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And now the conclusion. Harry learns that wishing people dead can backfire (though he probably already knew), perversion is not always amusing (especially when it's you on the receiving end), and that dark, evil, and depraved is sometimes just desperate… and depraved. Cue the hysteria, people - she (he, damnit!) has finally lost it. How can you not when Slytherin smiles?

Oh, and Hermione's even crueler.

Narcissism - excessive self-admiration and self-centeredness. Harry didn't quite think she fit into that mold. Hermione seemed to disagree, the prude.

The two round, firm mounds had been bound - loosely so they still showed - and a potion that strangely didn't taste like refuse had been forced down her throat to deal with the bleeding. Thankfully it dealt with BGS as well, and Harry didn't feel like emulating a hosepipe anymore.

If only they had a potion to deal with tradition too. "I am not wearing bum-stuffing, Hermione!"

"It's not bum-stuffing!" she snapped. "It's called a bustle."

"It's a bum-stuffing. I'm not wearing it. Nor am I wearing a bloody corset." Or a dress, she added silently, but dresses weren't all that commonly worn even in the medieval wizarding world.

Hermione threw her hands up in the air in irritation. "Fine! Be that way! But don't come crying to me when Slytherin has a temper tantrum and takes it out on you!"

She thought Harry cared if Slytherin was happy? Maybe so that she'd know to do the opposite, but - honestly, this was Salazar Slytherin, the man she'd gladly dose with poi-

A scream broke loose from her lips as her legs gave out and Harry crumbled to the floor, holding her head. Hermione took a startled step back. Oh, thank you ever so much for the support. Stand aside while something has a grand old time pounding my head in.

Of course, the pain - more like forks of lightning - subsided then (the irony a good thing for once), and Harry panted a bit. Logic, logic - okay, there was no sign of an outward injury, so the pain was mental in nature. (Wasn't it always? Someone do her a favor for once - make it the Cruciatus, she preferred it.) Occlumency barriers were - wait, wait, wait.

She watched in shock and - loath as she was to admit it - slight fear as the gleaming silver threads twisted and threaded more thickly through the shields guarding her mind from outside influences. It spread, like a parasite, until even the stronger portions - the ones "behind" the scar - were all but engulfed.

Gah. Only Harry could have parasitic silver thread in her mind that was Giving. Her. A. Migraine.

"Harry?" started Hermione gently. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Harry replied promptly, ignoring the look the response garnered with the ease of much experience, and rose to her feet once more. "Nothing but parasitic silver mind-worms….."

"Confused" was not Hermione's look either. In fact, confused was an understatement - she looked concerned for Harry's mental well-being, which was nice enough but not all that useful. But the comprehension that followed fit much better. "You were contemplating causing him harm."

"Well, yeah…. It'd make the world a better place." Surely she knew that. Yes, it'd possibly destroy the space-time continuum, possibly destroy the world, but in this case Harry would look on the bright side. "And what does that have to do with anything?"

Hermione sighed. "If a witch and a wizard are bound by marriage - or engagement - then they cannot intentionally bring their partner to harm. Magic won't let them."

"What about Zabini's mother?" Harry countered.

"Why do think she was never brought to court?" asked Hermione, exasperated. "She must have found a way around the bonds somehow, but there was no way the Ministry could prove that."

The Ministry of Magic couldn't even prove it's own incompetence. Even after five years of war in office, Rufus Scrimgeour was still trying to convince Harry to assist him in his quest to make the Ministry look good. A kamikaze quest at that. Still, the man would be better off sticking to hara-kiri in Harry's opinion - it'd be better for the people.

Still… "A way around the bonds?" Hmm… maybe it was the backside. She struggled with the urge to leer at the mental pictures that provoked. Zabini's mother was one sexy woman… but not so much as Harry's reflection of course.

And Hermione would so smack her if she got the slightest inkling of Harry's thoughts.

"You'll never find one," said Hermione frankly, tossing the nearly-forgotten bustle aside and shuffling through a rack for an appropriate robe. "This is Salazar Slytherin we're talking about, and Zabini's husbands were all arrogant, inbred idiots. Slytherin is not an idiot."

