Nil Carborundum Illegitimi
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
12
Views:
3,938
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
12
Views:
3,938
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.
Carcass Fit for Hounds
The travelling circle meant that Arwarn avoided Malfoy on the Hogwarts Express. Dumbledore had ordered a ring of stones to be constructed in the grounds of Hogwarts for the personal use of his pupil, even though this had caused upset among staff and the Ministry. The residing Minister was furious; did not Dumbledore know that the Elves were neutral in the war, but were threatening to join He Who Must Not Be Named? Dumbledore simply smiled and promised that the circle could only be used by Arwarn and his accompaniment at the beginning and end oe sce school year. If anyone other than that tried to break into the school that way, they would be horribly dead once they arrived on Hogwarts property. The Minister had to acquiesce, for he knew Dumbledore promises were iron-clad.
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He materialised in the circle feeling faintly sick. This form of travel never agreed with Arwarn's stomach, but he didn't care if it allowed the fateful meeting with Malfoy to be delayed. Gathering himself together, calming his puppy who was as queasy as he was, he started to pick his way across the undulating grass to the main entrance. The two thugs trailed behind him, one carrying his heavy black wood trunk and the other paring his nails with an ancient, battlescarred dagger.
Dropping Arwarn's possessions to the floor, his bodyguards grunted their leave and left him on his own on the front steps of the school he hated. House Elves, glancing at him warily, snatched the trunk away and bore it into the bowels of builbuilding. All of them who lived at Hogwarts had learned from the humans not to get too close to this strange boy.
"Hello, Arwarn. How was your summer?" Dumbledore, who had obviously been expecting him, patted him a little absent-mindedly on the shoulder.
"As it always is; long."
"I see you have the present that your Queen gave you." The headmaster tickled the little boarhound's nose with a long, gnarled finger, and was rewarded with a sneeze.
Arwarn grinned, his eyes alight with an inner passion that Dumbledore had only seen when had caught his pupil gazing at the Welsh girl, Aurella. "Isn't he lovely? I've called him Wolfie." Dumbledore's eyebrows scrambled to the top of his forehead.
"Isn't he a..."
"Boarhound? Yes, but his coloring makes him look like a wolf." Indeed, the now snoring hound did look like a very miniature lupine. "What has been happening in this world while I've been away?"
Dumbledore's face became grim. "Voldemort had been causing the deaths of some of the finest witches and wizards I have known. These are dangerous times, and will only stop when he is defeated. I do not know when that will happen, but I know that it will take the sacrifice of many other lives to make this all end. The Death Eaters are everywhere, so all of us must be on our guard. On a lighter note, I visited a place called Margate and ate a Muggle creation called candyfloss. Tastes rather nice, but it did stick in my beard a little. Made of sugar, I think."
"Have you heard from any pupils?"
"Aurella, you mean?" Arwarn's ears glowed traffic light scarlet. "She is working for the Ministry as a genealogist. She is very involved, you know, but..."
"But what?"
"The Ministry is a dangerous place to be now, and the job she had taken is even riskier. Voldemort wants to eliminate those who are not pure wizards, and she knows exactly who everyone is. Every birth or death is recorded magically. Even though the mother may say that the father is the person who thinks he is, the records record the truth."
"Every indiscretion is recorded. If a woman said to her husband that he is the father, but it was the milkman...?"
"Exactly. There are people who are in the wizarding world who are not who they think they are. And these records are generations old - from when the Ministry was first founded."
Arwarn closed his eyes, and knew he had to write to Aurella.
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He was called to dinner by a very terrified House Elf dressed in what looked like a tea towel covered in pictures of the 'Delights of Bury St. Edmunds.' Making himself stand up, Arwarn wordlessly followed the little creature out of the Slytherin common room and up the flights of stairs to the great hall. It was only half full; most of the pupils were still clamng ong out of the horseless carriages that had brought them from Hogsmeade Station, but there was enough for the noise to quieten and whispers to be heard.
