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Feasting on Rabbits	By : midnightpanther Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Fenrir Views: 23503 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own or have any claim on Harry Potter. This fanfiction is solely fanbased and is in no way being used to make money.

Chapter List
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My friend
finally found the fic and for those reading reviews
let me tell you guys now: This story is not an
m-preg. Not my cup of tea and not pre-listed as a
warning. Enjoy Fenrir! And thanks for the reviews!

Feasting on Rabbits

Under the Fur: part one

When he
is best, he is a little worse than a man; and when he is worst, he is little
better than a beast.

~William Shakespeare

Fenrir Greyback was not a man
of fanciful dreams. He did not think the world a fair place, and he did not
believe that any person�s actions, least of all his own, would face universal
consequence. Ergo, karma could suck his hairy balls. Fenrir
had experienced his fair share of hell on earth, and he had yet to spot that
silver lining with bunnies that cum rainbows.

The noticeable exception to the unjust
in the world being the Dark
Wizard in rising, Voldemort. An exception only in that they shared the
same dream� well, not the same dream: Voldemort
wanted to rule all wizards, wean the weak from the strong by blood, he wanted
to dispose the unworthy and purge the world of the foul muggleborns;
Fenrir�s goal was exactly the same, but the
definition of whose blood was foul varied. To him everyone deserved to die, no
exceptions.

It was simply that wizards and witches deserved to die by slow
and anguished torment.

Just thinking about the magical blood seeping down his
throat in that first steaming release from the flesh could make Fenrir pant with desire. The taste on his tongue was better
than alcohol, better than nicotine, and far surpassed any drug: it was the most
addictive thing.

Now, Fenrir could have told the
Dark Lord that he�d tasted the blood of half-bloods, that he tasted the blood
of purebloods � and that the nonsense the half-bloods and muggleborns
sprouted about their blood and pureblood was actually true. Not
that blood was blood: But that magical blood was magical blood.

But what would be the fun in that?

Because muggle blood wasn�t the same as wizard�s blood. It
lacked. It was unspiced. Tasteless
dribble that other creatures conceded to feast on because the prey was easy.

Easy and unsatisfying.

Hunting a muggle was like hunting
a peacock. They strutted around, and frankly, their attire tended to be loud. Fenrir could just walk down a darkened street and there one
would be, separated from its pitiful pack with earphones impeding its hearing. Just a giant sack of meat. And sometimes they even issued
the invitation �Eat Me� on their shirts.

Who was Fenrir to refuse?

But wizards? They existed in the
same realm as werewolves and vampires. They knew to hide in black cloaks and
how to defend themselves. They knew of the dangers of the world and were
dangerous in turn. A deadlier, more satisfying prey.
And with that Dark Wizard backing Fenrir he had been
given the right to hunt them.

With the �No Hunting� sign removed (so to speak) Fenrir had expected his kind to ravish their new freedom,
to take what had been denied them. To show the magically-inclined just what
would happen to them without their protective fence to keep the predators at
bay.

But where were the abused amongst them? Where were the
mistreated? Cowering in shabby apartments. Apologizing
for continuing to breath. It made Fenrir
sick.

His own kind repulsed him.

Weak and spineless werewolves, that�s what wizard�s rule had
accomplished. Was it a fair world that labeled Fenrir
the same as those beaten-down wolves? No. But the world wasn�t fair. The world
was brutal. The world was hate. Everyone hated. Everyone despised. And Fenrir? He hated the most.

One of the very few joys was the amount of hate he
accumulated from others. Every time his fangs sunk into a young witches chest he thought of the look on her mother�s face.
Every time he chewed the neck through on that little wizard (one strong bite)
he fantasized about the frantic horror of the father who had to play Fenrir�s game of Head and Seek.

Hate was delicious. Hate ruled the world and made everything
spin. Look at the impending war that would twist the magical world beyond what
it was. Voldemort�s ambition had nothing to do with
love, not even for the purebloods he�d raise to power. It was hate that drove
the man, hate of everything that he was and everything that he wasn�t, but most
of all: hate of everyone who wasn�t him.

And he was powerful. Not because his magic was the most
supreme but because the man dared. He set his mind on a goal and he
would break every rule, every assumption of acceptable behavior, every code of
magic or humanity to achieve his ends. He would bring dark days upon the
magical world. And the dark days he would bring brought Fenrir
one step closer to his own ambition.

But the world wasn�t fair.

