"Chapter Six: The Language of Ferrets," Potter said, taking another biscuit from the plate balance on his stomach. He lay in bed, book propped against his upraised knees, with Draco curled beside his head on the pillow. He bit a chunk out of the biscuit and then offered a bite to Draco. Delicious.

It had become a routine between them, one that Draco refused to admit he enjoyed. Every evening after supper, Potter would retreat to his room with Draco and a plate of nibblies, and they'd laze about on the bed reading. Usually, Potter would thumb through Quidditch Through the Ages and Draco would read silently over his shoulder, but he'd recently taken up a pet care book and read parts of it out loud, as if Draco would understand he was reading about him. It was rather endearing, in a sickeningly sweet way, because normal ferrets wouldn't have a clue what Potter was actually saying. Draco did, though, and the timbre of Potter's voice was pleasant enough that Draco didn't try and shut him up.

"Ferrets," Potter read, "communicate with a variety of noises, the two primary ones being: kekking and dooking." He took another bite of biscuit, his mouth overlapping where Draco's had been. "Kekking occurs when the ferret is panicked, frightened, in pain, or upset. The faster the kek-kek-kek sounds, the more intense the emotion."

Draco watched Potter's tongue dart out and lick crumbs from his lips. He missed a spot at the corner of his mouth, closest to Draco. "Dooking is the opposite," Potter continued. "Ferrets make a dook-dook-dook sound when they are excited, happy or content, or being playful. Many people say it sounds like the ferret is laughing; a deep chuckling coming from their throats."

Draco stretched and licked up the crumbs. Potter turned his head slightly and smiled. "Are you giving me kisses, pretty one?"

Draco reared his head back, eyes widening. He hadn't even realized… He'd only been thinking about the delectable biscuit! Really!

Potter chuckled and scratched Draco behind the ears. "You were probably just after biscuit crumbs."

Yes! Biscuit crumbs! Draco hadn't been kissing Potter. The accusation was completely unfounded. The mere thought of it made his stomach flutter uneasily.

Potter picked up the half-eaten biscuit from the plate and offered it to Draco. "Here you are, lovely. It's no surprise you're hungry."

The biscuit scent assailed Draco's nostrils and he had no choice but to take it. He carefully didn't touch Potter's fingers with his mouth in any way.

Potter went back to reading, but Draco only half-listened. He became too aware of the shape of Potter's lips as he formed words and ate biscuits.

The chapter ended eventually, and Potter set aside the book and plate of biscuits. He sat up, swung his legs of the side of the bed, knocking a few stray crumbs from his robe. After toeing off his trainers, he gave Draco a pat and stood. "I'll be back."

Draco watched Potter leave the room, closing the door behind him. His gaze swung to the leftover biscuits. His heavy body depressed the pillow as he padded over to the night table. He really shouldn't have any more. Potter ate sweets and biscuits constantly and always fed Draco some, too. But while Potter remained fit, Draco had gotten fat, which was completely unfair. His rounded belly hung obscenely, covered by thinning white fur, as he stretched across the gap between the bed and night table.

"Rworrrrrr."

Draco stilled mid-biscuit nicking and looked towards the sound. The bedroom door stood partway open. Granger's orange, flat-faced monster crouched on the threshold, an evil gleam in its beady eyes.

In the four weeks Draco had been living with Potter, he'd run into Crookshanks once before on his own while exploring the house. He hadn't left Potter's sight since, unless he was locked up in the bedroom. But the door must not have been closed completely, and now Draco stood as tender prey to a kneazle.

"KEK-KEK-KEK-KEK-KEK-KEK-KEK!" Draco shouted in panic and shoved away from the night table, as Crookshanks came bounding into the room. He dove for cover beneath the duvet. "KEK-KEK-KEK-KEK-KEK!"

Scrambling towards the bottom of the bed, his body trembled in fear. The weight of Crookshanks landing on the mattress made him scream in fright. "EEEEEEE!"

"Rwarrr!" Crookshanks pounced on his back, flattening him beneath the duvet. He screamed and cried and fought to get free. He lost control of his facilities. He didn't want to die.

Please, help me! Potter! Where was the hero when you needed him? He'd give Potter a million kisses if the prat would save him. HARRRYYYYYY!

"Crookshanks!"

The kneazle screeched and its weight vanished suddenly. The door slammed, and Draco heard the wonderful sound of Potter's fearful voice. "Draco! Draco, where are you?"

"Kek-kek!" Draco cried. The duvet flew off the bed and Draco was caught up against Potter's bare chest immediately. He tried to stop shaking as Potter cuddled him close.

"Are you okay, Draco?" Potter's heart hammered as fast as Draco's beneath his breast. "Did Crookshanks hurt you?"

Draco buried his face in the curve of Potter's elbow. "Kek."

"Let me see." Potter ruffled Draco's fur, poking him in a few places, before grasping him beneath the arms and lifting him in the air. Draco hung from Potter's hand, belly exposed, as Potter peered closely at him. "There are no scratches. Good thing. Hermione would be short one kneazle if there were."

Craning forward, Draco licked Potter's nose. One down…

Potter's face slid into a smile. "I know there aren't any crumbs this time."

Draco hoped his fur hid his heated cheeks.

Potter bussed a kiss to the top of his head. "My pretty, lovely girl." He set an embarrassed Draco down on the pillow, retrieved his wand from the night table, and spot-cleaned the bottom of the mattress.

Draco blamed his near-death experience for his continued tremors as he watched Potter root through the wardrobe. He hadn't noticed, until now, that Potter wore only a striped towel around his waist. Skin the color of a fish-belly stretched taut across broad shoulders and a solid chest. A black trail of hair arrowed downward from Potter's navel beneath the edge of the towel. Strong arm and calf muscles flexed and bulged with every move.

He'd seen Potter disrobed on a fairly regular basis since arriving. He shifted on the pillow, dooked softly, and set his chin on his paws with an unhappy sigh. Witnessing Potter in a state of undress was the absolute worst thing he'd been forced to endure since becoming a ferret.

Because while Weasley and Granger rutting had turned his stomach, Potter turned him on.

tbc...

Author's note: some random ferret stuff: Draco is all white with gray eyes, per book four and general HP essays on transfigurations. There'll be a bit more clarification later on in the story as to other questions you're prolly dying to have answered.