A/N: I've decided to write in the first person, just for a few scenes or maybe the whole chapter. Whatever, I don't know, r&rkplsthxbbqchatspeak.
I'm just an average teenager leading an average life at an average school of magic. With boyfriends, tests, teachers, and Quidditch, what's a girl to do? My name is Salazar Slytherin, and this is my story.
Well, I tell a lie, but hey, I'm the bad guy, you have to expect that of me, right?
At the moment, I was having an argument with Rowena Ravenclaw, who was having delusions of grandeur again. Rowena often had these delusions.
“As you know,” she drawled, “I have a great and powerful power with the power to save or destroy us all. Powerfully.”
“What sort of power?” I asked.
“Details are unimportant,” she said.
“It's probably love,” whispered Helga. “It's always love. Like how on multiple-choice you can just guess C?”
“What? That's ridiculous.” I scoffed scoffingly at her ridiculous statement. Love was obviously not powerful. Only power was powerful. And I was way more powerful than she possibly could be. I had a wicked cool goatee, after all, just like it says in Chapter 1 of the Evil Overlord Handbook. She didn't have a goatee. What a poseur.
“And I enjoy giving people inexplicable nicknames that neither suit them nor make sense linguistically,” Rowena informed me.
I was intrigued. “Bloody marvellous. D'you think you could give me one?”
“I shall call you... Lazzy. With a short 'a' sound.”
“How about Lazar?” I asked hopefully. “With a long 'a' like laser?”
“Well now, that would just be silly,” said the brunette.
I never remember people's names, and often refer to them only as “the ginger” or “the brunette” in my internal narrative. This often got confusing when more than one brunette or ginger or blonde was present, but that didn't deter me.
Godric turned up then with a pretty young woman on his arm. She wore far too much make-up and a diaphanous set of pink robes.
“This is my baby mama,” Godric said. “She calls me Gordic, isn't that sweet?”
I scoffed at his scoffworthy scoffment. I mean statement. “What, that she doesn't know how to spell or pronounce your name properly?”
“Yeah, you know spelling and accuracy are way overrated.”
Godric's baby mama waved. “I like Gordic better than Godric.”
“I didn't know you had children,” Rowena said suspiciously. “Why didn't you ever invite Helena over for a playdate?”
“Because we have quintuplet boys who are only one year old, and Helena's thirty-seven,” Godric said.
“She could babysit,” Rowena said.
“I need a babysitter,” said Godric's baby mama. “It's bloody hard looking this good with five babies. Takes me all day.”
“You used to look better,” Godric told her.
“You try feeding five one year olds!” screeched his baby mama.
“We're not having any children,” Helga whispered to me, as Godric and his baby mama screamed at each other.
I nodded back fervently.
A/N: Whatever, I'm bored with 1st person. Let's go back to 3rd person semi-omniscient now, kthxbye.
Helga and Lazzy had become telepathic through the power of their powerful magic love. Details on how this occurred are unimportant.
Lazzy listened to the internal monologue running through Helga's head. Her thoughts were a whirl, thinking about her plants, magical theory, her hair, whether or not she'd left the gas on at home, whether she ought to be wearing white shoes after Labour Day, why she even knew about Labour Day since it's an American holiday that wouldn't be invented for hundreds of years, to what use she could put that Mimbulus mimbletonia she'd had in her garden for ages now, and whether or not she ought to have a slice of cake today.
Is this how you think all the time? He sent through their link.
Yes. Why can't I hear your thoughts?
Helga stared at him. You're not thinking about anything?
Not at the moment.
Lazzy shook his head a bit, as if he had water in his ear. If this is how women think all the time, I might go insane hearing your thoughts nonstop. Maybe this telepathic link thing is a bad idea. Is there a way to turn this off?
Helga had a look of concentration. I can hear crickets now, and what sounds like knuckles dragging on the ground. Is that male thoughts?
Definitely a bad idea.
Rowena brewed them a potion to reverse the effects of the love-telepathy link. They both breathed a sigh of relief as their heads were once again their own private space.
“Anyone who thinks sharing your every thought is a good idea is completely mental,” Lazzy said.
“Amen to that,” said Helga.
The castle was finally completed, notices had been posted advertising for students, and the first of them were beginning to trickle in, looking impressed by the highly advanced indoor plumbing. The Founders stood at the doorway, wearing nametags that said things like 'Hello, My Name Is Godric Gryffindor' and welcoming the students to the school.
“Look, more students!” Godric clapped his hands in glee and jumped up and down as another small crowd approached. One of them had blonde hair in a ponytail and was chewing gum and talking on her mobile phone while listening to an iPod.
“She must be American,” Rowena said.
“First year and we've already a transfer student. It warms the cockles of my black little heart, it does,” Salazar said.
“Hello,” said the transfer student, hanging up her phone. “I'm America.”
“You're American?” Helga said.
“No, my name is America. But I am an American as well.”
“Quite the name,” said Rowena.
