InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ The Final Battle ❯ Closer To God ( Chapter 21 )

DISCLAIMER: Hm. I might as well warn you that as the end of this fic is approaching (not to mention the end of the HP series as we know it!), the plotline appropriated from both Ms. Rowling and Takahashi-sama's respective creations will as surely dwindle into a story of my own. IN other words, don't expect it to remain true to either stories (especially Harry Potter); I now consider this an alternate universe.

 

RECAP: She gasped, running to the fallen kit. He was still breathing, but a bump was swelling rapidly on his forehead. It dawned on her that she was likely in danger.

 

She leapt up, her mouth opening to call for help, when she felt a blow to the head.

 

Sinking to her knees, her world went black.

 

 

 

Chapter 21

 

 

 

 

Inu-Yasha jumped up, his heart pounding. The rest of the room looked at him. In a split second, Kouga and Mr. A followed him out the door of the office.

 

“Kagome!” Inu-Yasha shouted, hoping she would answer but knowing she wouldn't. He looked down the hallway, and saw the little fox demon, sprawled out on the floor, the bump on his head an angry purple. “Shit.”

 

Kouga let out an angry snarl, prompting his brothers to join him hastily. Harry, Ron, and Soutaro followed, with the four witches and priestess close behind.

 

“What happened to Kagome?!” Harry shouted, his effulgent green eyes flashing emerald fire. Hermione's forehead contorted into a worried grimace, her head darting this way and that in futile attempt to detect signs of the endangered miko's whereabouts.

 

“Where could she have gone? Our security's infinitely tight—there's no way anybody who isn't a Hogwarts student could enter or leave without our knowledge!” Professor McGonagall's lips were pursed with fret, and she looked to Mr. A for answers.

 

Unfortunately, Mr. A had none. “I gotta believe she's still here, somewhere in the school…”

 

“…No, she's gone.” Heads turned towards Shinamichi, who clutched a rosary, a firm look settled on her face. “I can no longer sense her aura…her presence seems to have suddenly disappeared from this school.”

 

Ginny and Ron arched identical eyebrows, their mouths agape.

 

“But how…she was just here! How could she have left so fast…what could have taken her?” Ginny implored.

 

Inu-Yasha scooped up the fallen kit, examining the darkening abrasion. Urgently, he sniffed out the injury, careful not to further harm the unconscious youkai child.

 

Abruptly, his head shot up, and he sniffed further around the area. He took off down the hallway and up the stairs to the seventh floor, leaving the others to follow him in his wake.

 

Inu-Yasha stopped short, having come to a dead end. “Argh!! It's gone!”

 

“What? What is?” Hermione asked.

 

“The scent! His scent—I can't smell it anymore! Kagome's either!” He kicked the wall, his expression dark and frustrated.

 

Harry frowned, scanning the area. A gargantuan tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy choreographing a troll ballet hung heavily on the wall, the only notable detail of the area. He recognized this place.

 

Sesshou-Maru delicately inhaled, making sure for himself that what Inu-Yasha said was accurate. “You seem to have a great deal of trouble containing your miko, half-brother,” he sniffed with disdain. “The scents of the two appear to have seeped through these walls. You lost her to a wall?”

 

“The walls—but how? You don't think a ghost could have taken her?” Ron asked incredulously.

 

“Don't be stupid, of course not…” Hermione snapped, a curious expression on her face. She saw Harry, and noticed that Professor McGonagall was beginning to realize it, too. “…I remember…the Room of Requirement!”

 

“…The what?” Mr. A asked.

 

Hermione whipped around to Inu-Yasha. “Inu-Yasha! Whose scent did you detect with Kagome's?”

 

Harry looked up at the half-demon, a sinking feeling in his heart. Inu-Yasha lifted his silver head and looked straight at him, golden flares scintillating with fury.

 

“Draco Malfoy.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She could see nothing. A salient pain had cut its way into her head, and she could barely lift it from its tuck in her shoulder. She felt the cold, rough surface of stiff iron beneath her, mobility of her arms and legs prohibited by restricting steel manacles.

 

Slowly, her eyes adjusted.

 

It was dank and forbidden, a dungeon-like room with large walls that bordered the broad expanse of space. Firelight illuminated the comfortless area in a perfidious crimson, and worst of all, the fetor of miasma permeated the already foul atmosphere.

 

It took her a few minutes before she realized she was not alone.

