Harry was happy to help Draco's mother with the festival preparations. She'd healed him after Nagini had accidentally crushed his throat, after all, and she never came across as cruel—unlike her sister or husband. Harry also enjoyed how she got after Draco. And so he smiled reassuringly at her. There was no need for her to concern herself over innocent words regarding the Dark Lord's demands on Lucius's time. If only she would worry more about the inordinate amount of time his Master spent with Bellatrix.

"When do you think the Dark Lord will arrive," Harry asked Draco as they worked.

Draco paused in levitating a small bunch of yellow flowers to the top of a tent entrance. Distracted by Harry's question, he forgot to apply the sticking charm and they tumbled to grass. "Damn," he cursed under his breath. "Hand me another bunch of the millepertuis, then pick those up for me."

Harry had been tying daisies to the lower tent poles, unable to charm them up as Draco was doing. He paused to hand over more of the yellow flowers from the basket, then gathered up the ones that had fallen. "Well?" Harry prompted. "And how about Bellatrix? When do you think she'll show up?"

Draco took the flowers from Harry. "Wingardium Leviosa. I expect they'll get here when the festivities start. You're not worried, are you?"

Only if they arrive together, Harry thought sullenly. "Will she behave? No little kids are going to get Crucioed? No offence, Malfoy, but your aunt is a bit…" he trailed off, not knowing which label to use. His brain kept supplying 'slutty,' which didn't really apply to this situation.

Draco was happy to offer his suggestions: "Unhinged? Psycho? Absolutely demented?" The last one was especially close to the mark. "Don't worry, Potter. She's crazy about kids these days, and not just in her annoying baby-talk way. Last week I heard her asking my mother odd questions about what I was like as a baby." He grimaced at the memory.

"She did?" Harry tied another bunch of daisies to a tent pole, trying to picture Bellatrix Lestrange bouncing a tiny Draco on her lap. "But don't all women talk about that stuff?"

"Normal women, sure. But she was asking in this obsessive, creepy way. I suppose witches traditionally conduct fertility rituals at Midsummer, so maybe it has something to do with that. The Lestrange family doesn't have an heir yet, after all."

"Huh," Harry murmured. "Yeah, that's probably it."

"So don't worry about it," Draco said. He levitated up another bunch of the yellow blossoms. "She'll be fine. The Dark Lord will be fine. Everyone will be fine. There will be dancing and drinking. Have you ever celebrated Midsummer before? I thought even Muggles did that."

Harry shook his head. "Not my Muggles. I've heard of maypoles and Morris dancing, but I've never seen either performed."

"Morris dancing?" At Harry's unhelpful shrug he said, "The maypole dance is fairly simple; you just weave in and around one another—even you can manage that. Usually it's just youth and little kids that participate. Merlin, I hope Mother doesn't rope me into it again this year."

"At least you'd be dressed for it," said Harry.

"If I have to dance, Potter, then you have to dance." He paused to look at Harry, scrunching his nose again at the black robes. Then he reached forward and tucked a daisy behind Harry's left ear. He smirked. "There. You're all festive now."

Harry straightened his glasses, which had gotten skewed. "The baskets are empty," he observed.

Draco squinted in the sunlight, surveying the grounds. "The tents are all done, and it looks as if Mother decorated the manor earlier. So that's it. We've finished!" He brushed his hands together, dusting off bits of pollen.

Draco led Harry to a marble bench placed in the shade of an ancient oak, then called for a house-elf to bring them each a lemonade.

"Is it always daisies and—what did you call those yellow flowers?" Harry asked after they'd been sitting for a few minutes. "Or do you switch the decorations up each year?"

"Millepertuis. That's the French, anyway. Both they and the daisies are traditional Solstice decorations. The millepertuis is meant to ward off evil."

"And yet, here we are," quipped Harry, his voice lighter than his heart.

Draco hummed, though whether it was in agreement or contemplation, Harry couldn't say. Then the blond shook himself and said, "I don't know about the daisies, really. You could ask my mother. They're just sunny, though, aren't they. Day's eye. Daisy. They close up at night."

"I didn't know that." Petunia hadn't allowed them to grow in her garden, so his own experience with the white and yellow flowers was in pulling them up under the hot summer sun.

"As I've said before, Potter—"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm an ignorant barbarian. No need to rub it in," Harry retorted, but comfortably this time. Harry reflected on how changed their conversations were from that first one after his Initiation. Perhaps the isolation had influenced him more than he'd realized. With only his Master and Nagini for company, it was natural for him to gravitate towards another person, especially a boy his own age. Even if that boy was Draco Malfoy.

"I won't hold it against you too much," Draco said with a smirk. Then he groaned. "Looks like one of your questions is answered, Potter."

