"I see." She chewed on her lower lip. "So you'll be hosting this year?"

"Yes. Here. In the Manor."

Her heart squeezed inside her ribs. "Will Draco be expected to attend?" Narcissa shook her head, and the vice released, leaving imprints.

"The Dark Lord anticipates an attack on Zurich in the new year. He's been asked to remain on guard with a select few. At least we can thank Merlin for small miracles that my sister won't be in attendance, either." Narcissa brushed a stray strand of hair away from her temple, her long fingers turning over her ear and sloping down to her neck. "Lucius will attend, as it is quite impossible for a wife to host without her husband. But he will leave with the last guest."

Hermione's hands shook as she poured her coffee from the carafe. She imagined Draco staring out of a cold tower on New Year's Eve, waiting for fire to rain from the sky.

"The Manor will be quite busy for the next few weeks, and the library will need to be… cleaned."

Hermione started to find Narcissa's eyes on hers. "Of course. I will… clear out." She took a sip of coffee, hoping it hid the flush in her cheeks. "And I promise to stay in my room."

"Actually," said Narcissa, and Hermione's eyes snapped back to her. "Lucius thinks — and I agree — that the best place for you is out front and center. Under my eye, and in plain view."

The warmth from her coffee drained from Hermione's veins. "But—" She swallowed and drew a shaky breath. "I was under the impression that you didn't like the parties—"

Narcissa lifted a pale brow. "You misunderstand. I may be holding it against my will, but Narcissa Malfoy's New Year's Eve Gala is the grandest society event of the season. This is no night in Edinburgh."

"Oh." Hermione blinked and slowly set down her saucer. "What's so grand about it? On a normal year, that is?"

Narcissa's cheeks brightened to a lovely pink, and her eyes glinted in a way they hadn't for two months. Hermione tucked her legs beneath her, decorum forgotten as Narcissa launched into a twenty-year history of the New Year's Eve Gala.

~*~

Finding a spell to cast a magical tattoo had been fairly straightforward. After narrowing down potential options, she had chosen the one that appeared the most flexible: a simple spell used on prisoners of war. There was no way to be sure if it was the same spell Nott Sr. had used, but it seemed receptive to a variety of enchantments.

By the third week of December, Hermione was ready to test a reconstructed version of the barrier and tattoos, but she needed a wand. And it was unlikely that Draco would be home anytime soon. She'd deduced that the situation in Switzerland had worsened, thanks to Skeeter's increasingly redacted reporting. Not to mention the strain around Narcissa's eyes.

As the war raged for Switzerland, the rest of the world slipped further into Voldemort's grip. Poland pledged support, followed by Austria. Two days later, the forty-three-year-old German Minister died of "natural causes." The Prophet had published his obituary next to an article on the new German Minister — a dear friend of Eleni Cirillo's.