 

“Well, look who finally decided to grace us with her consciousness,” a malignant voice cracked,

like inky swirls of blackness seeping through the atmosphere.

 

Kagome shuddered, not needing—or wanting—to look up at the one who possessed the execrable voice.

 

“What's the matter? Still a little woozy?” Her face was suddenly filled with Voldemort's snarling, snakelike visage as she found her hair yanked violently back. “Or are you just being disrespectful?”

 

Kagome spat in his face, refusing to talk. He barely flinched. Instead, he smiled, and with a spindly finger, wiped the spittle from his cheek, and submerged his ivory digit into the hole that was his mouth, obscenely sucking on it as he dragged it out.

 

“You know, Kagome…” He said, taking the same finger, and idly playing with a lock of her hair. “I might be a little more selective with my insults if I were at the mercy of my greatest enemy. Or, in your case, maybe I wouldn't. It's not as if your behavior will make much of a difference to the way this particular situation will…peel out…” He sneered, taking his finger and sliding a claw softly down the side of her cheek, gaining pressure at the neck, and breaking the skin, digging into the flesh of her collarbone.

 

Kagome fought the gasp of pain forcing its way from her lips, merely trembling a little, as she kept silent. She found the task to be of unbearable difficulty as his nail plunged deeper and downward, until it hit bone, pricking the top of her sternum, leaving a sanguinary trail down her chest.

 

She clenched her eyes shut, moisture gathering in the corners. Her offender smirked, revealing two rows of sharp, white teeth. He removed his finger, and once more sucked on it, relishing in the flavor of her blood.

 

“Well…as much as I enjoy torturing you, that's not quite why I brought you here.” He said, turning away. Kagome opened her eyes and scanned the room again. In front of the wall directly opposite her stood two glass tanks, the right filled with a transparent green liquid, with long, coiling tubes inserted into each of their centers. The left tank bore an additional tube out of the bottom, which swirled about the top, connected to a slim manacle. The other tube seemed to lead directly to her chair, while the one on the right was looped around the tank, the end drawing into a sharp, silver point.

 

Voldemort sauntered towards the tanks, the click of his boot heels puncturing the silence with each step. “But you're already aware of that, I'm sure?” Not bothering to reveal anything more, Voldemort plucked the tube that was connected to the manacle, and fitted the cuff around the crook of his arm. Kagome tensed, as a feeling of dread sank upon her like a heavy storm cloud.

 

Quickly sickening, she again cast her eyes upon the manacles, strapping her to the chair. `Why would Naraku need physical restraints to keep me down…?' Testing her newly acquired steel jewelry, Kagome wriggled her wrists and ankles.

 

“Ittai!” She exclaimed shortly, feeling paper-thin cuts on the said joints. Her eyes flew wide in horror, as Voldemort simultaneously let loose a viperous cackle.

 

“Learn something new, Miko-sama?” He mocked her, his eyes drawing into slits. “I wouldn't struggle too much—the more you move, the more you'll tear that pretty skin of yours. Not that it will matter much, you'll bleed just the same.” He turned towards the large door on the stone wall beside them. “Lucius! Now!”

 

Kagome swung her face to the direction of the door, as it promptly flew open, allowing passage to a man with eyes of ice and silky blonde hair—and his son.

 

“Draco!” Kagome gasped, taking in the somewhat harrowed appearance of her schoolmate.

 

“What? How else did you think you came here? I highly doubt you would have come if I simply asked you,” Voldemort snorted. Draco remained silent, his eyes blank and unblinking, his posture stiff.

 

Kagome frowned. Something was amiss…for Draco to have led her to Naraku the first time was…unforgivable, but understandable. But a second time was not quite believable.

 

“Draco, make ready the drip.” Kagome watched as the toe-headed young man rigidly make his way to the silver-capped coil on looped around the tank containing the mysterious viridian substance. He then came towards her, and wasted no time in pricking the vein of her inner arm with the silver tip, injecting a spurt of whatever the tank contained into her system, cleanly and apathetically.

 

“Ow—! What is…that…?” Kagome mumbled, as her face began to grow hot. She felt four other pinches on her wrists and ankles, and her hands and feet began to tingle.

 

But something about Draco still bothered her—the stiffness of his actions, the lack of expression in his eyes…'Just like Kohaku…'

 

“What did you do to Draco?” Kagome demanded, her voice losing its edge, however, as her temperature rose. She noticed absently that a channel of crimson was shooting through the other tube that lead from her chair to the empty tank whose other tube was now connected to Voldemort.

