Balefire

The half-moon, sailing high in the dark midnight sky, shed eerie light over the land. The grass, ankle-high and soft with dew, rippled silver around the circle of small stones set in the center of the clifftop clearing. The trees around them, untouched by the seasons, rustled as their leaves tried to take flight in the wind. Cloaked figures appeared in the treeline, gliding silently up the path from the unpaved road far below. Two, then three, then a steady stream of people made their way into the clearing, and stood in position around the stone circle. Others made a second circle around them, at a distance, and sat down. The figures in the center circle slid off their cloaks and stood, in robes of sheer silk, waiting.

The moon reached its apex, and a golden-haired young woman pointed a wand at a spot in the center of the stone ring. A fire blazed up instantly, reaching hungrily into the sky, twenty feet of blazing orange and scarlet flame against the black sky. An impressed mutter ran through the seated observers, then cut off as though choked, when the silk-robed figures began to dance.

Charlie's blood began to race warmly as he watched the dancers. Or, more specifically, as he watched one particular dancer. The golden-haired Witch who had kindled the fire. He'd known her for six years. She was one of his best friends, an excellent Chaser, a fellow Prefect. She was a partner in crime, a troublemaker extraordinaire, one of the guys.

Any illusions he'd had about her being one of the guys were destroyed utterly as she danced with the others around the fire. The sheer robe did nothing to disguise excellent legs, a smaller waist than he'd have expected, curvy little hips and breasts, long, graceful arms. Her hair shone like fire, taking on the color of the flames she danced around. The chanting began, raising the hairs on the back of his neck, and he shifted uncomfortably on the hard ground as she passed by his side of the fire again.

When he'd accepted the invitation to Ireland over New Years', made by another friend on the Quidditch team, he'd known that there was going to be a balefire. Sean had explained to him that it was a tradition among the Wizarding families in this particular part of the west of Ireland. Though it wasn't necessary to their magic, and had become more of a Muggle stereotype over the years, Sean's ancestors, and those of his friends, had danced before balefires on the High Sabbats for centuries. No one had ever found a compelling reason to stop the tradition. 'Besides,' Sean had told Charlie, laughing, 'it's a good excuse to get away from the adults for some serious shag time.' That had clinched it for Charlie. He was going, regardless of his mother's disappointment at having his school holidays cut short by the trip.

Charlie had known what to expect, or had thought he knew. He'd looked up balefires in the library at Hogwarts after Sean had told him about the trip. He knew that a balefire was just an open fire that, in Muggle lore, Witches and Wizards danced around to celebrate the Sabbats and to show reverence for the Powers that gave them their magic. He'd expected a campfire and some awkward dancing. He'd had no idea that anything like this slow, graceful, choreographed dance, this unearthly chanting, the flames that seemed to grow with every passing minute, even existed. Or that, existing, it would affect him so powerfully.

The chanting grew louder, and the dancing increased in pace. Charlie's attention was riveted on the dancers--no, there was use pretending to himself; it was only one of the dancers. She dipped, swayed, and turned in unison with all the others, her feet moving in some predetermined pattern around the fire. It might have been the fire, or the alcohol they'd all made free with before trekking up the hill, but he couldn't remember ever being so fascinated with anything in his life. Even Quidditch, at the moment, was taking a very distant second.

He wasn't sure how much time passed before the chanting wound down and the dancing slowed. He was still watching, eyes dark with passion and fascination. He didn't notice the chill in the air, or the strengthening breeze. When the dancers stilled and a dark-haired young man quenched the flames with a flick of his wand, Charlie snapped back to reality as though he had been slapped. Looking out of the corners of his eyes, he noticed that the other people sitting down had similar expressions on their faces.

He welcomed the chilly breeze on his overwarm face and looked around the circle. For the first time, he noticed that there were the same number of people in the outer circle as there were in the inner circle. Remembering Sean's comment about shagging, Charlie started to wonder exactly what was going to happen next. The bulge in his jeans told him he was probably ready for it, but he couldn't help but wonder what 'it' was.

Slowly, the dancers came out of the circle, one-by-one, walking over to people in the outer circle. Couples started melting off into the trees. Charlie, noticing that no one in the outer circle had made the first move, sat there as the outer circle emptied. He couldn't see the golden-haired girl anywhere. Feeling like a bit of an idiot, he suddenly noticed that he was alone in the darkened clearing. He had finally decided to get up and head back to the house when he felt long, slender fingers on his shoulder.

"Charlie." Her voice was warm and amused, and he felt himself harden helplessly. "You didn't think I was really going to leave you alone, did you?" she asked softly.

"Err...yes, actually," he told her honestly, and she laughed.