“I thought I may as well be obvious,” said America. “I'm terribly beautiful, smarter than anyone else my age, dress in revealing clothing, and am destined to have every major character fall in love with me. Oh and I'm a vampire with special powers.”
“I don't see any fangs,” Helga said suspiciously, peering at the teenager.
“My vampire fangs only come out when I want them to.”
“How does that work, then?”
“I had a button installed, look.” She pulled a remote control out of her pocket and pressed a large red button. Her fangs popped out, and she grimaced to show them off, then pushed the button again, and the fangs retracted. “It gives me a speech impediment when they're out, so the button is very handy,” America said, stowing the remote back in her pocket.
“Go away now,” Rowena said.
America flitted off.
“You should have let me install the Ultimate Death Arena,” Godric said. “If anyone ought to have a go at it, it's her.”
“I could sic my monster on her,” Salazar offered. “Not that I secretly built my monster room in the castle without any of you noticing the extra construction, because of course I wouldn't do that. Ahaha.”
“Ahaha,” Helga said. “Why don't you just teach her that evil game you invented?”
********ATTENTION: THIS IS A FLASHBACK. DO NOT ADJUST YOUR MONITOR SETTINGS. REPEAT, THIS IS A FLASHBACK. WOMEN WHO ARE PREGNANT OR MAY BECOME PREGNANT SHOULD NOT EXPERIENCE THIS FLASHBACK. PLEASE REMAIN SEATED FOR THE DURATION OF THE FLASHBACK.********
“I have invented a new game!” Salazar announced grandly.
“I invented a manoeuvre this morning over my toast soldiers,” Godric volunteered.
“Shut it, you. I shall call this game... Truth or Daaaare!!!”
Godric applauded. Rowena and Helga gave them sceptical looks.
“Why did you say it like that – dare?” Helga asked.
Salazar shook his head and pointed at his mouth. “No, no. Daaaare. Because it's an evil game, of course.”
Rowena raised an eyebrow at him. “Why are you inventing evil games?”
Salazar pulled a small black book out of his pocket. “It says right here, on page twelve of the Bad Guy Handbook, that I have to invent something truly evil. So I have invented... Truth or Daaaare!!! You have to say it like that so it's properly evil, with the long vowel and extra exclamation marks, go on.”
“This is ridiculous,” Helga said. “Even more ridiculous than that time you wanted to be an Evil Choir Director.”
“I could have taken over the world,” Salazar said nostalgically. “But now I'm left with inventing evil party games, which will destroy the minds and morals of teenagers for thousands of years!”
“You know what you need?” Godric mused. “An evil laugh. Go on, show us your cackling.”
“Remember old Babbitty Rabbitty?” said Rowena. “Now there was a cackle. You don't get cackles like that these days. Kids today don't know what a good cackle is.”
“They don't cackle like they used to,” agreed Helga. “How do you play this game?”
“I haven't invented rules yet,” Salazar admitted. “Mostly I've invented the evil name. Truth or Daaaare!!!”
“It's a very good evil name,” Rowena assured him. “But at some point you'll probably want rules.”
********THE FLASHBACK IS NOW OVER. WE WANT YOU TO BE AWARE, THAT WAS A FLASHBACK AND IT IS NOW OVER. IF YOU EXPERIENCE ANY NAUSEA, BLEEDING, OR HEART ARRYTHMIAS FROM THIS FLASHBACK, PLEASE CONTACT A QUALIFIED HEALER. REPEAT, THIS FLASHBACK IS NOW OVER.*********
“That was pretty sweet when I invented that,” Salazar said dreamily. “I ought to make up the rules one of these days.”
“You'd do better to invent a manoeuvre, as I did,” said Godric. “I wrote it up and had it published for peer review. I called it The Godric Manoeuvre: Not Without My Swish and Flick. They loved it in France.”
“The French, what do they know?” Rowena scoffed. “They have names like Voledermorte. Lame.”
“The female small rodent of death?” Helga asked after a quick translation.
“Yes, they call her She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Tamed. Pretty girl, but anger management problems.”
“I think I met her when I was in Cremona,” Godric said thoughtfully. “Her sister was really hott.”
“Hott?” Helga echoed.
“She was far too hot for only one t,” Godric said.
“Fabulous,” said Salazar. “But what about my evil game?”
“You could write a paper on it and call it The Salazar Slytherin Story: Not Without My Exaggerated Vowels,” suggested Rowena.
“I think I will,” Salazar said, and they shook on it.
A real a/n this time: Ahaha. I want to thank all the authors who use blatant stage directions, jarring point of view switches, random suddenly-telepathic characters, vampire characters, extraneous punctuation, ridiculous nicknames, topically irrelevant anachronisms, American transfer students, truth or dare games, Lifetime movie titles that include 'Not Without My...', The Taming of the Shrew, and the French.
The chapter title is a line of "We Open in Venice" from Kiss Me Kate, written by Cole Porter.
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