 

“Oh, don't worry. He won't make any trouble for you…not unless his father wills it, anyway.” Voldemort snorted, adjusting the band on his arm. The river crept ever closer, now filling the tank bit by bit. “He's been imperiused, you see. Seems he couldn't handle this job on his own, so his father's determined to have him go through with it by any means possible.”

 

Kagome gasped, noticing how Lucius had been looking disdainfully at his son. Suddenly, Voldemort began to moan. Kagome looked back to see that the tube connected to his manacle had sucked up the red river like a straw—and noticed how very much it looked like blood.

 

Casting her glance down upon her own braces, and feeling her face go ever warmer, her body feeling weaker, she realized that, indeed, it was blood—her blood, leaking out of her wrists and into the manacles, gliding down the steel slope of the chair's legs, joining the little rivulets from her ankles and meeting at the tube's entrance.

 

Dear God, he was administering a blood transfusion!

 

Kagome's face began to pale, as she drooped forward, on the brink of passing out.

 

“Draco!” The young man complied wordlessly, once more shooting her up with the strange serum.

 

She bolted upright, her face unbearably warm, her body pulsating with a jolt of energy, but her thoughts weaving in and out, losing their lucidity. “What…?”

 

Voldemort ecstatically panted in response, her life's blood now coursing its way through his veins. He closed his eyes, a banal smile slicing through his face. “It's to keep you alive. Think of it as…intravenous nourishment, that sacrifices your mental capacity to speed up your blood flow.”

 

`An IV…a trippy IV…' Kagome thought, desperately grabbing at her consciousness. Voldemort continued to suck up her blood greedily, as Kagome was brought back and back again to a state of somewhat-consciousness through the electric shock of the IV, her mental state suffering as delusions swam through her head.

 

 

 

 

_________________________________________________________________ _____________

 

 

 

 

 

“I don't understand…you mean to say, Kagome-sama has been stuffed in a cupboard?” Soutarou asked, unable to make sense of the world of magic.

 

“No, no...I'm willing to bet my life on the fact that Draco took her through a portal to another place—the portal being a Vanishing Cabinet!” Hermione huffed, the others looking around desperately for the aforementioned piece of furniture.

 

“This is simply hopeless. We'll never find that cabinet here—for all we know, Mr. Malfoy has already moved the cabinet. You stated that you could no longer sniff either of their scents out?” Professor McGonagall implored the canine demons.

 

“Yeah, they're gone alright…” Kouga growled. “What the hell! Why are we wasting time looking around for a closet, anyway?! We need to find Kagome!”

 

Inu-Yasha snarled, and took off for the door. “For once, Wolf-crap's got a point. I'm not gonna sit here dicking around while that little piss-ant runs off with Kagome!”

 

As soon as they exited the Room of Requirement, Professor Flitwick rushed at Professor McGonagall.

 

“Minerva! The ministry—!” He noted the presence of the others, and stopped short, unsure of delivering the news in public.

 

“Don't worry about them, they have a right to know. What about the ministry?” Professor McGonagall huffed at the diminutive charms professor's hesitation, and hastily encouraged him to continue.

 

Flitwick wasted not another second. “It's a bloodbath there! Hundreds of demons have joined the Death-Eaters in trying to kill Dumbledore, and Dementors have kissed several of the staff already! It's terrible!”

 

“Well, they must not have been doing it right,” Shinamichi stated, shrugging.

 

“The aurors have been holding up as best a defense as they can, and they've even called for back-up with a few of the giants. The centaurs have even aided in some of the fight, but the hordes of demons don't seem to want to be put down!” Professor Flitwick paced nervously. “My great uncle works the bank at Gringotts, and I've heard a few Death Eaters made their way there and orchestrated a massive, messy robbery! He has a bad heart, you know, and Goblins don't live for more than a few hundred years…”

 

Mr. A turned to Inu-Yasha. “Look, we need your help. All of you.”

 

Inu-Yasha snarled, backing away and clutching his sword. “Not until I find Kagome!”

 

Hermione clutched his haori in desperation. “Inu-Yasha, we don't know where Kagome is right now! And Professor Dumbledore is probably the only one he can help us. Right now, he's in danger, and as he's the only true person V-Voldemort's afraid of, we need to keep him alive in order to save Kagome!”

