Families were arriving, trickling in via the manor's Floo or Apparating to just outside the wards and making their way up the great drive. Small children were soon underfoot, playing Wizarding games that Harry had never heard of and singing strange rhymes that would have had made Petunia press her hands to Dudley's ears to block out the beguiling chants.
One child crashed his training broom into a pavilion, and Narcissa had been so kind, casting expert healing charms even as the boy's nervous father had stammered his apologies.
"It's nothing to worry about," she told him. "My Draco was a Bludger of mischief at that age." She kissed the child's knee, which earned her a winning smile from the child before he ran off to rejoin his friends in some new game. Harry gulped down a vicious ball of envy, remembering that he'd only had a dark cupboard to nurse his own small hurts.
Lucius arrived. He gave his wife a quick peck before he disappeared into his home. That would mean, Harry guessed, that his Master's work at the Ministry was nearly finished for the day—and sure enough, the Dark Lord arrived soon afterwards. He had a hooded cowl pulled up to conceal his serpentine features and, like Harry and Snape, was clad in familiar black.
Unmannered half-bloods indeed, Harry thought with a smirk, though the memory bought him a flash of pain courtesy of his Master's indignation at the perceived slight. Voldemort beelined to his throne at the edge of the Solstice circle and then gestured for Harry to join him.
"I'll see you later, Malfoy," he said as he got to his feet. "Duty calls."
"You'd best hurry. He looks ticked off about something." Then he was calling over to some of his Slytherin friends to join him, and Harry was quickly ignored.
Harry didn't wait to greet Parkinson or the Greengrass sisters. He started straightaway to greet the Dark Lord who, as Malfoy had suggested, seemed vexed. His usually elegant fingers were clawing at the throne's armrests and he was drawing long, angry breaths. Harry hoped his Master's poor mood was unrelated to his own idle thoughts; he had known better than to ever think of his Master as anything less than perfect. But when he rose from his customary kiss to the man's bare feet he saw that Voldemort's gaze was directed elsewhere.
With glee Harry realized that his Master's attention was on Bellatrix. "That woman has more nerve than is good for her," Voldemort muttered. Harry couldn't see his Master's face properly, shadowed as it was beneath the hood, but imagined a fierce scowl set upon the pale face.
Harry basked in it. He was pleased, now, that he was wearing the same dark colours as his Master (ignoring the fact that his hated Professor was similarly clad). Bellatrix would rue any thoughtless words about the his robes. He smiled giddily.
But: "Do not be foolish," the Dark Lord reprimanded. "I don't care about that. It is Bella's own attire that irks me, unless I am quite mistaken as to her reasoning. Yet she seems far too pleased with herself for the alternative to be true."
"Master?" Harry hated to admit that he didn't understand. Despite his loathing for her, he thought Bellatrix looked quite lovely today.
"I would expect as much from Narcissa," the Dark Lord said thoughtfully, almost to himself. "I know that she and Lucius long for another child. I have intimated the need for an heir to Rodolphus but as of yet he has seemed rather disinclined. With the war over they may have taken my suggestions to heart, though somehow I am not convinced that dear Bella has her husband in mind tonight."
At Harry's confused look, Voldemort explained, "Litha—or rather, the Summer Solstice— is a traditional time for witches to engage in fertility rites. Everything about Bella's arrayment implies she is hoping to conceive a child."
It was an echo of what Draco had said earlier that day.
And if not with Rodolphus?
No. No! "Master," Harry implored, "You can't—"
Voldemort turned, then, to face Harry, and his crimson eyes blazed from beneath his hood. "Never think, Horcrux that you have one say in what I choose to do!" he hissed, menacingly. But then he took a calming breath and said, "However, there is no need for concern. I do not intend to allow Bellatrix to succeed in this matter. I will continue to enjoy her company as I so desire, just as I do with you."
Harry frowned. His Master never 'enjoyed' him as such. Why would he, when he had a crazed witch at his beck and call?
Voldemort chuckled darkly before saying, "You are wrong in that, Harry. I enjoy you immensely. Fetch your sister. Hurry. The dancing will soon commence."
Nagini was loath to leave the menhir, moaning that the air was getting chilly and her stone was still sun warmed.
"You'll be warm enough once we rejoin, Master," he told her. When her response was to coil up even tighter, he risked nudging her from her perch. The push was light enough to allow her a quick recovery, though she still hissed disgruntledly as she hit the grass. Harry marvelled that he was one of only two humans that could touch her so fearlessly. "Besides, the stone won't be warm after the sun sets."