But he is arrogant and inbred. With a stick up his arse the size of Lord Slytherin's wand.

Hermione paused in her rifling and pulled out a bottle green robe that reminded Harry of the one she (he at the time) had worn to the Yule Ball. Yay - it matched the eyes. Gotta love the eyes.

"Here. Mrs. Weasley had the right idea in going with this color…"

Harry pulled it over her shoulders and paused to inspect the mirror. She looked good. Hopefully Slytherin wouldn't agree. After all, this was the medieval era - weren't they of the belief that women should be the feminine version of Dudley to be beautiful?

She shivered at the mere thought.

But maybe that wasn't true in the wizarding world. After all, Harry'd worn enough clothing suited to the overly obese to recognize the fit, and this robe wasn't made as such. The opposite, actually.

"Let's go," said Hermione, smiling - as Harry's stomach turned to ice, not that the other girl could know. It was all well and nice to play dress up - it was quite another thing to play girlie into front of… of…. Um. Not going there.

But the bushy bookworm took Harry's hand quite firmly - loosen up a little, she was delicate - and tugged her over to the door before Harry could gather her wits enough to struggle. Inconveniently, the door swung open upon their approach, and Ron - who must have been napping outside the door - looked up.

And went bug-eyed. And red-eared. And - Merlin, was Ron checking her out? Yuck. Ron was her friend, yes, but… ew. Gross. Harry ducked behind Hermione, who was visibly stifling a grin. No fair! Good friends didn't laugh at each other's pain.

Thankfully, that was enough to snap the redhead out of his daze (and make him imitate a tomato), unthankfully when he opened his mouth it was worse. "If I'd known you'd be this hot I'd've changed you ages ago," he said with a leer.

Please. Harry whimpered. Please let him be joking. That was just wrong. Ron shouldn't find her hot. She could find herself hot, but Ron couldn't. That was just wrong. And - stop giggling, Hermione!

"Slytherin's expecting us," she said between snickers. "We have to go. Coming, Ron?"

The only place Harry wanted to go was back into her room, but Ron and Hermione - she was really beginning to revise whether she thought of them as "friends" - once again played the part of escorts and closed in on her, cutting off all escape routes as they trotted her off to wherever Slytherin was.

"Why are you going along with this anyway?" Well, the question at least was better than the "Who are you people and what did you do with my friends?" Harry wanted to ask.

Hermione gave her an odd look. "Well, it's not like we - or you - have much of a choice. And it could be potentially useful."

Useful? "Excuse me if I fail to realize the usefulness of bearing me down with matching leg shackles to a male - and a male who's been dead for over a millennium at that!" Calm down Harry, complaints seem much more rational when you're not yelling them.

Ron looked like he personally agreed, but of course, the object of the redhead's affections didn't so neither did he.

"Actually, Salazar Slytherin is never recorded as having died," Hermione argued. Could that be because the records in the Dark Ages weren't up to snuff? Of course not! "We could use someone like him in the war, Harry." She smirked suddenly. It was such a strange sight Harry found herself too bemused to form a retort. "Anyway, can you imagine Voldemort's face if Salazar Slytherin was to come to the future - and fight against him? It would ruin him."

She had a point there. But the fact remained - how the hell did she plan to convince Slytherin not to keep her stuck here? And… Voldemort was Slytherin's heir, wasn't he?

Wait - to have an heir necessitates reproduction. Reproduction necessitates…

"I am not sleeping with him!" Harry yelped as the implication (that should have been obvious) sank in.

Ron tripped and fell on his arse while Hermione just choked. On a mad laugh, no doubt, since she seemed to find all this so funny.

"Sl-sleep? With Slytherin?" Ron looked ill at the mere thought, rather like Harry did.

"W-well…." And Hermione - well, she looked half nauseous, half amused as hell. And she had a scary glint in her eyes - it really made Harry regret all the perverted things she'd pulled on her. Like that time she'd tricked her into using one of Fred and George's Patented Erotica Charms. "He will have the responsibility of continuing his line…."