 

“She's right, Inu-Yasha. We're not going to find Kagome any other way…Voldemort's already likely to have covered her scent, and I doubt she's far from him, if he's after her blood.” Mr. A said. “Once Dumbledore's taken out, this school has a slim chance of survival, and Voldemort has all the chances in the world of gaining even more power.”

 

Inu-Yasha's stony expression wavered, his eyes taking on an anxious determination.

 

“Fine. But as soon as we find that old man, I'm looking for Kagome.”

 

Once the group had gathered suitable weapons and ammunition (Ginny clutched a vial of No-Doze Joe fondly to her bosom), they set off for the ministry.

 

Blood-curdling screams of ferocity and pain heralded their arrival. The fog of miasma whirled around the ministry, and swarms of lower-level demons were attacking every townsperson they could find. Dementors soared through the air like vultures, indiscriminately plucking the souls of the frail, fighting, and fallen.

 

Kouga sneered, bellowing a long howl, causing several youkai to look in his direction. The thunder of paws against the ground signaled the entrance of dozens of wolves from around the area. Ginta and Hakkaku salivated, setting back into their hind-legs before tearing into the jugulars of several large Weasel-demons.

 

Shinamichi dodged a spell cast by a Death Eater, and when it was shot at her again, she flipped her holy naginata towards the spell, purifying it (and unintentionally removing the jaw and nose of her assailant).

 

With disinterest, Sesshou-Maru cut his easy way through fifteen youkai and two Death-Eaters with minimal effort. The poison from his claws glimmered and dribbled down his palm, and he flung little whippets of the electric green froth in the direction of a Death-Eater advancing on Mr. A, who had his own hands full with a bout of “Expecto Patronum”s in defense against a number of the drifting wraiths.

 

Without hesitation, Soutaro wrenched his hiraikotsu from its place at his back and veered it through a slough of the fat, floating Dementors, effectively splitting their torsos.

 

“Whoa!” Harry shouted in appreciation. “Nice job there, Souta!” He had no time to continue his cheerleading, however, as he, Ginny, Hermione, and Ron shot and dodged their way through the oozing masses, following Mr. A into the perilous building.

 

 

They found several bodies on the floor, most dead, some Death-Eaters, a few aurors. The blood of Death-Eaters had considerably accumulated, thanks to the short work of Inu-Yasha, who was still busy slicing and dicing with his blades of blood, skillfully dodging curses and landing blows as they were directed towards him.

 

Harry was nearly taken out as he danced away from a bolt of the Cruciatus, and he whipped out his wand and began to paralyze as quickly and efficiently as possible. Ginny fired her trusted machine gun with suspicious alacrity, impressive rounds of energy electrocuting a witch in front of her.

 

Hermione panted with the effort of keeping up in the fight against a greasy-haired, black-eyed Death-Eater, who was shooting spells at her almost as fast as she defended them. Suddenly, she lost her footing on the leg of a corpse, and fell to the ground, at the mercy of the Death-Eater. He reared his ugly wand up in the air, opened his mouth, and—

 

“Expelliarmus!” The wand flew out of the greasy-haired wizard's hands, and he flew back with the force of several hits to the chest. Ron jumped away, having successfully knocked the wizard out with his numchucks, and turned to cast a rather dashing (if, by dashing, one might infer the feeling of scared-so-shitless-I-don't-even-care-anymore) smile at Hermione, extending his arm to help her up.

 

Hermione blushed, accepting his hand, as he hoisted her to her feet.

 

“Thanks,” she said, red-faced, eyes to the ground.

 

He continued to keep her hand in his. “Yeah, well…all in a day's work, you know…” A sudden explosion sent the two back down to the ground, as a massive, beautiful white dog with golden eyes and a blue crescent on his forehead burst through the wall, the different colors of youkai, human, and dementor innards running down his chin.

 

While outside, the wolves and taiji-ya were slaughtering the lower-level youkai and Dementors, the others inside were getting closer to the center of the fray, chasing down the Death-Eaters level by level, passing the Minister's barren office.

 

“He's not in his office—let's go down farther!” Mr. A shouted, as they flew down the stone steps of the long, spiraling stairway.

 

Harry gasped for air, adrenaline pumping through his veins. “I don't trust this—it's far too quiet!”

 

“That just means we're getting warmer,” Inu-Yasha grunted, taking the steps seven at a time.

 

Inu-Yasha's point was made, sounds of battle intensifying as they burst through the doors of the 8th level Atrium.