She held out a delicate hand and he took it, standing up more easily than he would have thought possible, the way his blood was racing. "Poor Charlie," she said softly, rising on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. She tugged on his hand, and led him into the trees.

He followed her along some invisible path through the dense forest. He had no idea where he was, and he didn't care. All he was concerned with, at the moment, was her hand in his and the momentary glimpses of silvery robes and pale hair he caught when the moonlight found a hole in the trees. They hadn't been walking long when they came to the end of the trees. She led him upward, onto another flat-topped cliff. Then she simply stood, looking out at the ocean.

He stood beside her and stared, wide-eyed, at the view. Dark water, waves tipped with moonlight, spread out before him in an endless tapestry of black and silver. It took his breath away. His hand squeezed hers unconsciously, then let go to slide around her waist. She leaned against him silently and enjoyed his reaction. Charlie's sweetness, rare enough among Wizards his age that it was almost wholly unique, never failed to charm her.

"Merlin, that's a gorgeous sight," he said softly, and she smiled. She'd had a feeling he'd like it, which was why she'd chosen the clifftops rather than a forest clearing or any one of dozens of similar traditional spots. "Goes on forever, doesn't it?" he asked her softly. Understanding that his question was rhetorical, she didn't answer, simply stood there, until she felt his fingers tighten on her hip.

"I had no idea that you could dance like that," he said softly, and turned her to face him.

She smiled. "Well, you've never been to a balefire before, have you?" she asked, admiring the strong lines of his face and those beautiful dark eyes. She'd been half-in love with him for years now, since they'd started playing Quidditch for Gryffindor in their second year.

"Well, no, but I've seen you at the Three Broomsticks and the Wands," he pointed out. "And at the Winter Ball."

"Different thing entirely," she said with a shrug, and smiled as his other arm slid around her waist, pulling her against him.

"So who really invited me here, Caitlin?" he asked, raising an eyebrow even as his fingers traced lazy patterns over her silk-clad back.

She smiled. "Haven't you figured that out yet?" she asked him, her blue eyes meeting his squarely.

"So why'd you have Sean ask me, then?" he asked her, drawing a sigh from her as his fingers moved on her back.

"He has to ask you. The balefire is at his place, isn't it?" she asked, then forgot what she was saying when he kissed her. She'd felt his eyes hot on her while she danced, and she could feel the same heat inside him, banked for the moment. Her arms slid around his neck, and she heard him make a sound of encouragement as his hands plunged into her hair.

"You should wear your hair like this more often," he told her. He'd had no idea how long it was, because he was used to seeing it braided or in doubled-over ponytails, anything to get it out of her face, as she'd told him repeatedly when he'd teasingly tugged it. His fingers slid through her hair slowly, making her sigh. He grinned at her, watching her eyes turn dark with desire. "But that robe, I don't know if it would be such a good idea to wear to school." He slid a hand down her back, then around to the fastenings of the robe. "A bit sheer for everyday, isn't it?" he asked.

She laughed as he unfastened the top two closures on the robe. "We usually dance skyclad," she said. Charlie raised an eyebrow, not having run across that term in his research. "Naked," she explained, laughing again, as his eyes sharpened on her. "Still do, in summertime. But it's a bit chilly for that on Hogsmany," she said, referring to the New Years' Eve celebration.

"Oh, and this helps with the chill," Charlie said, laughing, fingering her robes. They were as close to transparent as it was possible to be.

"It's Charmed, of course," she said with a shrug that had her robes sliding down past her shoulders. Charlie's eyes registered definite approval of the improved view.

"Why did you invite me?" he asked her, working the fastenings on his cloak and letting it drop to the ground. Her fingers were pulling at his shirt, sliding it out of his jeans and over his head a moment later. He groaned when he felt her fingers sliding up his chest.

"Because I finally decided you weren't going to be asking me out unless I did something about it," she said simply, admiring his broad chest and shoulders. Charlie, she decided long ago, had an amazing build for a man still four months shy of 17. She didn't know where he'd gotten the muscles, and at the moment she didn't care. What she really cared about was exploring him, one muscle at a time.

"You wanted me to ask you out," he said, shocked into pausing in his quest to get those robes off her as quickly as possible.

"Charlie, I'm one of many girls who have wanted you to ask them out since second year or so," she told him, with a half-exasperated look that made him blink, then grin at her.

"You're joking," he told her, not really believing her.

"Are you fishing for compliments?" she asked him, arching a brow at him.

He grinned at her, and the effect of the sweet smile in his strong-featured face nearly made her knees wobble. "If I am?" he asked, finding the last fastener and freeing it. Her robes slid away, and he forgot everything but her. "Merlin's beard, Caitlin," he said, and found himself unable to finish his own sentence. He simply looked his fill, at all that soft, pale flesh in the moonlight.