It was filled with people who had no idea why oh why
misfortune had befallen them. They were the pawns of the world, useful
pieces that were maneuvered and discarded as the manipulators saw fit. Useless pieces that were merely in the way. And sometimes
these pieces, these people were just there.

In a fair world the boy who lay prone at Fenrir�s
feet would have been raised by his magic-loving family until he was old enough
for a magical school to offer the invitation of a lifetime. He never would have
been mentioned in a prophecy and he never would have become a useful pawn
before he could even speak a word. In a fair world, the name Harry Potter
and Loky Litany would hold the same
weight of nothing.

The world wasn�t fair.

But ah, did those green eyes ever shine with injustice. Fenrir took a casual moment to look at his new prey:
underfed and defiant, black hair that was a mess even before Fenrir had attacked, a robe covered in grass stains and
eyes that couldn�t stay open due to the effects of the plant. Not that the boy
hadn�t tried.

Disappointing. For all the
rumors about this boy living he certainly wasn�t going to live up to the
expectation. Fenrir stomped his foot on the plant and
scraped the earth backwards, pulling the plant out by the root in the process
(it had served its purpose), then reached down and picked the boy up by his
head, not even taking minimal enjoyment from watching the youths body sway like
a pole in a grandfather clock.

�Pitiful.�

What should
have been a glorious and difficult hunt hadn�t been worth the time scouting. Boy
who lived, Fenrir thought with scorn, �Well,
we�ll just have to test that.� He licked up the boy�s face. �Let�s tempt fate
once more, eh brat?�

Not caring
for the boy�s comfort Fenrir tossed the lad over his
shoulder like he�d have done with any prize he�d hunted (alive or dead) and
turned toward the forest, but his bare foot touched smooth wood and upon
looking down the Were couldn�t help but show a toothy grin.

The wand.

That could
sell for a pretty penny, ouh, it could, because never
before had Fenrir hunted such a � celebrity.
He would be able to get top dollar for the stick, and if he couldn�t then it
would be well-spent gaining leverage with the Dark Lord. Swallowing his grin, Fenrir picked the piece of wood up and pocketed the object.

The Forbidden Forest
was one of the best places in all of England, in Fenrir�s
opinion. Danger lurked in every shadow, the ultimate playground to hone and test
one�s skills; just the thought of having to kill or die trying sent shivers up
the werewolf�s spine. Death was delicious and it was the only dish the forest
served.

Still, Fenrir hadn�t meant to take the boy until tomorrow at the
earliest, but the opportunity was not to be overlooked. If he was hunting deer
and came across a bear in a trap would he ignore the nicely wrapped gift? Of
course not: you took what you could in the world, when you could. So Fenrir would have to play protector for a few days. How
hard could it be?

But first
thing was first. He had to take them deep into the woods, and he had to lead
their soon-to-be pursuers on a merry little chase before disappearing
altogether. It was good the whelp was knocked out, he wouldn�t get in the way
and there would be no surprise clues for his �rescuers� to follow.

�Don�t ever think about hunting the hunter,� Fenrir crooned, warming up to his little game, �He sets
traps.�

�

Harry woke
spluttering, whatever that smell was it was hideous.
Everything within him recoiled and worse, the stench was too strong and Harry
had swallowed it and couldn�t stop coughing. It was only when a lone
tear streaked down his face and he had calmed down that Harry even had the set
of mind to take in his surroundings.

He wished
he had the sense to look sooner. A big, mangy looking man with matted gray hair
and whiskers sat crouched in front of him, the tiniest bit of a smirk curving
his lip, which disappeared the second after Harry noticed him.

�Well,
well. The little rabbit finally wakes.� The man reached for Harry but Harry
pushed the arm away and scampered backward, panicking he felt around for his
wand; in his back pocket!? �his shirt pocket!? �anywhere within his robes!?

�Oh no,�
The man feigned concern. �Lost your little stick, have you?� He tsked and Harry bolted, the man�s laughter echoing loud
behind him. It wasn�t until he turned away from the man that Harry realized
they were in the forest, and not before. That Harry had no doubt it was the Forbidden
Forest did nothing to calm his scattering nerves.

When Harry
had scampered a safe enough distance that he was out of the man�s reach he
demanded, �Who are you!?� Harry couldn�t just run, he needed
answers. Was this an abduction? Did it have to
do with Voldemort? Was there more Death Eaters in the
forest?

The man
just raised his eyes and Harry felt like prey caught in headlights. It could
have been a second, or five minutes, until the man shifted his weight and Harry
remembered he could run. That he should run, there was no denying it,
the unmistakable smell of blood had seeped from the brute�s pores. Sure the
forest was dangerous, but that man � Harry decided he didn�t really need
answers and jumped a fallen trunk � was even more terrifying.

