Nil Carborundum Illegitimi
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
12
Views:
3,940
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
12
Views:
3,940
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Let's Face the Music and Dance
By Christmas it had been decided that because Arwarn's immense powers had been finally brought under control, he should join the rest of the Slytherins in all of their classes in the New Year. This was the least of his problems, however. First he had to make it through the Christmas Ball.
He rubbed his eyes with his palms and stared at the ceiling, which decided to start to wriggle in a most alarming manner. Nothing could convince him - nothing - that going to the ball was a good idea. Arwarn would have preferred Malfoy to remove all of his teeth without anaesthetic and with steel implements to going to this...this glorified dance. However, being a fifth year, Dumbledore had advised him to attend.
Arwarn's solution was to get absolutely hammered on Muggle whisky, which made him feel awfully strange. At least, his swimming mind reasoned, at least if Malfoy comes near you, you can projectile vomit all over him.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Malfoy felt the waves of envy wash over him as he danced with the most beautiful girl in Slytherin, but his thoughts were directed elsewhere. When he had changed, he had noticed the black-clad figure of the half-breed, sitting cross-legged on the window sill. Malfoy had also caught the sour smell of extremely cheap alcohol. Arwarn hadn't looked at him, so he contented himself by throwing one of their dorm mates stinky socks at his back and stalking out.
He must be ever so sad to drink on his own, mused Malfoy, but immediately dismissed these treacherous thoughts. Smiling down at the deliciously pretty dark-haired girl, who pouted sexily back, he pushed Arwarn Sandinista to the back of his head.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Spilling the paint-stripping whisky down the front of his robes, Arwarn weaved towards the Great Hall. The music, not his sense of direction, led him. Finally, having the presence of mind even in his inebriated state to hide the now empty bottle behind a handy statue, he strode into the hall.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Even the music stopped, and the singer, an elderly witch who had a voice like molasses and a body like the lower peaks of the Himalayas, squawked to a halt. Everyone had turned, in shock, to face the person who had entered. Obviously and blindingly drunk, Arwarn hung onto the thick oaken door of the Hall because he has too scared of falling over sideways not to.
Malfoy swallowed, his eyes never leaving the glittering, alcohol-sodden ones of his arch enemy. For once, he had to admit, the wretch was looking acceptable. Even nice. Appalled, he squashed this by sliding his hand up the bodice of his date's robe and having a little squeeze. She giggled and arched her back for his hand to sneak in further.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He was looking almost....savage, tonight, Malfoy noted. Whereas you could only usually tell by looking at his ears, there was a certain violent arrogance that bespoke his Elven heritage. The alcohol had obviously given him the self confidence to be the other side of his chara, th, the side that usually scared the hell out of him.
Unlike everyone else, Arwarn wore no robes. Elves considered the wearing of such a garment to be fit only for fashion unconscious humans, so left them to the wizards. His silver and black hair was spiked, though not by the usual Elf method; Arwarn had not been able to find the blood, and gel was so more easily available in school. Thin rings of kohl smudged under his eyes, making him look as if he was exhausted from too many nights of debauching willing human ladies. An exquisitely cut black rubberized t-shirt, looking, to Malfoy's annoyance, as if it was Vivienne Westwood, clung to a slim and lithe body that no-one had dreamed existed under his scruffy school robes. And Arwarn's legs...his legs would have made the staunchest Roman Catholic priest thank God for their being. Clad in the tightest black leather, Malfoy had never imagined they would be so...so....utterly delicious. And when combined with knee length lace ups with silver heels and toecaps....
Mortis internally screamed at his hormones to shut up, but faced with the shock that, if he had the opportunity, he would get down and dirty with his most hated adversary, he didn't scream loud enough.
You could, they hissed through their little snake mouths, snake tongues flapping. He is drunk, you are sober...take him now and get him out of your head. It's a sex thing...you want to lash him to the bed with your belt and do the most filthy, kinky things to him. Things you have never done to anyone else. Admit it, Malfoy, you want to fuck him and fuck him up. Yes, you do. You want to take his body and shatter his mind.
The young man with eyes of ice and hair the colour of wet Madagascan sand ran a tongue over thin, dry lips, and tried to get the images, closely resembling a less than heterosexual copy of the Kama Sutra, out of his head.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Arwarn managed to make it to a chair, unaware of the confusion he was causing, and sat with his head in his hands. The alcohol haze lasted longer in humans than fey, and he was sobering up to the most agonising headache in his entire life. Sixth sense made him look up, right at some Ravenclaws who were whispering to each other and casting nervous glances in his direction.
"What they fuck you looking at?" he asked, but realised that he was now talking Gibberese. Something, sounding much like "whfuflibbleblurp" had emanated from his vocal cords. At least the Ravenclaws had buggered off. Groaning aloud, he closed his eyes and hoped the room would stop doing pogoing so he could get up and go to the bathroom to, possibly, emit the alcohol he had consumed in whatever way seemed fit.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Oh Christ, he has the most fabulous arse, thought Mortis' treacherous brain as Arwarn hauled himself to his feet, abruptly turned, and marched out of the Great Hall. Several of the girls who had been hovering looked rather disappointed.