 

Flashes of light sparked throughout the large room, wands flying and people dodging in a dance of death. Harry's eyes went wide at the sight before him, as the Order of the Phoenix, and Professor Dumbledore himself fought fiercely against the innermost circle of Death-Eaters.

 

“Harry!” A rough, somewhat feminine voice cried out amidst the foray. Harry turned to look as a thatch of melon-colored hair whipped past an enormous, blonde Death-Eater. The Death-Eater raised his wand behind her, and just before he could utter the Killing Curse's incantation, Harry quickly stupefied him with all of his might, sending the sorry excuse for a wizard to the floor with a great thud.

 

The neon-tressed witch turned, a smile of relief flattering her features.

 

“Tonks!” Hermione and Ginny called, greeting their sister-figure. She halted, landing a roundhouse kick to a creeping Nix Berlioz, incapacitated him with a strike of her wand, before rushing over to them.

 

“We've come to help—where's Professor Dumbledore?!” Hermione cried, at once making a mad grab for the wands of the fallen Death-Eaters, while the other new entrants of the fight got to work dodging and casting.

 

Nymphadora Tonks, now engaged in a one-on-one with Varnessa Bulstrode, directed her head to the far end of the hall, where a very tall, very old man cast beams of shimmering lights from his wand, striving to fight off his cantankerous opponents.

 

What was once a bout whose outcome could split hairs was now one that leaned heavily in favor of the Order of the Phoenix, as Inu-Yasha (who cared not for sparing the lives of the Death Eaters, who were clearly identified by their black cloaks) slashed his way through towards Dumbledore. He was rudely interrupted, however, when a snarl and a massive paw swiped him in the chest, claws raking the flesh from his left pectoral to his belly button.

 

“Ah! What the—!” Inu-Yasha leapt back, defending himself against Fenrir Greyback, who towered over him, his red eyes glistening with hunger and his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he continued to lunge at him.

 

Inu-Yasha backed off, and unsheathed the Tetsusaiga, preparing to employ it for the wolf-like creature's death.

 

He blinked curiously when the blade refused to transform.

 

“Who in hell—you can't possibly be human!” Hermione looked up at Inu-Yasha and the werewolf, who was steadily advancing on the befuddled dog demon.

 

“Inu-Yasha! He's half human—do NOT let him bite you!”

 

Inu-Yasha dodged again as Fenrir made a drive for his jugular, large, white fangs dripping sloppily and just missing the flesh on his neck. Inu-Yasha shoved his sword in his sheath, and sneered in traditionally pompous fashion, dipping his claws into his wound and throwing the blood-blades in the werewolf's chest.

 

“Like I'd let a human—OR a wolf—touch me with his foul-ass-breath!” The werewolf roared, hardly affected with the incisions Inu-Yasha's blood had made.

 

“Mangy mutt, I'll chew on your eyes for that!” Fenrir growled, rearing back on his hind legs, readying to thrust himself against him.

 

Fenrir's distraction freed the attentions of several aurors, who in turn, worked together to diminish the threat of Voldemort's followers, thus, leaving an opening for Harry to swish and flick his way to Dumbledore.

 

“Professor!” Harry cried, stunning an imperiused witch from the Wizengamot, swiftly retrieving her wand.

 

Dumbledore whirled around to face Harry. He said nothing, but the look in his eyes acknowledged his disciple's presence. Harry suddenly shot his wand out in the older man's direction, scorching the nose of a Death Eater sneaking at his rear. Simultaneously, Dumbledore was able to knock out three lurking at Harry's side. This pattern continued as both headmaster and pupil fought back-to-back, defending each other to the death.

 

“Aaarghhh!!!” Inu-Yasha growled as Fenrir laid a swift, heavy kick to his abdomen. He immediately rose to his feet, hocking a loogie coated in his blood. Fenrir was at his front within a half of a second, grabbing his shoulders and heaving him backwards into the hard, marble wall. Bone jutted out through his flesh, tearing his haori as Tetsusaiga was flung away from him.

 

“Shit!” He shouted, ducking just before Fenrir landed a punch to the wall that could have easily taken his head off. “Where the hell does he get that speed?!” With a grimace, he shoved the bone back through his flesh, and kicked the werewolf in the gut, throwing him back a few paces.

 

Inu-Yasha took the brief moment Fenrir had been thrown back as an opportunity to regroup and gain speed for his next kick—which, unfortunately, did not go unnoticed by the salivating werewolf. As Inu-Yasha soared forth, Fenrir unhinged his bloody jaws, and as Inu-Yasha's foot came closer, he sank his teeth into the dog demon's ankle.