"There had better be something tasty waiting for Nagini," she hissed crabbily as she wound her way between the outer ring of stones in parody of the dancing that would soon begin.
Harry shrugged, then realized that his sister wouldn't understand such a gesture. "I don't know. But let's find out," he suggested.
"Nagini is tired of rabbits and rats," she sulked.
"It's a special day. Shall I beg for a Muggle for you to eat?"
She hissed happily and agreed to follow him back towards the manor and the increasingly large throng gathered in front of it. Once safely away from the lure of the warm stones, she bolted forward, straight through the centre of the open solstice circle towards her Master. Harry, following behind, was unsure whether he should cross the empty space, but decided he'd had enough eyes on him to last a lifetime and walked the long way round.
By the time he'd made his way back to Voldemort, the large snake was happily ensconced around their Master's shoulders, a beautiful and deadly boa. The Dark Lord was petting her whilst gently scolding her for giving Harry such a hard time. He paused in his recriminations long enough to gesture for Harry to take the smaller seat set directly beside his own.
Harry bit his lip, his happiness at having his Master's favour warring with his desire to remain inconspicuous.
"You will never be so, Harry, so I suggest you banish your desire for anonymity. Be pleased that you are set apart. Happy or not, you shall remain with me for the remainder of the evening. You must not stray from my side, especially after the sun sets. It would be so easy to lose you amongst the chaos, dear one, and I will not have that."
"Of course, Master," Harry agreed, easily. He would be pleased to remain with the Dark Lord and close by his sister. He would escape his fumbling attempts at dancing this way, for starters. And his presence would hopefully prevent Bellatrix from attempting anything with his Master. Or, he realized, nearly snarling, he would simply be closer to the action. He drove away the detestable thoughts, telling himself that his Master wouldn't subject him to such horrors; he wouldn't be so cruel, not when Harry had been so well-behaved, so obedient. He asked in as calm a voice as he could manage, "Will there be a treat for Nagini tonight, Master?"
"Hmmm?" Voldemort was again looking at Bellatrix.
"Never mind," said Harry. "It doesn't matter." He forcibly kept himself from slumping in his chair. He would not give Bellatrix the satisfaction of seeing him unhappy, nor give his Master any reason to reprimand him for his conduct.
The music began. Harry almost regretted his Master's orders to remain by his side, for the maypole dance looked simple enough for him to join in. Even small children, some as young as three or four, were managing, though their ribbons tangled every few minutes. Harry was strangely saddened to see Draco up there, pulled over by a girl he recognized from Slytherin. So much for needing Harry up there with him. He reached for the daisy that Draco had slid above his ear. It was gone, fallen out somewhere in the bustle of preparations and no doubt trampled under someone's heedless boot. It didn't matter though, Harry decided. After all that he'd done, he belonged here, clad in pitch black amongst all this colourful revelry.
Draco didn't even seem to notice his absence despite his threat to abstain should Harry not participate. He was laughing as he danced, holding a pale blue ribbon in one hand and a tambourine in the other. Weaving in and out amongst his friends, he seemed happier, more carefree, than Harry could remember. When had Draco ever looked so at ease? Here, in this moment, the blond boy had nothing to prove. It was Midsummer, and he was young and amongst friends and family. The war was over; his side had won. Why not be merry on such a lovely Midsummer's eve?
Harry looked away, to his Master. He was happy here, here with the other part of his soul. Nothing was better than that. No one could match such a thing, no matter how free or joyous they might be. Harry was the lucky one. He had made certain of it.
Still, his Master hadn't paid him much attention since he'd sat down and even then it had been sparse. Instead he was watching the dancing. He was watching Bellatrix dance, in particular. With resentment, Harry had watched her join in with the smaller children. Instead of cursing the kids, she helpfully untangled their ribbons when needed, all patience and sweet smiles. It was disgustingly maternal and made Harry want to sick up.
She must have taken Draco and Snape's advice to heart, because there weren't any shocked shrieks when her dress lifted as she spun amongst the smaller dancers. Instead they were incongruously happy that she was amongst them, and once the ribbons had wound their way, prettily, around the maypole, she kept dancing, taking the hands of the young children and spinning them about, giggling, in the fading light.
Narcissa approached the group with a basket slung over her arm, and the small girls were instantly on her, clamouring for what was inside. As Draco's mother handed stems of an unfamiliar purple flower to each outstretched hand, Harry managed to make out their eager voices:
"Please, Lady Malfoy, can I have some orpine, too?" begged one of the smaller girls.
"Of course, Eloise. I have enough for everyone."
