against his chest. "F-f-fuck you, Potter," Malfoy manages.
"Yeah, I thought that was our agreement. I fuck you, you leave me the fuck alone." Harry can hear the others tightening the circle behind them. "Well?" he whispers, leaning even closer and rubbing his thigh very slightly against Malfoy's crotch.
"Let me go," gasps Malfoy. "Or you'll be sorry."
Harry leans back and looks at his face. It's slightly flushed and those cold eyes are dark and glinting in the scant torchlight. "No, I think you're the one who's going to be sorry," Harry says slowly. He thinks he can hear Malfoy suppress a whimper when he lets him go. "I'll be watching my back from now on," Harry adds before walking off.
It wouldn't have lasted much longer anyway.