The Art of War

“The whole secret lies in confusing the enemy, so that he cannot fathom our real intent.”
Sun Tzu, The Art of War

Years of practice delving into the minds of Death Eaters to get intel had led her to this. She hadn't gotten to dig into his mind but once, and it was a brief glance before he got away. He was far too good to be allowed free reign if she was trying to get into his head. The depths of his mind were a labyrinth. Designed to help him keep He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named from reaching every piece of him she was sure. But that didn't mean that she'd hit a dead end.

She stood before him, her wand at the ready while one hand framed his face as she forced her way in, prying between cracks that were likely as much of a trap as the execution had been but he did tend to underestimate her. He often did. And when he did that he left himself open to small snippets of weakness. It was why he was still healing from a wound she inflicted, and she had gotten away.

It was shadowy in his mind, the memories and information not unfolding for her just yet, but she focused. What she wanted was intel on items that he and his master were looking for. Or what Death Eaters like him did he and You-Know-Who find the most valuable? Those would be their next targets.

Those fingers in his hair weren’t as rough as he’d envisioned. Then again, the feel of her slipping through. Forcing her way in. It wasn’t as delicate as it could be. Ever the intrusion.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

He could recall Severus and Bellatrix’s trainings. He doubted either would have approved of his applications, but then again he was still alive. They weren’t.

Every moment was crucial. As he tried to keep control, he also revised the runes he had witnessed. They whispered in his ear. Ansuz. Perthro. Ehwas. Two, he understood. He was here until he spoke the truth. A singular truth. In a lifetime of lies, he found it was harder to come by. Though often, truths hurt far worse than lies.

Though his faculties were returning, he remained calm. Focused on his breathing. In. Out. In. Out.

Something valuable. There it was. There she was. His mind shifted as though to shield the information. Creating paths she could follow. It didn’t matter which she chose. She would be stuck there for a moment.

Hermione hated how skilled he was at this. Whoever taught the other Death Eaters was slipping or wanted her to dig out the weak ones. That was one thing she hated about the Death Eaters that remained and continued to persist like a pestilence. They learned. And they adapted. Not as well as he did though.

She remembered pulling lessons from Harry's mind about how Snape had worked. It helped guide her now. Her hand tightened in his hair.

He would figure things out eventually. And something that could break his focus would work. She'd done this on the few people that she had to work harder to break.

Letting out a slow breath, she loosened a second spell from her mind. The cruciatus curse. His aunt had been a good teacher on that one. Demonstrating the power of intent. And now she always meant it. But she could feel that valuable piece of information. It has her pressing more savagely into his mind.

Her earlier ministrations had been a gamble. He could have seized her, kept her there. Ensnared her. And then the pain had entered him. Tensing his muscles. He could feel her fire as it licked him.

His mind shut down firmer. It was survival. If it hadn’t been for the binds or the chair he might have met the ground.

Retreat this complete came at a cost. He was out cold, leaving her no thoughts to peruse. Merely a set or muscles reacting to a curse he’d held his fair share of.

She was livid as she felt that presence draw away. She cursed but kept her focus, kept her patience. Lingering in his mind as she dropped the cruciatus curse so that he might come back to his mind. If she could manage to actually get something out of him, something useful, then she could easily gain the excuse of taking him with her to continue this game.

Hermione wanted every useful piece of information that lurked inside his mind. Wanted to pull him apart and unravel everything that made him the monster he was now. Once, he had been a boy she had pitied and felt bad for. Now he was You-Know-Who's feral dog that needed to be put down. But not before she found at least one weak point of his master's.

Ache. A dull ache overtook his shoulders as cognizance returned. She was still there with every breath he took. Poking, prodding, searing.

“Not much to take from the unconscious,” he reminded. Not if they’re accomplished. the thought came along. How the mighty had fallen. Of course, there was always the possibility she had been held in there, forced to wait and bide her time.

“Does it make you feel powerful?” His voice was cold and composed. As undeniable as winter. The season couldn’t be faulted for the destruction blanketed under its cover of frost. “Even if you’d found it, your communication rune requires me to voice it, doesn’t it?” She could have used one for thoughts, but it came at the cost of added shields which he would have drawn from. Runes weren’t personal. Not truly. “Tell me, did you add a time contingency? Do you have to speak true too?” He questioned her work, and haunted her as he efficiently made his calculations. She wanted to know what the Dark Lord was looking for. There were many things. Some of which even he wasn’t privy to.

