Disclaimer: I do not own Hogwarts. J.K. Rowling is way cooler then me.
A/N: This story is written in the point of veiws of Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy, Fred Weasley and Simone Ryan. The name of the character who's thoughts you are reading will be written under the title. This is my first time writing a story like this, so I hope you enjoy it, and please reveiw. I want to get better at writing and I need a little criticism to help me on the way.

Cupid's Poison-Tipped Arrow
By T.L.
Harry's PoV

He walked into the party and almost got knocked over. Techno blared from some unseen speakers and people jumped and gyrated in time to the music. Ron had heard about this party from his brothers and had dragged Harry along.

"Muggle parties are the best!" Ron had said. Apparently the party was being held by this chick who was famous for her wild bashes. An un-named she-devil who reigned supreme over all of Party Kingdom. The dancers were pummeling Ron and Harry, so they gravitated toward the wall. They found a couple of boxes stacked up to act as a fake platform for dancers, but it had been pushed aside in favor of the floor. Harry climbed up and gazed into the crowd. In the corner opposite them, a large kid sat hunched over a laptop, the screen illuminating his pock-marked face, creating a sort of technological halo. The angel of music. In the middle of the room another, larger platform stood, swaying under the pounding feet of skinny girls and skinnier guys. The wall parallel them, a table loaded with food stood still loaded.

Harry jumped off the boxes and Ron asked,"What'd you see?"

"I have no idea," he said. Ron peered at him oddly, one eye wider then the other. He had let his hair grow shaggy and had opted to wear baggy jeans with the knees cut out, and a black tee-shirt with a band name scrawled across the chest. Harry shrugged and gestured toward the boxes.

"You look," he said and abandoned his best friend, wading through the crowd. Does anyone here still have their natural hair color? A couple of girls with wet hair and too-tight shirts grabbed him and spun round and round until they got bored and moved n to the next male. The lights were down and the music (a funky industrial blend) was up when Harry saw the host. He recognized her from brief descriptions he had caught from gushing twins. In the dark, he could see her clearly, as if her pale skin was lit by the moon. She wore a shimmery blue top, low cut and cropped to show her pierced navel. Her arms were skinny, and her hips popped out above skin tight black pants. Her nails shined like little black beetles and her eyes were coated with shimmery black shadow. Her hair was short, spiked, and a blue to match her shirt.

She swayed in time to the music, talking to those who wanted to talk, dancing with those who wanted more. She giggled at the right time, and slapped the right hand. She was manipulating. A business woman. A force to be reckoned with. As she got closer, Harry realized too late he was staring. Their eyes met and time seemed to stop. Her eyes. They were a piercing blue. A color unlike her hair. They were like ice. Her eyes commanded attention and always won. She had the eyes of an angel.

After what seemed like minutes, a sleek black cell phone, tucked into her right palm, went off. Harry jumped, but she lazily glanced at the caller I.D. and flipped it open. Her face contorted to confusion and she turned around, plugging up her free ear with a long, white finger. Even stooped over, she seemed to resemble a ballerina, with her poise and grace. She spun around and snapped her phone shut.

"I have to go." She said it as if they were on a date. As if Harry meant anything to her. And as she hurried off, Harry liked to think that he did.