"I love Midsummer," chattered one girl with brown curls to her friend. Then to Narcissa, "May I please take an extra for my sister Marta? She wasn't feeling well today and I promised to bring her some."
Narcissa gave two flowers to the girl. "She may have a stem, of course, dear. But their magic will only work tonight when the night is shortest, so be sure to place it beneath her pillow. I would hate for her to be disappointed."
Harry tried to remember anything Trelawney might have said about using this flower—orpine?—in divination. He came up with nothing and could not be sure if it was on account of his own lacklustre study habits, Trelawney's general incompetence, of merely the fact that he'd dropped Divination after his OWLs.
"It is likely none of those, despite the accuracy of the first two in relation to your overall academic performance," said Voldemort. "As you can see, every witch knows the uses of orpine from the time they are but small. It is an intrinsic custom, like Muggles wishing upon a falling star or a birthday candle. It is not taught in schools." There was a short pause, then his Master murmured, "Well, this is amusing…"
The cluster of young witches flocked near Narcissa was waning. Soon Narcissa was handing over one of the purple flowers to the last child, but before she could close her basket, Bellatrix approached with her hand held out.
"You already have a husband, Bella. You know that orpine is for unwed witches," said Narcissa. "Go and dream about him, instead."
But Bellatrix was insistent. "Please, Cissy? Just one itty bitty blossom?" Her pleading went on long enough that Narcissa, with an exasperated roll of her eyes, handed one of the stalks of orpine to her sister before marching off towards a group of teens, none of whom looked as excited by her arrival as had the younger children.
"What is amusing, Master?" Harry asked, suspecting that he wouldn't like the answer.
"Hmmm? Oh, that Bellatrix desires a stalk of the orpine. As her sister stated, it is only for unwed witches, used to divine their future husbands. The magic will not work if one is already bonded to another. I suspect that our dear Bella has something interesting planned for tonight."
None of it added up to anything good, thought Harry. Fertility charms, foretelling flowers. But he knew better, now, than to say as much to the Dark Lord, so he bit his tongue and determined to wallow in his misery.
The thin tinging of metal on glass broke him from his sulk. Lucius Malfoy was standing upon a small platform in the centre of the clearing, rapping a spoon against a goblet. "May I please have your attention." A pause as the crowd became quiet. "I welcome you to another Summer Solstice. I am pleased to be with you this year. I assure you all, your company is far preferable to that which I enjoyed last Midsummer."
Draco's father had been in Azkaban a year ago, Harry reflected. So much drastic change in one year—and certainly not only for Lucius Malfoy. Last June at this time, Albus Dumbledore had still been alive and was on his final push to manipulate him. The memory of his 'lessons' with the former Headmaster forced its way into his mind. Harry grit his teeth, his face heating at the recollection of the man he'd once held in such high esteem, yet who had deceived him so well and for so long.
A calming hand came to rub against his head, pushing his fringe up and tracing the scar beneath. "Breath, Harry. He's gone."
Harry blinked back tears and nodded, then forced himself to listen to the elder Malfoy.
"…think we've all enjoyed the festivities so far. Before night begins, and our youngest find their way to their beds and to their dreams, I propose a toast." Another tap of silver on crystal.
House-elves appeared around the perimeter of the circle, each bearing a tray of wine goblets. Surprisingly, no Elf approached the Dark Lord. Instead, after about a minute, a young woman approached. She held a tray with a single, large goblet.
It was Hermione, and she was lovely. Her hair shone, slicked into a graceful bun, and the dark circles that had weighed down her eyes since last August were gone. "My Lord," she breathed, balancing the tray even as she sunk into a careful kneel.
"Thank you, Ms Granger," returned the Dark Lord as he took picked up the goblet. "Take your place beside Harry."
She nodded, then stood. Eyes cast down, she took the few steps to Harry's side before kneeling again. Harry looked between her and his Master, then bit his lip. He didn't want her at his feet.
But Lucius Malfoy was again speaking, and the moment to intervene on her behalf was lost. "A toast," the man repeated, "in honour of the brightest of our days and the return of the sun. And truly, dear friends, we are blessed, for our current days are bright indeed. The darkness of war has passed us at last.
"More importantly, the war was won, and it is with this victory that those of us who have long treasured our ancestry, our shared heritage, and our traditions can again emerge from the darkness that has been our lot for far too long. We enter into a new era where we no longer need to secret away our faithfulness to the old ways.