The wind blew her hair away from her face and shoulders, and gave him an excellent view. His hands came up of their own accord to caress, to learn that pale skin, those firm curves. Quidditch had done wonders for her muscle tone, he thought irrelevantly, and as for the rest of her, he doubted anything could improve her. She gasped as his fingers trailed fire across her flesh. Giving her a wicked grin that succeeded in weakening her knees, he scooped her up in one quick, smooth motion and set her down on their discarded cloaks. Her fingers worked at the buttons of his jeans, and he let her unfasten them before shrugging them off after his boots. Naked, he sat beside her and stroked her.

He wished his hands were less rough, so that they wouldn't hurt her soft skin. His touch was overly gentle, even hesitant, until she took his hand in hers and slid it to her breast. "I love your hands," she said, smiling up at him. "They're so strong, and so amazingly...competent." She laughed as he put his mind to proving her right. After endless moments and countless sighs, she said, "You know, I used to watch you mooning after the Head Girl last year. I really hated her."

He stared at her, appalled. "She was my brother's girlfriend," he protested. Sure, he'd stared at Selene. Everyone had stared at Selene. But he'd never--well, rarely, or at least only once a month or so--thought about her that way.

"You still stared at her," she said, and gasped when his fingers resumed their explorations. "Don't even try and tell me you didn't."

He grinned sheepishly. "No point in it, I guess. But come on, you weren't jealous of her."

"Want to bet?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him. He leaned over to kiss him, and her fingers slid down his chest to a particularly sensitive place. "I wanted to rip out her hair by the roots," she told him when his lips freed hers. "Every single blue-black waist-length strand of it." Her eyes narrowed, then widened as he found a particularly sensitive spot.

"I never suspected this side of you before," Charlie said, grinning at her. He slid over to cover her. "I suppose it would be a bad idea to tell you all about my first time."

"If it was with her, it would be," she told him, her eyes narrowing again. Still, Charlie could see the laughter just behind her dangerous expression. And the way her fingers were caressing certain parts of him didn't seem particularly threatening.

"It was with her," Charlie said, and laughed as her eyes popped wide. "Well, partly with her," he told her, teasing. Her fingers tightened on him, and he groaned.

"Partly with her?" she gasped, as Charlie bent to taste her skin.

"Well, I shouldn't say anything. It's a big secret," Charlie said softly, leaning forward to kiss her lips briefly. "And if you keep squeezing like that, this is going to be over very quickly," he told her, and felt her fingers slide away reluctantly, to slip up his back. He couldn't prevent his shudder. How could he have known that his best friend's hands would feel so good on his bare skin?

"How is it a big secret?" she asked, then her eyes widened. "You would never have cheated on Bill with her," she said, and the certainty in her voice warmed Charlie's heart. "Bill shared her with you?" she asked, incredulous. She started laughing. Her laughter choked off when Charlie nodded, because she'd just gotten a vivid mental image of Bill and Charlie Weasley, naked, probably in the Astronomy Tower, with that girl.

"I know damned well you're imagining it," Charlie told her, watching her eyes go distant and darker still. "And you'd better not be looking that way and imagining my brother naked."

"Every girl at Hogwarts looked that way while imagining your brother naked," Caitlin said, unfazed, grinning up at him. Her hands slid over his back, and he closed his eyes, fighting for control.

"Shut up," he told her, laughing. His fingers slid up to cup her face, and he kissed her softly. "Merlin, Cait, how can you have me laughing at a time like this?"

She smiled at him, and slid her fingers up to pull his head down to hers. "Because I love you," she said softly. His lips found hers, a little roughly, and she arched up to meet his kiss without hesitation. He heard her moan as he joined them, and as her hips moved, he forgot everything but her.

The moon slid across the sky and the silvery tips of ocean waves faded back to a dull gray. Two figures, laughing, walking so closely that they appeared at times to be one, hurried down the path toward the house as the eastern sky began to lighten. One wore a silvery silken robe, the other jeans and a shirt, and both were covered by a black cloak that swirled about them in the wind. They slipped into the house behind the other couples that had returned, and snuck up to a bedroom, the one he'd been shown to when he'd arrived.

She went over to the window, watching the sky, now softly banded in shades of black and gray and lightest pink. After a few moments, he walked over to stand behind her, and, naked, slid her half-fastened robes from her shoulders. She turned to face him and her arms slid around her.

As night slid into dawn, they slipped into bed, both grateful for the balefire. A harmless, unnecessary tradition, but one that had worked magic that night.