Harry gawped at the gorgeous woman who copied his every move. She was stark naked and blessed with long blonde hair. Swallowing twice, he realised this wasn't the mirror he remembered. He'd never fantasized being a Slytherin witch. As he frowned, the mirror witch pouted her confusion looking every inch like a bimbo. Somehow, even though she was nude, Harry knew she was a Slytherin.
It may be a nightmare version, he wondered. As she stood alone, and craved Draco. Her abundant charms were clearly her strength, the only one Harry guessed. Well, she clearly aware of their impact on the young wizards of the school. She was incredibly distracting, his own awkward movements seemed to become seductive swaying and shifting in his mirror form. He found himself wondering if such a stupendous bust would be more eye-catching than his scar. With a smirk, he decided it would certainly draw more pleasing attention.
As she reached out her hand to the surface of the glass, Harry found his arm responding, copying the gesture... forced to copy it. As she blew him a kiss, his lips pouted and blew one back.
The touch of the glass was icy cold, far more than it should've been. Then his gaze was snatched to his outstretched hand, as it's fingers locked with hers. Harry tried to look around wildly hoping it was some fantasy or illusion. The words around the frame, far different than he recalled.
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