Not that
Harry had explored much of the forest but he was pretty sure this was a section
he hadn�t been in before, so there was no way to know where the right direction
to run was. If only I had my wand! He hopped another log and ducked as
he ran under the low hanging branches, but he couldn�t help tripping over an
overgrown root that sent him tumbling into a nearby tree.

�Ow.� He picked himself up and gathered a few breaths as he
looked behind to see if he had outran the man. He hadn�t. The stranger trailed
behind at a comfortable stride with his long muscled legs. Well, Harry
thought, Fuck.

Was
running futile?
Didn�t matter, anyone who would drag Harry � unconscious � into the Forbidden Forest
was no friend. If all the Death Eaters popped out from behind the bushes (or
from under wild flowers) Harry would still do whatever he could to extract
himself from the situation, so Harry could escape from this one man because it was
just one man.

It was
fortunate that Harry hadn�t come across any of the forest�s residences, without
a wand his only chance of survival was to run into snakes or, if he was lucky,
a friendly centaur. Still, even an aggressive creature could provide a distraction;
after all, it was unlikely that Harry was expendable so while he was being
�saved� he could make a proper escape. What was Voldemort
thinking to send just one man?

Unless Harry�s abductor wasn�t Voldemort�

�Run, hop, skip, jump!� The man cooed, voice rasping against Harry�s
nerves along with the shrill cries of scattering birds. Harry wasn�t as fit as
he assumed he was, already his legs were starting to tire, and his breath
coming out in short pants. Running didn�t use the same muscles as flying did so
any successful attempt at escape would have to happen soon, before Harry tired
himself out completely. He ducked under the low branches and carried his weight
over the roots, then scraped his flesh on the branches he didn�t have the
energy to evade.

There had
to be something, somewhere he could go to make a sudden disappearance, a cliff
to climb or a river to escape in? Glancing over his shoulder Harry couldn�t see
his pursuer, worrisome, as the man was within verbal distance. Then finally it
seemed as if Harry�s luck was finally turning around, he was about to give up
on breathing when he came across a river wide enough that if Harry had spread
his body out vertically he�d still need thirty of himself to span the distance.

It didn�t
seem deep, at least not for a while, so he quickly removed his sneakers and
socks and waded in. The river floor was layered in stones, some as big as a
curled fist, others only as big as a curled finger but they made walking
increasingly difficult, not only weren�t they big enough that Harry could
properly balance himself with each step but they were also covered in a seaweed
type moss making them slick.

At first
the water only covered his ankle and though Harry could see the current moving it
wasn�t strong, not even by the time the water reached his knees, it was only
when Harry lost his balance on a particularly slippery stone that he stumbled
headlong and found himself coasting away with no effort. Which seemed a
brilliant way of escape, his pursuer would have a hard time following him if
Harry was just a head in the water, and the river was shallow enough that Harry
could easily stand again so it wouldn�t be an epic battle to escape the
current.

Brilliant!
But the idea had cost him a shoe and Harry watched helpless as the current took
the lighter object farther away than it was willing to take him. Well worth it
if the river saved his life.

Coasting
down a river, Harry decided, was much more relaxing than running through a
forest. Luckily Harry wasn�t creeped out by the large
fish that swam around him� It was almost relaxing, as long as Harry kept his
eyes on the blue sky.

The fact
that it was day meant Harry had been knocked out during the night. During the
hours Harry wasn�t aware had passed his absence would have been noted (wouldn�t
it?) and help sent. So all he had to do was get away from his abductor, a burly
man who looked like he hadn�t seen a comb for days, and then he�d have another
story to tell Ron and Hermione� and, if Harry wasn�t being too optimistic,
maybe by the time he got back they would have made up.

Then Harry
spotted the large dark bear that was fishing in the shallow of the river and
optimism was brutally maimed by reality. Harry grabbed at a stone to use as an
anchor but had forgotten how slippery they were, so he tried again and the next
stone came loose. Harry twisted and planted his feet just as two things
happened.

The bear
met his gaze.

And as he
coasted under a log something grabbed him by his head and Harry was hauled out
of the water (much like a salmon would have been by the bear) water dripping
around him in a spectacular arc before Harry looked into amber eyes.

