Nil Carborundum Illegitimi

It only took two hours for Arwarn to discover that he despised Mortis Malfoy. It was lucky, however, that the scion of the family hated him back. It was impossible for them to avoid each other. Not only were they in the same house and classes, but their beds were next to each other. It was in the dormitory that night that they first became properly aware of each other.

Malfoy has noticed the thin, pale boy at the Sorting; everyone had, given that he had been under the Sorting Hat for so long. One of his fellow Slytherins, a tubby boy with no neck, has hissed in his ear that he must be one of those Muggle gothic people that he had heard about, and must have kept his look. Malfoy found that for some reason he could not dris eis eyes away from the pinched face and silver-black hair. There was something about this small, gaunt figure that was undeniably strange. Mortis liked strange. He was always wary, however, because being a Malfoy meant that he could not and would no associate with anyone that he considered unworthy of his family's attention.

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Arwarn, face warmer in the candlelight, reached into his trunk and took out a battered leather folder case. Removing the contents, he spread them on the bed and peered at them intently. He was alone in the dormitory, for the other fifth year Slytherin boys had decided to talk and gossip downstairs in the dungeon-like common room. A small sigh escaped his lips, as, with his chin on his hands, he looked at the lithographs of his mother.

"What are you looking at there, Sandinista?" shrilled a voice, and a pale face peered through the gloom. Mortis Malfoy was generally pale - pale lips, paler cheeks. His eyes were a glacial, icy blue, and his hair was the colour of dry Madagascan sand. The black robes were severe against his white skin, making him look he had been painted in pastels and ink.

"Just pictures," Arwarn replied, reaching out to gather them all together. He was too late. One thin, icy Malfoy hand snaked out and seized one. The woman in the painting was undeniably beautiful. The Lady Branwyn had given her son his black and silver hair, pale clever features and slightly pointed ears. She stood, a silver diadem circling her long, gleaming hair, her clothing was of moss greens and rich browns trimmed with deerskins. The chamber that she stood in was cleverly carved to make the wooden beams and arches look like tree roots, while at her feet lay a grey and black peppered wolfhound. Like it's mistress, it wore a silver collar striped with emeralds and tiger's eye. Malfoy's hand tightened on the flimsy parchment while his pale eyes narrowed. "Who is this...creature?" he hissed.

Arwarn knew what was coming, and decided that he would have to say it now or never. "That ...creature ... is my mother, Lady Branwyn of the Summer Lands." He looked proudly from the painting into the disgusted eyes of Malfoy, his jaw set and his mien dignified.

"Your mother! Well well, how interesting." Shocked and appalled by the revelation of someone he was going to actually be friendly to, Malfoy had the ability to make even the most innocuous words drip like deadly poison. "So, your mother is Elfish, is she?" Disdain curled his full lips. "And therefore you are not even human."

"My father was a doctor from Betws-y-Coed!" he exclaimed. "I'm half human, but I live with my mother in the court of the Elf Queen." Arwarn was hurt but not bewildered but angry by Malfoy's sudden change of tone and attitude. One of his more friendly Elfish tribesmates had supposedly suffered at the hands of the family, and Arwarn had been warned of what a slimy, arrogant and superficial clan they were.

"A half-breed! You disgust me!" spat Malfoy. "I thought Muggle-borns were the most dreadful thing I would ever meet, but then I met you. You are a thing, not even worthy of being in a school, let alone Slytherin, with decent people!" Malfoy, his faced tinged with pink on each haughty cheekbone paused for breath"

Decent people like you, you mean?" Arwarn smiled pleasantly, but it wobbled a little. "Yes, the Malfoy's are very decent, aren't you? Not only are you a God knows how many generation Death Eater, but you are also petty and narrow minded. Not to mention a tosser. You have more money than sense, but even if you had three knuts that would be true! Now fuck off and die, Mortis Malfoy!" All of this was said with a very sweet smile upon Arwarn' face, but underneath he was boiling.

