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Blaise hated dancing.

He danced at school. He danced around his classmates and housemates with pretty words, meanings buried deep under several layers. He danced around his professors with clever words and essays, always doing just enough to do well without standing out like Draco or Granger. He danced for rituals, both public and at home. The courtly dances, so rife in blood and tradition and all part of a young pureblooded wizard’s public life. Alliances were made or broken by what occurred at these dances. Then there were the more circumspect dances, the ones at home. The dances for the Orixas and the dances of preparation, the dances that no one but those consecrated into the cult were privy to see. Then there was the separate dancing that always occurred after one of these other dances, the dancing that he enjoyed the most. One on one with whoever had sparked his interest that night, wherever they could find a bit of concealment, they danced together. Sometimes it was hard and fast and passionate, like the tango or the cha cha, fast beat fast rhythm. Sometimes it was smooth and soft and seductive like the bossa nova. But whether hard or soft, it was always immensely satisfying, this one on one type of dancing.

Blaise smiled to himself, perhaps not all dancing was bad after all.

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Blaise Zabini

February 2010

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