The bear
looked less threatening by comparison. The man just stared, not bothering to
put Harry down, instead dangling him over the shallow water. Harry�s back
prickled, was the bear still staring? Had he gone back to fishing? Or was he
edging closer, even now, raising a claw just behind Harry�s back as Harry
dangled helplessly, holding onto those well-muscled arms that held him with all
his might.

�L-let me go!� Harry said, kicking but unable to land a blow.

�Are you
sure about that?� The amber eyes finally glanced away to make a pointed look at
the water below, and Harry wasn�t sure at all. He didn�t want to fall back into
the water, the water wasn�t deep enough to cushion those stones, but Harry damn
well knew he didn�t want to be on that oversized log �with this man either.

�Release
me.� The words burst from his mouth, making the decision this stranger�s,
though Harry knew what the man would do.

The man
stared, measuring, and then let go.

Harry
dropped for an instant, his arms taking on his full body weight as his grip
tightened. Mockingly the arm he was holding waved back and forth, with him
dangling like bait. Harry tightened his hold on instinct but the act was futile
as his other arm grabbed Harry by the wrist and the next thing Harry knew he
was thrown unto the log and holding on with a less than flattering butt-in-the-air
pose. He could see the rushing water flowing beneath and heard grunts and
snorts that flowed so well into each other it sounded like chanting. Beastly
chanting did not put Harry�s heart at ease.

He glanced
over and could no longer see the triple white stripes that ran along the bear�s
back, it was facing Harry directly now, and it was closer. Harry met its
eyes by accident and the bear, already standing on two feet in the shallow,
clapped its paws together, long claws that reminded Harry of thick knitting
needles clanked together.

�W-what�s
it doing?� Harry asked, lowering his butt.

There was
silence, and then, �Praying.�

�What?
That�s absurd.� Harry looked up and wished he hadn�t. There was nothing about
this man that seemed less frightening than that bear. Equally
unknown; equally fierce eyes. Harry wished their gazes never met.

�For the
food it�s about to receive.� Gruff, his voice was like the woods.

�Um.�
Harry wasn�t about to ask if that�s what the bear thought was
going to happen or it actually was. Instead Harry stood, doing his best to show
no fear, even though he was now trapped between the river (the log had been
caught on some over-sized rocks) and the man.

They stared at each other for a minute, maybe longer. Both
waiting to see the others next move, not that Harry had a move. He was
wet, wandless, without a shoe � well, both shoes as
Harry couldn�t recall when he lost the other one � and there was a praying bear
waiting patiently for his meal. Harry was beginning to think that going along
with the man and seeing what the abducting was about could be the ideal choice.

�Futile.�
The man said so close to Harry�s own mouth that he tasted foul breath. �When did he get so close? �If
you haven�t figured it out yet then let me tell you. You�re mine now.
Every breath you take is because of me, because I let you breath. Remember this
moment. You are no longer a wizard, you have no stick, you are just a helpless
little boy lost in the woods and there�ll be no one to save you.� He smiled and
for some reason Harry was surprised to see a mouth of regular blunt teeth and
four canines.

�Well, when
you put it like that�� The man no longer seemed a reasonable anything. Harry saw the moment amber
eyes realized why Harry had stepped back. Ha, yeah, I bet you thought it was
your ugly foul breath. Harry was surprised when he felt the ghost of
fingers against fabric but it was too late, Harry had thrown his body backwards
and then the world narrowed.

At first
everything was water and the pressure of the current, and then those things
were forgotten as Harry struggled to breathe air, not water. It seemed that all
Harry had to do was manage to breath air instead of water but it became
apparent afterwards that no, leaving the current was the goal. And Harry
couldn�t manage it, couldn�t get his body to go anywhere but where the river
wanted him to go.� And he was tiring
fast.

�

Fenrir
was livid by the time he pulled the boy from the river. Never,
never, had he encountered anyone so recklessly stupid.
Didn�t these brats learn anything useful at that wretched school, like, oh he
didn�t know, survival. Fenrir
would settle for a survivor instinct.

�Stupid,
idiotic, troublesome � � he mumbled and yelled and became sorely tempted
to leave the idiotic wizard to the elements, the sun was still shining, maybe
the brat wouldn�t die laying in soaking-wet clothes, maybe he wouldn�t even get
sick. But no, Fenrir had to keep him healthy. Couldn�t do anything that would jeopardize the little wizarding celebrity. Nope, no, nope.
Only the best of help for they pray that chose death over capture.