"Yeah, that's him. The freak Elf boy."
"Stay away from him - they eat people, they do."
"Oh look, it's decided to come back for more fun." Arwarn hissed through he teeth at the drawl of the last. There, mocking him with hooded eyes sparking, lounged Malfoy. His hair had been bleached by the sun, probably from going somewhere hot and exotic, and his normally white skin was stained the colour of weak tea. His goons snickered as Arwarn approached the long table and looked for a seat. It was either sit next to Malfoy or perch at the end like Johnny No Friends. He chose the latter.
Very soon, the table filled with other Slytherin, but Arwarn was always aware of that cold gaze from several seats down. Malfoy, he knew in his heart, had not tired of toying with him. Malfoy was only just beginning.
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Escaping as soon as he could, Arwarn pounded down the stairs to the Slytherin common room and into the fifth form chamber, shivering. Wolfie, curled into a small ball on his pillow, yawned, staggered to his feet, and tottered over to Arwarn, tail lashing.
"At least you seem to like me, little one." The puppy snuffled his hand in delight and licked his fingers. "Now I have someone to talk to when thingt bat bad." Wolfie tried to crawl onto him, but needed a helping hand before he finally settled on his master's lap. Arwarn tucked his robe around the boarhound, rubbing its soft ears between his fingers.
"There you are, half breed! Thought you could creep into bed where no one would find you?" Malfoy leaned against the doorframe, hands on hips and sneer firmly set in place. "Mortis always finds those who are hateful and eliminates them." He slowly walked towards the green-sheeted bed, eyes searing into those of his prey.
As a long-fingered hand grasped and squeezed the smaller boy's shoulder, a small bullet of pepper fur exploded from under Arwarn's robes and firmly attached itself to the perfectly cut Italian trousers of the eldest son of the clan Malfoy.
"GET THIS FUCKING THING OFF ME, SANDINISTA!" squealed Malfoy, dancing around and trying to dislodge the grip of Wolfie. Arwarn just curled his knees under him, tented his hands, and thought that his boarhound's victim sounded like a stuck pig. Wolfie, his baby teeth sliding on the slick, expensive material, dug his teeth in deeper and hung on.
"Do you have any IDEA of what these trousers cost?!" Leaning over, Malfoy grabbed the puppy by its ribs and tried to pull him away. All this resulted in was tiny, needle sharp fangs piercing his flesh. "Ohfuckohfuckohfuck!" Tiny circles of blood penetrated the cream fabric. Wolfie, son of Fleet, was a hunting dog, and the taste of humaood ood was what he craved. Even at a young age, his jaws were powerful enough to rip and tear, but this he did to protect his young master. Besides, the little boarhound was enjoying himself, thought Arwarn.
"Stop him Sandinista! STOP HIM!" Malfoy hopped around more.
"St. Vitus Dance," whispered Arwarn, and he started to giggle. At this, Malfoy stopped and stared. He had never heard laughter emanate from the little half-breed, and it was utterly, totally, disconcerting. He grinned at Malfoy, face alight with inner pleasure and eerily beautiful. "I'll only call him off if you say please. If you say 'Arwarn, I am so sorry and I am a wanker. Please call off your hound, please!" At this, he fell backwards, clutching his stomach as he roared with laughter.
"Never! I am not saying that!" exclaimed Malfoy.
"Well then, no release. Good boy, Wolfie, nice Wolfie." The puppy wagged its tail and took better grip, tiny claws scrabbling on the stone floor.
Malfoy knew that there was no way out. What terrified him was Arwarn's reaction. He expected gloating, but not insane, and it really did sound uncontrolled, laughter. Taking a deep breath, but really wanting to get out of the situation, he hissed "Arwarn, I am so sorry and I'm a wanker. Tell your fucking dog to get his teeth out of my Gucci's NOW!"
"Are you really sorry?"
"YES I AM!"
"Truly and deeply sorry."
Malfoy looked like he was about to explode. "YESSSSSS!"
