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The Dance

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"Turn to the right," whispered Ginny fiercely.

Neville flushed and quickly whirled them the other way, trying to pick up the beat again. He nearly trod on Ginny's foot for the sixth time, just missing and catching the edge of her shoe instead. She stumbled from that, but at least she wasn't hurt.

He muttered, "Sorry," and readjusted his hold on her shoulder and waist, noticing with dismay that his sweaty hands were leaving visible damp marks on the silky fabric.

"It's all right, Neville." Ginny gave a little sigh, but smiled at him nevertheless. "Not everyone can be expected to be a marvelous dancer. I know you're doing your best."

That was certainly true, Neville thought ruefully. He started counting steps under his breath, determined not to turn Ginny the wrong way again. The problem was that he kept being distracted by Ginny's smile, and the scent of her skin, and the way that she moved so lightly in his arms -- and whenever he was distracted he was liable to lose track and make a mistake in his steps.

Nevertheless they managed to finish the dance with no further major embarrassment. Then, with everyone in the hall looking on, Neville kissed his new wife passionately. He might be pants at dancing, but he was brilliant at loving Ginny.