Not
bothering to carry Harry Potter off the ground Fenrir
dragged him behind as revenge against getting Fenrir
wet. Any sane person would have come with Fenrir, he
hadn�t hurt the boy and his prey always thought there would be another chance.
Hadn�t they managed to outrun Fenrir that long?
Weren�t they just all so super special awesome? If they sat still and behaved
then Fenrir would become lax and they could escape
for real. Prey was prey. They didn�t understand Fenrir
had been playing with them. That he would never let his guard down. But did find it damn amusing watching his prey do things for him
and obeying his commands.

Who needed
leashes when your prey was stupid.

But this brat. Fenrir angrily shook the body free from dark
black robes and debated discarding the thing (least the boy actually escape,
Black was the best camouflage at night) then shrugged and tossed the robe on a
low hanging branch to dry. Better not discard it and the warmth it can bring at
night, because this brat needed to be healthy, and he couldn�t be
healthy if he was all half-drowned and developing pneumonia, could he?! No.

Fenrir
was no nursemaid, least of all to a wizard.

So he grumbled,
and cursed, still irritated at having to take a dunk in the river. The boy�s
tie Fenrir threw over his shoulder, it landed in a
bush or� somewhere. Next came off the grey jumper-vest that Fenrir
thought ridiculous considering the days were still warm and the cloak was heavy
enough. �Should have drowned,� he mumbled, then grumbled as he had to undo button
after annoying button on the white collared shirt beneath. Eh, screw it,
he thought and using a long yellow nail popped the buttons off in an easy swipe
that ripped away thread.

Finally
flesh was revealed. Fenrir tossed the collared shirt
in a random direction, not caring if it was found again. He half expected an
undershirt next. That castle better be drafty,
he thought, and realized his already low opinion of Hogwarts had sunk lower
after seeing the ridiculous layers.

Seeing �the flesh did something funny to Fenrir, perhaps woke something within him. It had been
awhile since he�d come across anyone with such a lovely physique. Scrawny, a
little too little flesh to the bones, but the size and shape of Harry Potter
was more alluring than Fenrir had thought. He looked�
smooth. Soft. As if he bathed every day. Humming now, Fenrir trailed a pointed nail down the centre of his chest
and ghosted around the navel. The prone body resting against fenrir�s knees seemed to shiver. Cold�? Or had that feather
light touch sparked some interest from the body?

Fenrir
licked his lips. The little rabbit had gotten Fenrir
wet, it was time he repaid the favour. He bent foreword, some hair fallen loose
of their restraints moved with him. His tongue first explored
basic flesh, getting a taste of the body, inhaling the faint musk that had been
trapped under the layers despite the dunking. He was delicious,
no chemicals had been sprayed onto the flesh so it tasted genuine. Fenrir trailed his tongue down the chest, along the faint
hairline that directed him to navel and lower.

The pants.
Fenrir hadn�t removed the pants. That was fine, he
wasn�t there yet. Savour the prey. He hummed as the body shivered beneath him. Cold� or�. Fenrir smiled, was it
something else that made the body shiver? Licking back up Fenrir
placed his thumbs over the ever-faint bruises that littered the chest as if the
river had been a jealous lover. Fenrir�s tongue
swirled in the navel as he pressed, gently at first, on a bruise. The body spasmed.

Lips
curving up Fenrir continued his journey slowly,
savouring the texture of the little hairs before they disappeared during his
upward ascent. He pushed again, harder this time, as his tongue touched the
velvet of a nipple, already perked from the cool dip but still managing to perk
more under Fenrir�s caress. He swallowed a moan as he
switched to the other, dryer target, leaving a wet trail in his wake, the loose
strands of his hair only feathering over what proved to be sensitive flesh.

There was a
quiet desire in this self-serve. Usually Fenrir�s
pleasure came from one of two sources: the innocent and the damned.� The whores that Fenrir
made use of to sate his lust had been, for the most
part, brutalized their entire lives, whatever Fenrir
did to them was fair play and he rarely separated anger from lust. But since he
never visited the same cunt twice he was seldom known by anyone anywhere, so when
having sex with him became a battle for survival (as it often did), and his �partner�
lost that battle, well, it was unlikely anyone even knew he was there and less
likely they�d ever find anything more than the corpse. Not his fault the
innocent died, they took the risk of bedding him willingly. And usually, they
got his money as well as their lives.

But the
children! Those were a rare delicacy. It didn�t matter what he did to them,
they were marked. Dead. Damned.
The moment they fell into Fenrir�s claws their life
was forfeit. But rape is a cold dessert served best beside revenge. Whatever it
took to hurt them, whatever it took to make their parent�s bleed. Fenrir planted that injustice, that unwavering belief that
the world is corrupt. He stained those parents hearts.