"What question?" Harry followed Draco's line of vision. His face fell. "Oh. Your aunt."

Bellatrix was walking down the steps leading from the manor's large entrance doors.

"She's prettied herself up. As if it helps much," said Draco.

And so she had. Even Harry had to admit that she looked rather fetching. Unlike her usual dark robes, she wore a gauzy dress in a verdant shade of green. As she came closer he could see that the fabric was delicately embroidered and inlaid with many small pearls. Her hair was plaited and swept up to coil intricately about her head, and woven into the braids were stems of lavender and…wheat?

"Hello little Drackykins," she sang as she approached. She was grinning. For once the smile made her look truly happy, not just cruelly mad. "Don't you look pretty today."

"And you, Aunt," replied Draco warily.

"Thank you," she said, beaming. "I wanted to look extra nice. Did you know there's going to be dancing later?"

"There's always dancing at Midsummer," Draco told her. "You know that."

"Not like this. You'll see." She spun around, and the hem of her dress flared up nearly to her waist. From their seated position, the boys could easily see beneath her skirts.

"Auntie," Draco hissed. "You need to put something on under there. We can see everything!"

She stopped spinning. "But I've anointed myself," she protested, "and it's so hard to get oil stains out of silk. Besides, Draco, you shouldn't be so naughty and looking at me down there."

"I wasn't trying to." Draco stood, and Harry was quick to follow. "But we were rather at eye-level, weren't we? You know that little children will be arriving soon, don't you? You won't be able to dance at all if your skirts keep flying up like that."

"Fine." She pouted. "Though I think you're being quite unfair."

"What are you prattling on about, Bellatrix," came Snape's familiar drawl from behind Harry. The Potions Master gave a polite nod to Draco before sneering at the witch before him. He completely ignored Harry.

"Draco doesn't like my dress. He says I'll frighten the kiddies." She twirled around in demonstration. Both Harry and Draco were wise enough to avert their eyes.

Snape was not so fortunate, though as he was standing rather than sitting he wasn't subject to the full effect. "Your nephew is correct. That said, I'm certain you'll manage to terrify the children regardless of what you are wearing. Or, rather, what you are not wearing." Then he sniffed and raised an eyebrow. "Is that mint I detect?"

He looked more closely at Bellatrix, taking in her overall appearance. His eyes narrowed, and he said, silkily, "I would be careful if I were you, Bella. Unless this is all for your husband's benefit."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Severus," she answered, looking too nonchalant to be innocent of whatever he was implying. "Everyone dresses up for Midsummer. That is, everyone except unmannered half-bloods." She looked pointedly at Snape before turning to do the same with Harry, looking disgusted.

Harry felt his anger rise. How dare she? Yes, he was ignorant of many traditional Wizarding customs. But that wasn't because of his blood status; it was because of Dumbledore's foolish decision to hand him over to worthless Muggles. Had he been raised in the Magical world, as was his due, he wouldn't be so ignorant. Harry glanced at Snape, to see how angry he'd become because of her churlish comments.

Snape looked bored. Harry supposed he had heard it all before, had become inured to it.

"Some lemonade, Professor?" Draco asked, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"Coffee if you don't mind," was the tired response. "I was up before sunrise gathering herbs and will need to be out again at midnight collecting fern seed. I had hoped to be excused from this evening's revels, but the Dark Lord was adamant that I attend."

"A Wide-eye potion instead? I know we have some of your own stock at hand."

"The coffee will be fine, thank-you Draco. Black, if you wills."

Draco called for a house-elf. It was the same one from before, the one Harry had tripped over. It looked as exhausted as Snape.

"Is Flippy out here working too?" Harry asked after it had popped away on its errand. He wouldn't recognize his elf by sight, as he rarely saw her. He knew house-elves were meant to be discreet, but he had only seen the small creature briefly once or twice. Perhaps she was wary of Nagini, though Harry knew his sister was forbidden to eat the 'little ones,' as she called them.

"I can hardly be expected to remember the names of all our elves, Potter," Draco said, sneering.

Harry was taken aback. They'd been getting along quite well today—for the last while, at least. Perhaps Draco was reacting to Snape's presence, taking up the old Slytherin-Gryffindor antipathy. Trying not to let his voice sour, Harry said, "She's the house-elf that looks after Nagini and me."

It was Snape that answered. "Then she is one of the Dark Lord's own house-elves, Mr Potter. I suspect they do not partake in the manor's regular upkeep. That would include the Solstice preparations."

As Snape conversed further with Draco, Harry had time to get a good look at him. He looked mostly all right. Tired, as he'd said he was. But there was nothing else to suggest that the man was in his Master's disgrace, or that he was still recovering from his recent death and resurrection. Harry couldn't even see any scarring from Nagini's wicked strike to his throat. Overall, he seemed the same as ever.

