C H A P T E R T W O

The next few days flew by in a flurry. Mrs. Weasley was nearly beside herself with all the preparations, which Harry saw as a blessing in disguise: she was so preoccupied she didn't have time to worry about the business of the Order, or Fred and George blowing up the house (especially since they were at the shop so often), or the trivial problems of four hormonal teenagers.
Leaning against the wall of Buckbeak's room, Harry sighed, running his fingers through his hair. He looked around his and Ron's room and spotted an elaborate frame. Phineas' frame. Sirius' great-great grandfather.
Sirius.
Ron and Hermione had made the effort to talk about him, but fell short, as Harry was incredibly unwilling. They had not brought up the matter since. Even so, Harry was finding it difficult to keep his mind on other things.
Sometimes, when he was alone, he would pull out Sirius' old letters and let himself cry. Sometimes, but not so much anymore. He was learning, very slowly, to hide his emotions. Perhaps this wedding—this dancing problem—would be the distraction he was hoping for.
Buckbeak gave a loud cry, nudging the bag in Harry's hand. "Yeah, you know what this is for, don't you?" he asked, laughing at the hippogriff's eagerness. He fed Buckbeak one rat at a time and mulled over who could give him—his stomach churned oddly—dancing lessons.
Over the chomping of rat bones, Harry heard the light chuckle of Tonks down in the parlor. She had come to assist with the decorations. Tonks! Harry thought, then slapped himself mentally. No, she's much too busy with the Order, and more of an acquaintance anyway. So that rules out Mrs. Weasley, too.
Perhaps a man could teach him? Harry imagined himself trying to tango with Snape and nearly dropped his rat. It had to be a girl. Hermione? He imagined Hermione, a ruler in her hand, practically stabbing a very complicated footwork chart, and for some reason yelling, "Fourth position, Harry, not third!"
Maybe not. Ginny? He frowned in thought. Could she dance? Neville wasn't exactly the most flattering partner.
And as though replying to his musings, the faint pulsing of music threaded through the ceiling. Harry unceremoniously dumped the remaining rats at Buckbeak's claws and raced upstairs, following the noise to Ginny and Hermione's room. Ron was already there, hovering near the door with a confused look on his face.
"What d'you reckon's going on in there?"
Harry shrugged and opened the door just a crack. He and Ron peered inside.
The furniture had been cleared to the sides of the room. Fred and George Weasley seemed to have set up some sort of music equipment—where they had gotten it, Harry could only guess. Said Fred, along with Hermione, were eagerly looking through stacks of old vinyl records. George and Ginny, however, were cutting a rug—literally. George split it down the middle with his wand and had Ginny roll up both ends against the wall.
"We have a floor!" he cried jovially. Hermione frowned.
"Oh, George, What's your mum going to say?"
"Who says she's going to find out?" he replied. Hermione suddenly laughed. "Good point."
"C'mon, Fred, give us something to dance to!" Ginny said, pouting up at him and strapping on a pair of heels.
"I'm going, I'm going. Keep your shirt on," he muttered, stopping the needle and switching records. "For all our sakes."
A bouncy sort of techno beat began to play. George stomped his left and right feet and extended his hand to Ginny.
"Let us dance."
George pulled his sister into the crook of his arm, released her, and spun her around. She grabbed Hermione out from behind the equipment and laced their fingers together. Ginny moved her left arm like a snake, causing Hermione's to do the same. It was as if an electric current was running through them. Hermione stared at her arm; she had never seen it wriggle in that fashion before. Intrigued, she copied what Ginny did with her right arm, and forced the current to travel back to Ginny.
Meanwhile, Fred and George had begun breakdancing. Fred skidded across the floor with his knees, flopped onto his back like a fish, clutched his knees and twirled around wildly like some sort of shooting star. George's feet were off the ground in a handstand, and, using all the upper body strength he could muster, lowered his head to the floor, pushed off, and revolved on only his head. Ron gasped.
Fred and George got up off the ground, seized Ginny and Hermione (respectively), and began to dance. Ginny fell right along with it, bobbing her head and shaking her hips. Hermione clutched George as if her life depended on it.
"Hermy-wermy, you're much too tense," he said nonchalantly, as if he was used to having girls cling to him. (surely not!) "Oy, Ronnie, come help her relax."
Ron purpled slightly behind the door before pushing into the room, Harry at his heels.
"How'd you know we were here?"
"Please, you're talking to the masters of stealth. Skills beneath ours are totally detectable. Now, encourage this one—" George continued, still dancing and nodding to Hermione, "—to loosen her claws."
Ron flushed again and took a step forward.
Harry, however, was watching Ginny and Fred.
There was something in the way she moved, something he couldn't quite place his finger on, that intrigued him. Fred dipped Ginny backwards, chuckling appreciatively, "Can hardly keep up with ya, Gin!"
Just as Ginny sprung back up like a jack-in-the-box and Ron convinced George to stop moving long enough to pry Hermione off him, the needle scratched the record with a surprised whine.
Molly Weasley came out from behind the equipment, looking livid.
"D'you have any idea what time it is?" she asked, glaring at them all. Fred grinned. "Course we do, Mum! It's 11:45, in the p.m., the skies are a lovely clear navy, we're looking at some cloud cover later on in—"
"Fredrick Weasley! Stop messing about! Tell me, what is all this?"
"It's the sound system, Mum! For Hagrid's wedding! We got it from Lee's uncle Max, he's a DJ or something or other, and it's really easy to run, look, even Dad can do it without breaking anything!"

Arthur Weasley leapt back away from the record player as though scalded. He averted his eyes from everyone and cleared his throat. "Erm, very interesting, these Muggle contraptions, aren't they?"
"Arthur, darling, about time you got home!" gasped Molly, her husband approaching the needle precariously. He placed it in the groove and smiled as Molly recognized the song. Arthur took his wife's hand and kissed it. Molly put her free hand to her heart and said vaguely, "To…to bed, with all of you."
They all tiptoed out and stood behind the door, watching the pair of them dance closely with blissful smiles on their face. "Awww," Hermione and Ginny crooned, while the rest of them rolled their eyes. However, when the couple's lips inched closer, an audible chorus of "Ewww"s filled the hallway.
"To BED!" cried Molly, still caught in the moment.
"It would help if you weren't in our room," muttered Ginny, but let Fred and George lead her downstairs for a bedtime snack. Hermione, having nowhere else to be, followed.
"I think she's been permanently scarred, Hermione," said Ron as Harry stepped into their room and reached for his pajamas.
It was not until he was lying in bed that he was able to identify what interested him about Ginny's persona as she dance. The look she had on her face, the one he craved to have himself:
Freedom.

A/n: well, there you are, chaps. This one's a bit longer than the first chapter, but I think it wrote itself. Besides, I thought it was pretty good. sigh but, alas, I can't review myself—that would be dumb. So, do me the favor, please! lol. REVIEW!

HiSpAnIc PaNiC