"Wolfie. Drop." The puppy did so reluctantly, but trotted over to its master wagging its tail and looking extremely smug.
Malfoy, almost in tears at the pain and the destruction of his haute couture trousers, screamed. "I am going to tell my father and the headmaster! That dog needs to be fucking shot!" Aiming a kick at the fragile puppy ribs, but thankfully missing, he tried to storm, but had to settle for limp, out of the room.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He materialised in the circle feeling faintly sick. This form of travel never agreed with Arwarn's stomach, but he didn't care if it allowed the fateful meeting with Malfoy to be delayed. Gathering himself together, calming his puppy who was as queasy as he was, he started to pick his way across the undulating grass to the main entrance. The two thugs trailed behind him, one carrying his heavy black wood trunk and the other paring his nails with an ancient, battlescarred dagger.
Dropping Arwarn's possessions to the floor, his bodyguards grunted their leave and left him on his own on the front steps of the school he hated. House Elves, glancing at him warily, snatched the trunk away and bore it into the bowels of builbuilding. All of them who lived at Hogwarts had learned from the humans not to get too close to this strange boy.
"Hello, Arwarn. How was your summer?" Dumbledore, who had obviously been expecting him, patted him a little absent-mindedly on the shoulder.
"As it always is; long."
"I see you have the present that your Queen gave you." The headmaster tickled the little boarhound's nose with a long, gnarled finger, and was rewarded with a sneeze.
Arwarn grinned, his eyes alight with an inner passion that Dumbledore had only seen when had caught his pupil gazing at the Welsh girl, Aurella. "Isn't he lovely? I've called him Wolfie." Dumbledore's eyebrows scrambled to the top of his forehead.
"Isn't he a..."
"Boarhound? Yes, but his coloring makes him look like a wolf." Indeed, the now snoring hound did look like a very miniature lupine. "What has been happening in this world while I've been away?"
Dumbledore's face became grim. "Voldemort had been causing the deaths of some of the finest witches and wizards I have known. These are dangerous times, and will only stop when he is defeated. I do not know when that will happen, but I know that it will take the sacrifice of many other lives to make this all end. The Death Eaters are everywhere, so all of us must be on our guard. On a lighter note, I visited a place called Margate and ate a Muggle creation called candyfloss. Tastes rather nice, but it did stick in my beard a little. Made of sugar, I think."
"Have you heard from any pupils?"
"Aurella, you mean?" Arwarn's ears glowed traffic light scarlet. "She is working for the Ministry as a genealogist. She is very involved, you know, but..."
"But what?"
"The Ministry is a dangerous place to be now, and the job she had taken is even riskier. Voldemort wants to eliminate those who are not pure wizards, and she knows exactly who everyone is. Every birth or death is recorded magically. Even though the mother may say that the father is the person who thinks he is, the records record the truth."
"Every indiscretion is recorded. If a woman said to her husband that he is the father, but it was the milkman...?"
"Exactly. There are people who are in the wizarding world who are not who they think they are. And these records are generations old - from when the Ministry was first founded."
Arwarn closed his eyes, and knew he had to write to Aurella.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He was called to dinner by a very terrified House Elf dressed in what looked like a tea towel covered in pictures of the 'Delights of Bury St. Edmunds.' Making himself stand up, Arwarn wordlessly followed the little creature out of the Slytherin common room and up the flights of stairs to the great hall. It was only half full; most of the pupils were still clamng ong out of the horseless carriages that had brought them from Hogsmeade Station, but there was enough for the noise to quieten and whispers to be heard.
"Yeah, that's him. The freak Elf boy."
"Stay away from him - they eat people, they do."
"Oh look, it's decided to come back for more fun." Arwarn hissed through he teeth at the drawl of the last. There, mocking him with hooded eyes sparking, lounged Malfoy. His hair had been bleached by the sun, probably from going somewhere hot and exotic, and his normally white skin was stained the colour of weak tea. His goons snickered as Arwarn approached the long table and looked for a seat. It was either sit next to Malfoy or perch at the end like Johnny No Friends. He chose the latter.