That was, until Snape's sleeve pulled up as he brought his mug to his lips, revealing silver bands encircling each wrist. The Potions Master quickly tugged the cloth back down, covering them, but not before Harry saw that each metal cuff was carved with runes and inlaid with black stones. "Do you like them?" Snape asked him, and Harry's eyes snapped up to meet the hauntingly dark ones staring down at him. "They were a gift from your Master."

Harry's Master. Snape always chose his words carefully, whether to instruct or to insult. Or to inform, as he was doing now. These bands, then, must be part of Voldemort's restrictions meant to 'hobble' the traitor, as it were.

Harry stared into his former professor's eyes, at any moment expecting to feel the brush of the other man's mind against his own. Harry still had no Occlumency shields to speak of. But Snape didn't attempt to enter his mind. Perhaps the bands prevented it.

"Fern seed?" he asked instead of answering Snape's question. "I thought ferns reproduced with spores."

Snape looked away. "They do," he answered. "But if you paid the slightest bit of attention in Herbology, you would recall that Magical varieties produce seed under perfect conditions. And, again, a more attentive student would know that fern seed provides stability to certain rare and volatile brews. But of course, you never felt the need to listen during lectures, did you Mr Potter? Not when there were so many misadventures to be had, all far more pressing than mere schoolwork."

Harry bristled. "I did well enough in Potions once you were gone," he said bitingly.

"Ah, yes. Horace was always so nauseatingly complimentary regarding your performance." Snape's smile was thin and unpleasant. "But I think we both know the truth of the matter, Potter. Whatever did become of my old textbook?"

"Torched. Courtesy of Crabbe." Harry managed to smile back at Snape. He hoped the man missed the damned book.

Draco spoke before Snape could respond. "Actually, sir, Professor Slughorn didn't cover fern seed until seventh year."

Harry noticed that Draco didn't mention Herbology. Maybe he couldn't recall what they'd covered in sixth year either. After all, both boys had been rather preoccupied that year.

"What potion will you be using it for?" Draco asked. He seemed genuinely curious.

Snape sighed. "A flight potion. This is one of few potions that use it as a primary ingredient, rather than as a modifier."

Draco furrowed his eyebrows. "I didn't know such a potion existed. We certainly didn't cover that in our NEWTs."

"Of course not," Snape said tiredly. "It is my own invention. The recipe not widely distributed."

A flight potion. Harry frowned, remembering his flight from Privet Drive: the Dark Lord emerging, broomstick-less, from the cloud cover. And then he recalled Snape's startling escape from Hogwarts…

And McGonagall had thought it was Voldemort who had shared his skill in unassisted flight with the Potions Master.

"Are you listening, Potter?" Draco's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Huh?" Harry shook the memories aside. He looked around.

Snape was gone, moved to where Narcissa was still fussing over the Solstice set-up. He was helping her levitate garden chairs into a circle, all facing into the space within. A far larger chair—his Master's, Harry guessed—was set apart from the others, facing west. One small chair was the exception, placed beside the Dark Lord's throne.

"It doesn't matter," Draco said, huffing. "It was just potions stuff."

And so of course I wouldn't be interested, Harry thought. "What should we do next?" he said instead, deciding not to get riled up by Draco's (correct) presumption.

"Get something to eat?" Draco suggested. "I'm famished."

The sun was lower now. By Harry's guess, it was just after seven. Draco called for a plate of sandwiches and the two boys sat again on the shady bench. They spoke of meaningless things. Draco made small jokes, for once not at anyone's expense (except his aunt's, but Harry was happy to laugh at her).

Harry was grateful for the quiet camaraderie, for it took his mind off his nervousness at what the evening would bring. Vernon would be there. What was the Dark Lord expecting Harry to do? What if he couldn't manage it? An hour ago, Harry had been confident that he would have no trouble bringing his uncle to his knees. That when his uncle begged for mercy he would laugh viciously, enjoying every delicious torment. He hated his uncle, oh yes. Harry was fairly sure that, wand in hand, he would have no trouble casting the Cruciatus Curse.

But Harry didn't have a wand. He had Nagini, of course, and his sister would be more than happy to kill Vernon for him. But that was how Petunia had met her end. Harry knew it wouldn't be enough for tonight—no, something more was required on such an auspicious day. He hoped his Master had something in mind.

He hoped that tonight really was a night to remember.

A/N Millepertuis is the French name for St. John's-wort, which is a traditional flower used at Midsummer. I had decided it more likely that Draco would use this name over the Christianized form of the name.