"It is auspicious, indeed, that such changes occurred even as the days grew long, heralding this coming Solstice. Even as plants sown during the waxing moon grow tall and vibrant, so we can anticipate the necessary changes we've implemented in our world to prosper until our vision spreads far and becomes so entrenched that it can never be uprooted."
Lucius paused at the fervent applause that broke out amongst the gathered witches and wizards. He inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Thank you. And we must make a toast, also, to the one who led us to this victory, to the man who has diligently worked for more than half a century to bring about this new order. I speak, of course, of our Lord, who has at long last come into his rights as the ruler of our most blessed country. Everyone, please raise a glass to the Dark Lord."
The applause this time was thunderous. Lucius didn't even try to regain order. He raised his wine glass, and soon everyone followed suit, the sound of clapping replaced by clamours of "To the Dark Lord!"
Harry had not been given a glass and, feeling left out, looked up at the man in question. Lord Voldemort was like a god revelling in worship. He lifted his ornate goblet in acknowledgement of Lucius's accolade, then drank deeply. A heady warmth pressed through to Harry through their connection. For once, it wasn't enough. He needed more.
Around the circle, the Solstice-goers followed Voldemort's lead, bringing cups to lips. Even the smallest child was drinking in his honour.
All except Harry.
But then, his Master looked down at him and held out his drink. "You will drink to your Lord, will you not, Harry Potter?"
Harry beamed, taking the glass. "To the Dark Lord," he said, the quietest of echoes. He raised the goblet to his lips and sipped greedily. The taste was of grapes and honey and the endlessness of summer evenings.
Lord Voldemort, standing now, plucked the goblet from Harry's grasp. He turned to address the crowd. "My dearest friends," he said. "I thank you all for coming this evening. Thank you for the lovely dancing that has entertained us so far and for the spirited tribute. But mostly, I thank you for the trust you show in me. It has been too long since I have been welcomed by the greater Magical community to events such as these. The invitation I received from Lucius to join in celebrating one of our most sacred days with you all brings me much happiness.
"I have too long worked in shadow. For more than a decade, I was little more than a shadow, in fact." Voldemort paused, then took a deep breath. "And I am tired of it. Even now, I walk hooded amongst you. My name has become synonymous with fear, my face with terror. This was as it needed to be.
"But it is not fear that will rebuild our country. It is not terror that will make us strong. Fear. Terror. These were useful tools to break down the faulty foundation of corruption and hypocrisy that had for too long plagued our world. And now this task is done? And the walls of the Ministry fallen?
"As Lucius suggests, the Summer Solstice is a felicitous time for us to step into the light. We do not speak of Light versus Dark magic—no. We speak of truthfulness and candour. We speak of walking the path of our true selves.
"Let us never be afraid again. Happy Litha to you all!"
"Happy Litha!"
Flickering light began to dot the clearing and Harry could hear snatches of unfamiliar song. Small children whined to be allowed to stay, their parents letting them jump over the small bonfires a handful of times before coaxing them away. Slowly, the demographic shifted until it was largely Death Eaters who remained. It was hard to tell, for with the exception of Harry and Snape, they were clothed in festive dress.
Bellatrix had meandered over to them after the toasting was done, her eyes dark and heavy. "Why not leave your pets with the Mudblood and come through the fire with me, Master."
"I will do no such thing, Bella. If you wish to engage is such frivolities, find someone else to proposition. Your husband, perhaps." He leaned forward in his throne and beckoned her closer. As soon as she was within reach, Voldemort seized her hand and twisted her wrist until she whimpered. "And Bella," he said, "never suggest such a thing again."
He pushed her away. She sniffed, cradling her wrist against her stomach. "I didn't mean to offend you, Master. But you looked so lonely here, all by yourself."
Harry gritted his teeth. He was right there.
"I assure you I am not," Voldemort said. Then with a smirk he added, "I should think Lucius will bring our guests out soon. Will you be entertaining us with a dance tonight?"
Her eyes lit up. "Of course, my Lord. And are the rumours true?"
"Rumours, darling?" he asked in mocked confusion.
"About the reward? For the dance?" She pouted when his response was a raised brow. "Master, I've been working so hard, getting my dance just perfect."
Voldemort chuckled. "I look forward to seeing it, then."
To Harry's relief, he shooed her off after this exchange. She twirled away, though her eyes kept turning back in their direction. One time, she blew a kiss back at the Dark Lord.
Harry rolled his eyes.
"Do you not believe I deserve her devotion, Harry?" came the dangerous query.
There was no good answer. Or rather, the only correct answer was one that was painful to give: "You do, Master." And because he couldn't help himself, he added, "But I don't like her, my Lord. I don't like her, and I don't like that you like her back." He gulped. "I'm sorry. I know it isn't my…my place."