Harry felt her stomach lurch in a way that had nothing to do with BGS and everything to do with Complete And Utter Disgusting-ness until Hermione began snickering.

"This is the wizarding world, Harry," she informed him dryly as they began moving again. "You don't have to do things the natural way… unless you want too."

Lurch. Harry didn't want to do it. Period. But it was too late as Hermione maneuvered her into a sitting room that didn't exist 1000 years in the future, where Slytherin waited.

And for the second time, Harry was forced to hold her stomach as she was directly, unabashedly Checked Out. The stormy grey eyes roved all over, but paused with deliberate emphasis on her chest - the round, firm mounds drawing extra attention - her mouth, and the… crotch area. And then his mouth quirked, apparently pleased.

Why oh why did these things happen to him/her/whatever?

"Mr. Weasley. Miss Granger. Leave."

No! Don't leave me! Neither of them telepaths or Legilimens, Ron and Hermione paid the thought no heed, though Ron did shoot Harry a sympathetic look as he was dragged from the room by his ear. Well, that was nice and all, but it really wasn't all that -

…And how did Slytherin move that fast? One second, sitting down and checking her out. The next, right up in her face and - "Get your hand off of my bum!"

Why couldn't he be the asexual ice cube he acted like…? Why couldn't he be less, well, horny?

And why the hell couldn't Harry speak to the bastard in English, for once!

Slytherin smirked. Of course Slytherin smirked, he didn't know how to do anything else. Besides sneer, that is… what? "-I would. Sadly, it's mine as well, so I think not."

Harry could only stare dumbly for a second, sick. "You've got to be kidding meAnatomy doesn't change the fact I am maleDoesn't that bother you? In the slightest?"

A chuckle. Were all pureblood egomaniacs this… expressive with their… um, partners?

"Hardly," Slytherin drawled. His breath smelled like mint. Why would his breath smell like mint? Did he chew peppermint leaves or something? "Your situation, while not common, is far from unheard of. It is only the reason that sets this apart."

That was news. They did this often? How messed up were these people?

A sudden jerk had Harry off balance and - hey, he tasted like mint too. Wait. Taste? She was too shocked to protest, too sickened to fight.

He was kissing her. Salazar Slytherin was snogging Harry Potter. And it was sick! (…And he tasted like mint. Weird, that.)

Slytherin took the initiative in pulling away slightly. Of course, he still hadn't removed the hand from her bum, and she tried to squirm out of his grip - to no avail. It only resulted in him looking down at her with a smile - really, seeing it make her wish he'd stuck with the smirk. It was disturbing… like Voldemort in a tutu. "Perhaps it could be taken slowly," he commented. "Let it not be said that I am not thoughtful of those that matter."

And considering at that time he dragged her face down for another snog, and that hand was doing things Harry only did to Ginny when they meant to shag, she was left wondering about Slytherin's time expressions.

And then he dropped her.


Harry's bum impacted the floor with a thud - and Merlin, Slytherin was heavy. Slowly? "Get the fuck off me!" Harry had never been bottom before. And she was rather certain she wouldn't like it. Rather like she hadn't liked it when Ginny had thought she was going to be the dominant one (just like her mother, she'd said, not that Harry had wanted to know).

Slytherin did pause for a second, arching a brow in obvious amusement - and yes, Harry was relieved to see him smirk. One smile was enough to knock her over - another'd probably knock her senseless. But he didn't move - well, that was a lie. Yes, he moved, but not the way she wanted him to. Like, say, off?

Damn. She blinked, once again taken off guard when the smirk blossomed into a smile.

"I think not."

Whew, Parseltongue was kinky. Wait. Not kinky. Not at all. Yuck.

Looking at Slytherin's face, Slytherin's smile -Harry suddenly wished she'd thought to keep her mouth shut.


And now, do you think Harry's learned his lesson? 'cause s/he's verily screwed.

This is Lady Salazar, signing off. Ta.