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Ginny’s birthday party was a blast, which of course it was, hers always were, but this time it was really something. It was outside, the evening was gorgeous, everyone was dressed up, the punch was extra punchy, and Seamus himself was covered in flames and looking cool as fuck.
He took another drink of punch, felt the happy burn of it snake down his throat, and realized Dean was saying something. He leaned forward and focused. “What’s that, mate?”
“I said,” Dean repeated, “I’m worried about Neville.” Which yeah, it was a bit like watching someone leap on a dragon’s back, but you couldn’t stop people from chasing their dreams.
“What you’ve got to remember,” Seamus told him, “Is that Neville has got serious balls. And if he thinks it’s worth the risk, it’s worth the risk.”
“No one, ever, not a single time, has thought to themselves ‘You know who’s a right expert on evaluating risk? That Seamus.’”
He laughed and tipped his cup in acknowledgement. “But if you were to ask about taking risks, my name would come up.”
“But Parkinson? ”
“Worst case, she skewers his tender heart with her stilettos.”
Dean put one hand over his eyes. Seamus scanned the garden, looking for a distraction. Perfect. “Look who just walked in,” he said, and watched as Dean turned to take in the sight of Parvati in a silver sequined minidress and moon shaped headpiece. He clapped Dean on the shoulder and went to check on his fireworks.
There were definitely more than he had put there when he arrived. Like, an entire show’s worth extra. Wicked. He walked around the stash, checking it out, noticing how whoever had laid it out had sequenced things, the flair of it. Wick-ked. He finished his circuit and looked up, and there in the dusk at the edge of the pool of witchlight from the party was someone dressed as Baba Yaga.
They had dark robes (and great calves) and a wry grin (and very full lips) and a raspy voice (that hit him in the gut) and they said “Like what you see?”
“Fuck me, I do,” he said. They worked side by side in the perfumed air of the garden, putting the final touches together, coordinating their displays, not talking, just watching and adjusting. And then it was dark, and that grin flashed again, and Seamus said “After you,” and they began.
He felt the rush of heat and magic and the zing of sulfur and the buzz of the air around him, the vibration as the first burst rent the sky and released a cascade of sunflowers and marigolds and zinnias. The crowd of guests stilled and looked up, caught on the cusp of the moment, and then he let loose with the next and he and Baba were dancing around each other, wands flying, sending up one rocket after another to streak across the sky and erupt. They paused briefly while a willow filled the sky, brooms racing around it, and in the glow he saw Neville and Pansy tucked together, Dean and Pavarti braced against a tree in the corner, Ginny golden and resplendent and laughing, Harry sprawled and smiling happily, Hermione tipsy in Ron’s lap, Lee clutching his wig to his chest, all looking up in awe.
The willow shimmered and began to vanish, and he locked eyes with Baba and fired off a set of spinning pinwheels. They countered with a giant kneazle that chased the wheels across the sky. He whipped a wave full of fish after it, they added a kraken, he set off a volcano, they launched a dragon. They went faster and faster until there was nothing but the burn in his wand arm and the smoke and the thrill, and he laughed in absolute fucking joy. This is what magic was for.
By the finale he was breathing heavily, streaked with sweat and soot, and thrumming like all the felix felices in the world was in his system. They launched off the last bit, magic making rapid fire adjustments until the sky was full again, Circe crowned in gold herding pigs up into the stars, all the pigs recognizable by their Weasley sweaters or round glasses or wild hair or cardigans, and a burst and shower of sparks all around, cascading over the party. Seamus stilled his wand, took a deep breath, and Baba was definitely looking at him like they felt it too, so he grabbed them by the hand and dove under a bush.
Baba landed on top of him, and they laughed as their mouth met his in a hard clash, bodies writhing closer, and he rolled and they were wrestling and kissing and laughing and then they got their hands in each other’s robes and fuck that was good, that was so good, the touch of warm skin and the taste of smoke. Baba bit him on his chest and licked him and he dug his fingers hard into their hips and slid lower and they were gripping him now, and he got his hand into their pants and their hair started changing, color after color as he stroked, and fuck that was so cool, that was so fucking cool, and he was going to come any minute but he didn’t want to stop and he didn’t want to stop looking, so he bucked them off of him and used one arm to pin them to the ground while he swapped his mouth for his hand. They let him go, and go, and he was all lit up, he was incandescent, and their hair kept changing and their hips were rocking and they were looking back at him and grinning and he felt like the bush around them was going to spontaneously combust because this was the hottest fucking moment of his life. Then they hauled him back up and kissed him and they worked each other faster and faster and he knew they were on the edge, and then they were tipping over and when he came it was like his soul shot out of his body and lit up the whole night.
When he came back to himself they were laying there in the dirt, spent and dusty and streaked with sweat and still in costume, and fuck if he wasn’t in love.