What Arwarn didn't know was that he had inherited some glamour from his mother, but it only worked at certain times. Usually, he kept his Elven side so rigidly in check that, as Malfoy had noted, he could easily pass for human. At times where he was more relaxed - when drunk or with people he truly cared for - the glamour began to work. He did not realise that there were quite a few young ladies, who did not usually look at him twice, who wanted to take him to their dorm and teach him the ways of human mating.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The chilly mirror on his forehead reviving him, Arwarn felt much less queasy than in the hall. "I am never going to drink again," he breathed, watching the mirror turn to vapor. Sobering up rather fast, he felt uncomfortably cold in the dim candlelight of the tiny bathroom.
"And deprive us all of the chance to laugh at you, Sandinista?" Arwarn had not heard the door open, but could just see the distorted pattern of Malfoy in the foggy glass.
"What you want, git face?" His sense of speech had reasserted itself as he sobered, but Arwarn was still sufficiently drunk to really, really enjoy insulting Malfoy. He looked awfully pompous if you called him anything, thought the green-eyed boy. Just like a bullfrog. Arwarn giggled.
Malfoy's mouth narrowed. "I want to teach you a lesson, Sandinista. I haven't got you back for your stupid hound's idiocy yet."
"Come and have a go if you think you're hard enough!" Arwarn, sitting on one of the vast sunken Belfast sinks, fell into its depths as he was overtaken by gales of laughter.
Grinning nastily, the pale, thin hand of Malfoy grasped the cold tap and twisted it hard. The pipes gave a clanking shudder before a shower of icy water poured over the other boy's dark hair and face.
"Pthcoffcoffcoff...you bastard!....Argh!"
"Serves you right, you little half-bred shit"
"Turn it off! TURN IT OFF!"
Malfoy gave his a few more seconds before twisting the faucet off. Shivering violently, gooseflesh savaging all of his pale skin and eyes darkening with anger, Arwarn squelched out of the sink.
"These are leather, you fucking upper-class inbred fool! And this was Vivienne Westwood!" Arwarn said the latter in the voice of the righteousness who didn't know who the hell Britain's most venerable 1970's fashion designer was.
"It's excellent workmanship," muttered Malfoy.
Sleeking his soaking hair from his ford and and mumbling about what he would like to do to Malfoy with a red-hot poker, even though being an Elf he couldn't hold a red-hot poker, Arwarn stormed off to bed.
Mortis grinned, and it was not a pleasant sight. Phase one of had gone according to plan. Now for the final stage.
He rubbed his eyes with his palms and stared at the ceiling, which decided to start to wriggle in a most alarming manner. Nothing could convince him - nothing - that going to the ball was a good idea. Arwarn would have preferred Malfoy to remove all of his teeth without anaesthetic and with steel implements to going to this...this glorified dance. However, being a fifth year, Dumbledore had advised him to attend.
Arwarn's solution was to get absolutely hammered on Muggle whisky, which made him feel awfully strange. At least, his swimming mind reasoned, at least if Malfoy comes near you, you can projectile vomit all over him.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Malfoy felt the waves of envy wash over him as he danced with the most beautiful girl in Slytherin, but his thoughts were directed elsewhere. When he had changed, he had noticed the black-clad figure of the half-breed, sitting cross-legged on the window sill. Malfoy had also caught the sour smell of extremely cheap alcohol. Arwarn hadn't looked at him, so he contented himself by throwing one of their dorm mates stinky socks at his back and stalking out.
He must be ever so sad to drink on his own, mused Malfoy, but immediately dismissed these treacherous thoughts. Smiling down at the deliciously pretty dark-haired girl, who pouted sexily back, he pushed Arwarn Sandinista to the back of his head.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Spilling the paint-stripping whisky down the front of his robes, Arwarn weaved towards the Great Hall. The music, not his sense of direction, led him. Finally, having the presence of mind even in his inebriated state to hide the now empty bottle behind a handy statue, he strode into the hall.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Even the music stopped, and the singer, an elderly witch who had a voice like molasses and a body like the lower peaks of the Himalayas, squawked to a halt. Everyone had turned, in shock, to face the person who had entered. Obviously and blindingly drunk, Arwarn hung onto the thick oaken door of the Hall because he has too scared of falling over sideways not to.
Malfoy swallowed, his eyes never leaving the glittering, alcohol-sodden ones of his arch enemy. For once, he had to admit, the wretch was looking acceptable. Even nice. Appalled, he squashed this by sliding his hand up the bodice of his date's robe and having a little squeeze. She giggled and arched her back for his hand to sneak in further.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He was looking almost....savage, tonight, Malfoy noted. Whereas you could only usually tell by looking at his ears, there was a certain violent arrogance that bespoke his Elven heritage. The alcohol had obviously given him the self confidence to be the other side of his chara, th, the side that usually scared the hell out of him.