Very soon, the table filled with other Slytherin, but Arwarn was always aware of that cold gaze from several seats down. Malfoy, he knew in his heart, had not tired of toying with him. Malfoy was only just beginning.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Escaping as soon as he could, Arwarn pounded down the stairs to the Slytherin common room and into the fifth form chamber, shivering. Wolfie, curled into a small ball on his pillow, yawned, staggered to his feet, and tottered over to Arwarn, tail lashing.
"At least you seem to like me, little one." The puppy snuffled his hand in delight and licked his fingers. "Now I have someone to talk to when thingt bat bad." Wolfie tried to crawl onto him, but needed a helping hand before he finally settled on his master's lap. Arwarn tucked his robe around the boarhound, rubbing its soft ears between his fingers.
"There you are, half breed! Thought you could creep into bed where no one would find you?" Malfoy leaned against the doorframe, hands on hips and sneer firmly set in place. "Mortis always finds those who are hateful and eliminates them." He slowly walked towards the green-sheeted bed, eyes searing into those of his prey.
As a long-fingered hand grasped and squeezed the smaller boy's shoulder, a small bullet of pepper fur exploded from under Arwarn's robes and firmly attached itself to the perfectly cut Italian trousers of the eldest son of the clan Malfoy.
"GET THIS FUCKING THING OFF ME, SANDINISTA!" squealed Malfoy, dancing around and trying to dislodge the grip of Wolfie. Arwarn just curled his knees under him, tented his hands, and thought that his boarhound's victim sounded like a stuck pig. Wolfie, his baby teeth sliding on the slick, expensive material, dug his teeth in deeper and hung on.
"Do you have any IDEA of what these trousers cost?!" Leaning over, Malfoy grabbed the puppy by its ribs and tried to pull him away. All this resulted in was tiny, needle sharp fangs piercing his flesh. "Ohfuckohfuckohfuck!" Tiny circles of blood penetrated the cream fabric. Wolfie, son of Fleet, was a hunting dog, and the taste of humaood ood was what he craved. Even at a young age, his jaws were powerful enough to rip and tear, but this he did to protect his young master. Besides, the little boarhound was enjoying himself, thought Arwarn.
"Stop him Sandinista! STOP HIM!" Malfoy hopped around more.
"St. Vitus Dance," whispered Arwarn, and he started to giggle. At this, Malfoy stopped and stared. He had never heard laughter emanate from the little half-breed, and it was utterly, totally, disconcerting. He grinned at Malfoy, face alight with inner pleasure and eerily beautiful. "I'll only call him off if you say please. If you say 'Arwarn, I am so sorry and I am a wanker. Please call off your hound, please!" At this, he fell backwards, clutching his stomach as he roared with laughter.
"Never! I am not saying that!" exclaimed Malfoy.
"Well then, no release. Good boy, Wolfie, nice Wolfie." The puppy wagged its tail and took better grip, tiny claws scrabbling on the stone floor.
Malfoy knew that there was no way out. What terrified him was Arwarn's reaction. He expected gloating, but not insane, and it really did sound uncontrolled, laughter. Taking a deep breath, but really wanting to get out of the situation, he hissed "Arwarn, I am so sorry and I'm a wanker. Tell your fucking dog to get his teeth out of my Gucci's NOW!"
"Are you really sorry?"
"YES I AM!"
"Truly and deeply sorry."
Malfoy looked like he was about to explode. "YESSSSSS!"
"Wolfie. Drop." The puppy did so reluctantly, but trotted over to its master wagging its tail and looking extremely smug.
Malfoy, almost in tears at the pain and the destruction of his haute couture trousers, screamed. "I am going to tell my father and the headmaster! That dog needs to be fucking shot!" Aiming a kick at the fragile puppy ribs, but thankfully missing, he tried to storm, but had to settle for limp, out of the room.