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The smell of horse sweat stung in the Lord's nostrils as he urged the beast on with voice and spur, while it's rhythmic snorting played a tattoo with the thud on the heathery turf of its silver shod hooves. The Lord was laughing. Promise of blood made him force his exhausted steed onwards, slashing his crop unmercifully into its lathered sides.

Ahead Gwyn ap Nudd blew the bugle, indicating that the hounds were still following the stinking scent of the quarry. He saw them, their wiry fur slicked flat by the hanging mist, as they loped after their prey. The creature itself stumbled over the springy turf ahead, pupils dilated in fear and ragged gasps emitting from its throat. Gwyn ap Nudd turned to his master, and the Lord smiled, ivory teeth ringed by a thin-lipped sneer. His hand, falling, decided to send the creature to Hell. The boarhounds, like tightly coiled springs, raced forward, baying for their share of salty red blood.

The Lord reined his mount to watch the kill. He could scent the fear of the doomed creature, and this pleased him. Any hope of escape the animal held sweetened its meat, while fear served to tenderise it. They would feast well in his palace tonight.

Trying to hide its face from the snapping fangs of the dogs, the creature fell to the ground. All the Lord could hear was the snarling of hounds, thickened by hunger as they ripped the flesh from the still screaming creature. The Lord listened to its agony, for the sound excited him. Another snap of the jaws of his favourite hound stopped the shrill noise forever.

Kicking his horse into a canter, the Lord rode to the spot where the animal had fallen. Gwyn ap Nudd and his keepers had beaten off the hounds and protecting the meat for their master. He kicked his feet out of the silver stirrups and dismounted. Under the thick black bearskin cloak lay a sword. Unsheathing it, he turned, eyes narrowing in calculation, and swung the razor-sharp blade in an arc. There was a thud as the creature's head was severed from its savaged and bloody body. Arwarn said it was one of the specially bred ones that they had kept herded in pens just below the stone circle. The Lord nodded and lifted the head by an ear, looking to see it's petrified face...

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Arwarn woke with a start. He had thrown his covers off the bed and was soaked in icy sweat. Shaking, he sat up, breathing deeply and trying to calm himself.

The dream had seemed so real. The scent of terror and blood, the moors of the Summer Lands in hunting season. He knew the keepers as they worked for the Queen at the lodge. He tried to close his eyes, but had to open them as the face of the poor creature he had so ruthlessly hunted in his mind swam into vision.

Malfoy.

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By breakfast the next morning, Malfoy had excitedly blabbed Arwarn's secret to all his friends, so everyone knew that the quiet pale Slytherin boy was not human.

"Look! There he is! I knew he was - look at his ears!" came from a Ravenclaw.

"No wonder they put him in Slytherin!" a Hufflepuff piped up.

A Gryffindor girl looked at him and sighed "I do feel a bit sorry for him," but was shouted down by her friends.

The Slytherins were so disgusted by what was in their midst that they either bellowed abuse or totally ignored him. Arwarn did not mind. He was too busy with lessons and trying to control his magic to pay any attention to their taunts.

The Sorting Hat had been right about his magic being powerful. Unlike the human magic which was generally more controlled and less dangerous, fey magic was raw, violent and earthy, much like the Elfish part of Arwarn. His human side was no match magically as his father was a Muggle, so there was no wizard magic to counteract the fey. All of this untested and untried sorcery was within him, making him a powerful weapon against the Dark forces of Lord Voldemort. However, before he could be turned on the evil wizard, careful training had to be done to make him less of a liability to himself and others. In the fey world his own type of magic would have been left as it was, but if he was to interact with humans, Arwarn Sandinista had to be tamed. Unfortunately, well, not from Arwarn's point of view, in his first lesson with Professor McGonagall in Transfiguration he had not only changed a match into a needle, but "accidentally" turned Malfoy into a large metal coffee pot. He couldn't help the sheer enormity of his powers, so he was to be specially tutored by Dumbledore and the other staff on a one to one basis.