Unlike everyone else, Arwarn wore no robes. Elves considered the wearing of such a garment to be fit only for fashion unconscious humans, so left them to the wizards. His silver and black hair was spiked, though not by the usual Elf method; Arwarn had not been able to find the blood, and gel was so more easily available in school. Thin rings of kohl smudged under his eyes, making him look as if he was exhausted from too many nights of debauching willing human ladies. An exquisitely cut black rubberized t-shirt, looking, to Malfoy's annoyance, as if it was Vivienne Westwood, clung to a slim and lithe body that no-one had dreamed existed under his scruffy school robes. And Arwarn's legs...his legs would have made the staunchest Roman Catholic priest thank God for their being. Clad in the tightest black leather, Malfoy had never imagined they would be so...so....utterly delicious. And when combined with knee length lace ups with silver heels and toecaps....
Mortis internally screamed at his hormones to shut up, but faced with the shock that, if he had the opportunity, he would get down and dirty with his most hated adversary, he didn't scream loud enough.
You could, they hissed through their little snake mouths, snake tongues flapping. He is drunk, you are sober...take him now and get him out of your head. It's a sex thing...you want to lash him to the bed with your belt and do the most filthy, kinky things to him. Things you have never done to anyone else. Admit it, Malfoy, you want to fuck him and fuck him up. Yes, you do. You want to take his body and shatter his mind.
The young man with eyes of ice and hair the colour of wet Madagascan sand ran a tongue over thin, dry lips, and tried to get the images, closely resembling a less than heterosexual copy of the Kama Sutra, out of his head.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Arwarn managed to make it to a chair, unaware of the confusion he was causing, and sat with his head in his hands. The alcohol haze lasted longer in humans than fey, and he was sobering up to the most agonising headache in his entire life. Sixth sense made him look up, right at some Ravenclaws who were whispering to each other and casting nervous glances in his direction.
"What they fuck you looking at?" he asked, but realised that he was now talking Gibberese. Something, sounding much like "whfuflibbleblurp" had emanated from his vocal cords. At least the Ravenclaws had buggered off. Groaning aloud, he closed his eyes and hoped the room would stop doing pogoing so he could get up and go to the bathroom to, possibly, emit the alcohol he had consumed in whatever way seemed fit.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Oh Christ, he has the most fabulous arse, thought Mortis' treacherous brain as Arwarn hauled himself to his feet, abruptly turned, and marched out of the Great Hall. Several of the girls who had been hovering looked rather disappointed.
What Arwarn didn't know was that he had inherited some glamour from his mother, but it only worked at certain times. Usually, he kept his Elven side so rigidly in check that, as Malfoy had noted, he could easily pass for human. At times where he was more relaxed - when drunk or with people he truly cared for - the glamour began to work. He did not realise that there were quite a few young ladies, who did not usually look at him twice, who wanted to take him to their dorm and teach him the ways of human mating.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The chilly mirror on his forehead reviving him, Arwarn felt much less queasy than in the hall. "I am never going to drink again," he breathed, watching the mirror turn to vapor. Sobering up rather fast, he felt uncomfortably cold in the dim candlelight of the tiny bathroom.
"And deprive us all of the chance to laugh at you, Sandinista?" Arwarn had not heard the door open, but could just see the distorted pattern of Malfoy in the foggy glass.
"What you want, git face?" His sense of speech had reasserted itself as he sobered, but Arwarn was still sufficiently drunk to really, really enjoy insulting Malfoy. He looked awfully pompous if you called him anything, thought the green-eyed boy. Just like a bullfrog. Arwarn giggled.
Malfoy's mouth narrowed. "I want to teach you a lesson, Sandinista. I haven't got you back for your stupid hound's idiocy yet."
"Come and have a go if you think you're hard enough!" Arwarn, sitting on one of the vast sunken Belfast sinks, fell into its depths as he was overtaken by gales of laughter.
Grinning nastily, the pale, thin hand of Malfoy grasped the cold tap and twisted it hard. The pipes gave a clanking shudder before a shower of icy water poured over the other boy's dark hair and face.
"Pthcoffcoffcoff...you bastard!....Argh!"
"Serves you right, you little half-bred shit"
"Turn it off! TURN IT OFF!"
Malfoy gave his a few more seconds before twisting the faucet off. Shivering violently, gooseflesh savaging all of his pale skin and eyes darkening with anger, Arwarn squelched out of the sink.
"These are leather, you fucking upper-class inbred fool! And this was Vivienne Westwood!" Arwarn said the latter in the voice of the righteousness who didn't know who the hell Britain's most venerable 1970's fashion designer was.
"It's excellent workmanship," muttered Malfoy.
Sleeking his soaking hair from his ford and and mumbling about what he would like to do to Malfoy with a red-hot poker, even though being an Elf he couldn't hold a red-hot poker, Arwarn stormed off to bed.
Mortis grinned, and it was not a pleasant sight. Phase one of had gone according to plan. Now for the final stage.