 

Hermione gasped. “Inu-Yasha!”

 

Inu-Yasha quickly recoiled, but not before Fenrir's intrusive blood began to make its way through Inu-Yasha's veins. Fenrir was not unharmed by the force of Inu-Yasha's intent, falling back into the rubble. For a moment, the two lay at a standstill.

 

Inu-Yasha began to clutch his ankle, which had started to turn a sickly black. Fenrir slowly arose.

 

“Heh…my bite's supposed to turn a human. But what of a demon? I wonder…you must be in pain. “ He sneered, licking his hand of the blood upon it. “Allow me to put you out of your misery!”

 

He once more took a shot at Inu-Yasha, who fiercely fought back, his wounds increasing and widening. Amidst the war of wands and spells, this brutal battle stuck out sorely as blood painted the walls and floors—most of that blood being Inu-Yasha's.

 

Once more, Inu-Yasha went in for a kick with his injured appendage. However, he was not quick enough for Fenrir, who grabbed Inu-Yasha's bitten-black ankle, lifting him and throwing him once more to the wall.

 

Inu-Yasha barely moved.

 

“Inu-Yasha!!!” Hermione cried, who was held back by Ron, whose face went white at the amount of blood lost by his canine comrade.

 

Fenrir took a step towards him, his lips widening in a sadistic smile. “Aw…little puppy lose its bite?” He crept toward Inu-Yasha. He started to cackle. “Oh, surely that can't be all you've got in you.”

 

Inu-Yasha's eyes were glazed over, his breath coming out in ragged bursts. The amount of damage wrought upon his body had been devastating—several of his ribs had been broken, and one had pierced a lung. His arm was a mess, with more bone poking through his beaten flesh, and his ankle had the look of decay as a result of his demon's body rejecting the werewolf's saliva. Shuddering one last, wheezing breath, he stilled, hair falling across his face as he slipped into unconsciousness.

 

Harry gasped at the defeated form of his rival, laying before the prowling werewolf.

 

“Well, then. I suppose if you're going to fall asleep on me, I might as will tuck you in,” Fenrir grinned, rearing his arm back to swipe at the fallen hanyou.

 

Harry saw this, and in turn, wound his wand back to heave a curse at the threatening werewolf; but just before he could open his lips, A hand appeared on Fenrir's wrist as it came within an inch of the hanyou's face. A hand with angry, red stripes twining about the forearm, and long claws of razor at the tips of the fingers, piercing the werewolf's skin as blood trickled down from the lacerations.

 

“What the—?” Fenrir had no time to finish as he was thrown back brutally. Inu-Yasha rose up, cracking his knuckles, his hair covering his stoic face.

 

Hermione, Ron, Harry, and even a few Death-Eaters watched incredulously as Inu-Yasha once more pulled his arm back into place, still drenched with blood. He glanced down at his festering ankle, and smirked.

 

“Did you really think it was gonna be that easy?”

 

Fenrir looked up at his opponent, readying himself for an attack.

 

But nothing could have prepared him for the speed at which Inu-Yasha appeared before him, his hair a silver beam of light behind him. He smiled, and surged his knife-like digits through Fenrir's left breast, melting into his back. Instantly, he made a fist in the werewolf's stunned body, and retracted his arm; crimson strips of vein and muscle tissue dripping from the undersides of his claws.

 

Fenrir's eyes widened, meeting Inu-Yasha's gleeful ones. Crimson. They had changed. His eyes were now the exact same hue as that which now merrily coated his sharpened fingers, punctuated with pupils like the end of all the oceans. His fangs had considerably lengthened, revealed as he peeled back his lips in a snarling smile. Stripes similar to those his brother wore shaped his cheekbones, and were repeated on his forearm.

 

The werewolf's bite had changed him, alright. It had drawn out the youkai in Inu-Yasha.

 

 

Oooh…exciting. I figured that the werewolf's bite would have a bad effect on a demon's blood—but not one that could turn him werewolffy. And it obviously wouldn't affect him during the New Moon…

 

SIDE NOTE: As I am not J.K. Rowling, and have never personally been to the Ministry of Magic, much of the architecture and layout is fabricated. Forgive me, but this is fanFICTION. Also, I am aware that this fight could not have taken place on a night of the full moon. I am using creative license to argue that Fenrir might be so poisoned with his werewolffiness that he's in a permanent state of werewolf. (Just go with it, people, go with it…