Life. Isn�t. Fair.

But no
matter how tight, a child was a bad lay. They didn�t understand what was
happening, and then they wouldn�t stop yelling and screaming, and when it was
all over, there was always a look. Something akin to absolute loathing that
made Fenrir remember that this is right. That
expression, that look that made his heart thump. The injustice. He�d contemplate letting them go, that the
rape was enough to pay the debt, but then those eyes would stare into his,
would loath him to the core and Fenrir knew he would
finish the kill. Not even he was monster enough to leave that child living. The
pain of the child paid in full the revenge on the parent so Fenrir
saved those exploits for the most� deserving of individuals. Besides, children
were an unsatisfactory lay which was why he had to be in a � ceratin mood � to seek one out.

But this!
With this supple body that was cleaner than a whore and more honestly
responsive than a simple youth, Fenrir began a game
of play. What made him react? Could he get a moan? Would those lips part and
let Fenrir�s tongue in? It had been a long time since
the Were delighted in someone else�s sexual
gratification, so long that the game seemed new.

He breathed
harder when Fenrir pushed a bruise and Fenrir only did so when he was sending sensation of
pleasure. Which oh which did the �great� Harry Potter react to? With one thumb
on a bruise and the other massaging the now very eract
nipple, Fenrir continued to suck and nip and push
with his mouth on the pink bud between his teeth, until those little breaths
weren�t so little anymore.

Fenrir
raised his eyes to stare at that mouth but the little rabbit�s head was arched
back revealing his neck. A long neck, slender, certainly not
thick like his own. Fenrir studied it a moment
longer than moved his mouth up and closed his lips over the tender flesh,
completely unaware that he didn�t have the urge to rip out the body�s jugular. Instead
he pressed his tongue to prepare the surface and began a slow leisurely suck that
ended with a �pop�. Up the side of his neck and unto a smooth
cheek.� The little rabbit was
breathing quicker now and Fenrir thought he�d wake
any moment so he finished his exploration with the mouth.

At first he
licked the lips, starting from one cheek and travelling to the other. The
simple feel of them as his tongue coasted over them reminded Fenrir of the velvet of nipples, and the colouring likened
the comparison. The little puffs of air delighted Fenrir
more as he hovered just above, his mouth no more than a millimeter from those
erotic lips. But for some reason he hesitated, as if a kiss, made now, would
shatter the sex he�d nearly forever known. He�d hesitated a moment too long and
eyes as green as the canopy above burst open and feeble arms pushed him back.

�What� what
were you doing?!� His scared little bunny said.

�Just debating the merits of biting that nose off your face.� Fenrir
snapped his jaw, waited for the flash of fear and then turned his back. He
needed to compose himself but he certainly didn�t need to think about what had
just happened. Turning back around he had planned to take control of the
situation when two things happened.

One, he
noticed that the boy had, indeed, been responsive and not at all repulsed by
one such as him touching that body.

And two,
that he had the funniest look on his face as he kept breathing unto his hand
and wrinkling his nose. �Ah, gross!� He spat and fanned at his mouth. �Something
musta died in that water, I can�t get the taste off
my lips.� He was mumbling, clearly talking to himself but Fenrir
couldn�t help but feel the utmost irritation when he began sniffing his arms
and looked more and more complex. �That�s odd�� he wiped his hand on his
stomach and sniffed, made a face then sniffed his arm and looked again
perplexed.

�Stop doing
that!� Fenrir barked. �What�s wrong with you?�

�I� I smell
really bad.�

�Shouldn�t you
be more concerned with your clothes?� Who wouldn�t be insulted?

�Oh!� Harry
grabbed his cloak from the branches. �Good idea.� He managed to get a sniff in
before Fenrir realised what he was doing and tore the
cloak from his grasp.

�Here!� He
tossed the white collared shirt at him and growled when he went to sniff it. �Just
put it on.�

The rabbit
complied, first sliding his long arms into each sleeve and then naturally going
to the buttons, he blinked when his fingers failed to
grasp anything then looked down and without missing a beat he straightened his
collar. The movement brought all of Fenrir�s
attention to the mark on his neck.

Fenrir
was still staring at it after the bunny had gathered all his clothes, sans his
shoes and tie.

�Let�s go.�
He turned but something nagged at him and he turned back around. Potter had
dropped his things in a pile at his feet and had the most defiant look to his
eyes.

�I don�t
think so.� He raised his pitiful fists. �I�m not going anywhere with you."
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Feasting on Rabbits

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