Title: Untitled

Author: Tinuviel Henneth

So this was it, he thought. This was celebrity. To play at the Leaving Ball at the request of the Headmistress. To be adored. To have any witch he could want. This really was it.

He fiddled with the tuning of his floor bass and kicked at the floorboards. What he really wanted to was to go home and sleep. He hadn't slept in three days. He hadn't eaten much beyond a chicken leg and a strawberry milkshake. He was a pitiful sight.

"How about we slow things down, eh?" said Terry, grinning down at the sea of Seventh Years. Blaise was quite sure he would fall asleep if he had to play another slow song. The band at their own Leaving Ball hadn't played nearly this many slow songs and he decided that perhaps Terry was compensating for that. Then again, Terry was always compensating for something.

Of course, the crowd loved the idea and cheered its approval. He sighed and nodded acquiescently to Terry, who was positively glowing. He loved to perform. Blaise wanted to strangle him, except Terry's voice was what had gotten them famous in the first place and when he felt like it, Blaise did like to eat. Lately, he was fond of salmon, which didn't come cheap.

"She's lying when she tells you she hates you," Terry purred, the opening line to their trademark anti-ballad. Blaise and Seamus joined in, playing their respective bass and mandolin parts. "She's lying when she says she's in love. She'd go home with you just to kill you and she'll skin herself when push comes to shove..."

Neville, behind the drumkit, took a long drink from his bottle of butterbeer and waved at his old school friend, Charms professor Hermione Granger. She was standing off to the side, chaperoning the Ball with a vaguely wistful sort of smile. She had a small glass in her hand and she wore a short black dress. She caught Neville's gesture and waved back.

"She only loves you when you're leaving," Terry continued, eyes closed and head tipped back just a bit. "She wants the air that's in your lungs. She's every sort of evil and when you touch her you won't know what's begun..."

On the dance floor, the students didn't seem to care that it was the opposite of a love song. Blaise tossed his mop of hair out of his eyes and looked around. He saw her over in the corner, covertly watching the students party it up. He recognized in her eyes the same thing he felt. Their class hadn't gotten to really enjoy their Leaving Ball. For one thing, there weren't many of them left who hadn't cast their chips with the Light or the Dark, and there were certainly fatalities.

"She'll enchant you with a look. She'll wrap you in her arms. But you won't feel her teeth in your throat until she's already got you disarmed."

Seeing her there made her real. Seeing her there made him fumble with the bow and the bass let out a squeak, which made Neville jump and knock over one of his drums. He ducked his head down and wished fervently that the band hadn't decided glam was the way to go. He didn't think he could face the reason he'd written that antiballad while wearing makeup.

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