A few moments of quiet. Then, "No, it most certainly is not your place. And Bellatrix repeatedly steps out of line as well. Yet it gratifies me that neither of your behaviours is due to some drive for advancement. Bellatrix's reverence, like your own, is genuine. It irks me that neither of you believe I am capable of keeping you both in my affection."
"She called me a pet," spat Harry, ignoring the spasm of pain in his scar.
"And how is that not true, Harry? You are brother to Nagini, are you not? Perhaps Marking you has gone to your head, that you think you are more than you are."
Maybe it was true, thought Harry. He blinked back the tears that threatened to fall. His voice quavered as he asked, "What did she want, Master?"
Voldemort shook his head. "Your ignorance is appalling," he said. "If I didn't know the reason, I would chalk it up to laziness."
Harry felt shame blush his cheeks and looked away.
With a sigh, Voldemort said, "Bella desires many things, I am sure. In regards to the bonfire? It is customary for sweethearts to leap through the embers together on Midsummer. I fear Bella has misinterpreted my attention for something more than it is."
"She loves you," Harry said, his voice soft.
"Perhaps," Voldemort said. He drained the last of his wine. "I didn't ask her to. It's not something I can return."
Harry would have revelled in the admission if he hadn't known that it applied to him as well.
Not that he wanted Voldemort to love him…
Except, he realized, that yes, that was exactly what he wanted.
Voldemort didn't say anything regarding these stray thoughts. Harry guessed he'd known long before he had figured it out himself, though how such a loveless being could intuit such in others was a mystery.
Harry found it easier just then to look anywhere else. The evening's next event was still being readied, so there wasn't much to distract him. No one else approached.
There was a small movement beside him. Hermione had been so still that Harry had mostly forgotten about her. He risked giving her a tiny smile, but she missed it, her eyes cast to the middle of the clearing and the largest of the bonfires. Harry poked her in the shoulder, the same friendly touch he'd given her many times before when she'd become too immersed in her studies. "Hey."
Except she didn't look up to him in mock glare as she used to. She didn't roll her eyes and ask what could possibly be so important as to disturb her thoughts.
No, she clenched her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'll be more careful. Please."
"Hermione?" He reached over to her, thinking to rub her back.
"Don't touch her." Voldemort stood abruptly, his hood falling back. He pulled Harry from his chair, then picked that up and placed it on the other side of his throne. "And you, Mudblood—make your way back to wherever it is Narcissa keeps you."
Harry watched her scurry away, feeling guilty. He shouldn't have touched her. Even kneeling next to him, at least she'd been there, participating in the celebration in her own small way. And she'd been here, with him—that counted for something, though he felt the weight of his guilt at having ignored her for the past month and a half. Now where was she going? What would she have to do?
At least she looked as though she was being taken care of, though he wondered at her outburst. Her words were uncomfortably familiar; he'd said ones much like them once, before Hogwarts. He'd learned to not say them again.
Voldemort sat back down. "If you are smart, Harry, you will stop thinking about the girl."
"What about her being my prize," he argued as he started towards his repositioned chair. He'd not moved a foot before his Master's wand was out, aimed at his chest. Harry froze, his heart thumping. He clenched his jaw and waited for the curse to fall.
Instead, Voldemort said, "I believe you have forgotten something, Harry. That surrender of yours? Did it not include all your possessions? That would include your Mudblood prize, my dear. Or…" he raised his palm, as if he were being magnanimous, "you could abdicate your claim on her. I leave the choice to you."
His claim on her. What did he need with her, anyway? He couldn't be her friend anymore. He couldn't touch her. Apparently, he didn't even think much about her. Out of sight, out of mind. He'd never realized how apt the proverb was.
"I only ever wanted her safe."
"And that was provisionally guaranteed. You do not need to associate with her for this to be so." Voldemort rolled the yew wand between his fingers. "I must admit, Harry, I grow tired of being generous. Too many people need too much from me, and my patience is thin. Do not test me on this matter again. I nearly cursed you for your impertinence. And this was meant to be a joyous night."
"I'm sorry, Master," he said. The words came before he knew why he'd said them. But it wasn't hard, really, to come up with reasons: for being a nuisance, for asking too much, for being needy and jealous. For loving his Master, when such love was but a burden.
Voldemort tucked the wand away and guided Harry back to his chair. "Don't apologize for loving me, Harry; just don't expect it to be returned. You are precious to me. Know that and let it be enough."
