Originally for the Beltane Drabble Wars on Granger Enchanted. *sniffle*

Prompt: The picture of the dancers, week 2.

A/N: The title is a shameless pun on the old Bell Curve, used for grading with the majority of any class ranging in the C (middle) range and the fewest in the A (highest) and F (lowest) ranges. I don't own Harry Potter. I make no money. Snark is good.

Hermione found herself bowing low, moving from left to right around the fire-dancers. Horned God, Oaken Man, Hey-You-With-The-Flames, she didn't know their names, and she didn't care. She was exhausted, dirty, sweaty, mostly naked, and if one more person gave her a bright "Blessed Be!" when she passed them, she was going to do some serious damage.

All she had wanted was to know what Beltane was like, how it was celebrated in modern times in a comparison to the original Beltane rites used by the ancients. She had not asked to be part of the circle, to be a dancer, to be picked as anything other than an observer.

"Oh, no," she had been told repeatedly by several different groups of friends, all of whom were heading to different Beltane fires. "Oh, no, we don't have observers! There are only participants at our celebrations. It ruins the blessings, you see."

Another had told her the only "observed" part was the May Queen and the Green Man mating, or the Horned God and the Goddess chasing and mating. (Funny, that. No matter whom she asked, there was always public sex...and lots of it! She was hardly the innocent virgin, but the public sex seemed a bit gratuitous.) By the time it was over, the rest of the participants – who had been a part of everything else, of course – would be pairing off and going to celebrate the renewal of life in the fields and forests. She took that as "rutting bare-arsed on the dirt," and was quite right.

No, she had to do it the hard way and fucking dance around the bonfire. At least this was Bill's Beltane celebration, and Fleur was surprisingly generous with both information and help getting ready for the dances. Bill was a wealth of Beltane lore, and he had given her several books, Archived Pensieve-memoranda (rather like a Muggle documentary with commentary from the person who had created the memory), and first-hand accounts of Beltane rituals from his childhood, his stints in Germany, France, Ireland, and Cairo, though those were very hush-hush and limited to Brits and Irish only.

Her knees protested and finally, finally one of the flaming poofters went out – oh, hell. There was the woman. Brilliant. Now Hermione "got" to sprawl out in the dirt and watch the one that had just gone out – what was his title again? did she still care? – get a leg over with the woman. Was the woman wearing anythi—

Ah, no. No, she wasn't, and Hermione had never, ever wanted to see that up close and personal. She was not a gynecologist, nor had she any desire to be one. Ugh. Breasts were all well and good, but the rest? No, she did not want to see a woman's bits. Not even her own.

The man on the other hand...now that was a bit of all right. And a very nicely formed all right, about long enough for her two hands to wrap around him – her hands were small, but she could usually grip most of her partners (not that there had been that many) well over halfway with one hand. It made oral sex easy, yes, but it was a bit short for a nice hard fuck. This one, though, would be a nice ride for the –

Oh, why did she look back over? Ugh. Oh, well, at least the May Goddess Queen WhatthefuckEVER her title was would get a nice evening out of it.

Hermione winced. Or not. That did not sound like a happy woman. In fact, that sounded like a cat with its tail stepped on. Perhaps there was more to the saying about the motion of the ocean after all, especially when sailing a larger ship. Hopefully, the Beltane success didn't depend on the pleasure the woman got out of her time with the man, because, well, this part of Wizarding England would starve. A minute or so later, she revised her position on that. The witch was starting to sound rather rhythmic and earnest in her grunting and groaning, with a few scattered ohs for variation and encouragement. The noises of sex increased and all Hermione could do was think of a rating scale for the participants.

For her, either a seven for initial disinterest and difficulty getting going or a ten for acting.

For him, either a three for initial entry and taking too long to get it right, or a ten for being well-endowed. She was leaning toward a ten and a forgiving nature, mostly because she wanted to give a well-hung wizard the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she'd try him someday later on. Then again, it was one of Bill's friends, so maybe not.

The rhythm of the couple sped up and the groaning, grunting, oh-ing, and squishy sounds of slapping wet skin together got considerably louder. As sound effects went, she preferred the seemingly pointless chanting earlier in the evening – though she could have sworn she was simply repeating her vowels over and over again...Aaaaa-Eeeeee-Iiiiii-Oooooo-Uuuuuu, while warbling in a vaguely melodic manner. A short series of loud ohs caught her attention, followed by what seemed to be the sighting of a mouse in the larder and a prolonged epileptic fit.

Was that the end?

Yes!

Finally she could go...

A warm hand touched her shoulder. Hermoine looked up to see Charlie Weasley kneeling behind her.

"Oh, hello, Charlie," she said before he could say that damned phrase she was so tired of hearing.

"Hermione," he returned with a grin. "D'you have a partner this evening?" His voice was soft, but not suggestive.

"Um, no. It's why I was grouped in with the rest of the single...wait, what?" She just registered what he had asked when he held out his hand to her. After a long look, she put her hand in his.

She stood up with him as he rose, realizing how much smaller she felt when she stood next to the gentle dragonkeeper. Walking with him into the darkness wasn't frightening, either. She had trusted Charlie for years, and they were friends. What could one night of celebratory Beltane-sex change?

Unless the sex was abysmal or he was, ahem, disappointingly proportioned. She looked up at his shoulders in the darkening shadows. She hoped neither one was true. When they reached past the edge of the firelight, closest to the cliffs of Shell Cottage, Charlie pulled her to him and kissed her thoroughly. She felt her knees go weak as the cool sea air and the hot man under her hands, her toes curling in the dirt and grass, made her realize exactly how delicious this celebration was going to be. She was so wrapped up in the feel of Charlie, of man, that she didn't register when he laid her down on the dirt because – somewhere between standing and laying their vague approximation of clothing had gone missing – once he was between her thighs...she didn't care about anything else.

In the morning, Hermione woke to a beautiful sunrise over Shell Cottage, warm and snug and very well-taken-care-of in Charlie's arms. A sleepy mumble and a twitch of his hips into her bum made her think the morning could be very nice, too.

Beltane was a very different experience for her, though, and she knew it. She thought over the celebration as a complete event, not separating it into its component pieces. The dirt had to go; the dancing was a non-starter; and she was heartily sick of chanting, fires, bonfires, flaming poofters dancing around bonfires, and watching two people she didn't ever want to see naked fucking next to said gratuitous bonfires.

She gave Beltane an Acceptable, but only because she got laid, too.

On the whole, she much preferred her Church of England, where everyone kept their clothes on.

The choir could use a bit of a break, though. Yes, definitely a lack of musical attempts were called for in celebrations.

The only thing she truly regretted was that she could never share these observations with anybody in either the Wizarding or Muggle worlds.

As Charlie started kissing her ear and murmuring his good mornings to her, along with a few rather nice suggestions, Hermione tore up her mental report card of holidays and decided to enjoy one last go with a friend.

After all, holidays come around all the time, but morning sex cliffside? Without citations for indecent exposure and lewd and lascivious acts?

Hermione wriggled around in Charlie's arms and pushed at his shoulders until he rolled onto his back. Hermione grinned down at him.

This time, she'd show him what she could do to a wizard when she was on top.

She wondered if he kept mental report cards, too, and set her sights on the highest "Outstanding" possible.

"What are you grinning about?" Charlie asked.

"This...ohhh," she said, sinking down on him.

He quickly forgot everything but her.

Damned if she didn't get that O, too.