She didn't say anything out loud, not wanting to break her own concentration. He was accomplished; she'd give him that much. But his accomplishments made her own look like a seaside retreat if they were talking about the war. Not that she'd ever actually talk to him like he was a person.

She wasn't sure Draco Malfoy even was an actual person anymore. But he was wrong. The communication rune required him to speak a truth. The fact he hadn't figured that out yet was something she was pleased with. This amazing memory of hers was something she reveled in. Not that power. This made her feel useful, like she was accomplishing something that would help people. Power was their goal, not hers.

Hermione took a calculated risk of letting herself relax like she was to start disengaging before digging through his mind again. She felt that thought. Many things that He was looking for. And she could see murky thoughts of what was there. She could riddle it out with that distorted image, but she wanted it clear as crystal.

There it was. Unsatiable curiosity, he could feel her digging for it, reaching for a memory he did his best to shield. The force of her was certainly not what he had expected, and yet, who was she to rifle through his mind?

Further and further, he led her until she was right where he wanted her to be. When he made the memory clear, the slightest perk pulled at the corner of his lips.

“Do you really think you have anything to show me?” He didn’t have to explain himself. Compared to the Dark Lord and some of his relatives' abilities in the matter, who was this war-ridden survivalist to even attempt?

His mind clamped down harder on the tendril of her inside of him. He held her there so he could work a hand out of his bindings.

That slight clearing of the memory was what enticed her the most as she dug in. So deeply into his mind that she didn't realize he was wrapping around her consciousness like a snake.

She didn't answer at first, almost snarling as he clamped down on her mind, trying to hold her there. That one memory would be enough to get things rolling with her people and would allow her to keep torturing him if he didn't manage to slip through her fingers like smoke.

He forgot one thing as he clamped down on her mind, making her writhe like a cat caught in a trap: his mind would lock up as soon as she used the cruciatus curse.

Rather than doing it wordlessly, her voice was a venom-filled snarl as she cast. "Crucio!"

The pain. It struck like lightning. Red, angry iron seizing him. It was such a pity they were so intimately connected. He never did know what would happen if he kept her with him, clamped down, and retreated. Would part of her mind be his? Would she befall the same fate? He’d never mixed such things, not wanting to find out for himself what it would do to him. This was a moment to learn like any other, he supposed. Though his motions behind his back were hindered by the brace of his body arching in any space it had, he didn’t let go of her, his jaw tensing as he met her gaze with ice and fury.

Her own brown eyes glared into his pale ones with such wrath and rage that she poured into the curse. The grip she held on his hair tightened, and she attempted to make it worse for him. She needed to get out of his head. Needed to break it so she would be able to knock him out and have more time to actually torture and dig and get more out of the bastard. All of that golden optimism was gone from her as she glared at him. All that remained was that burning determination and hatred.

Something shifted in those molten hues of hers. Darkness he had come across on their occasional encounter. Between the pain and her insufferable determination, he had to make a choice. Just before succumbing to his fail-safes, he did his best to not merely push her out, but shove her back in every sense of the word.

She hated him. It was him, the Death Eaters, and that stupid immortality-obsessed moron that had ruined everything. Everyone's lives. The way their country worked. The statute of secrecy. All of it was their fault. It had her focusing more intently on the curse, making it worse before that blast sent her flying backward.

Though darkness overtook him before he met the ground, it wasn’t without pushing her off. Everything had an equal and opposite reaction. Like lightning between them, they were blasted away. His chair collapsed on the ground. His entire back would pay if he…when he made it out. No. He hadn’t lost yet. Even in his unconscious state, he refused defeat. Though his arms were pinned beneath him, wood pieces angling him in odd manners, his binds had loosened the slightest bit.

"Bloody hell," she groaned as she pushed herself up. Casting the curse again, she did notice the broken binds. She'd have to recast that as soon as possible. "Aren't you tired of this game? I'm sure you're tired. Or bored. Or do you still crave bloodshed and pain?" She couldn't help the cold taunts even if she wanted to, she needed to get the venom out now so she could be collected again later.

Her words were distant, deafened by the pulse that dimmed his hearing. Teeth grinding, she held back the sounds she likely sought from him. Compared to his late aunt and master, he could feel those lacks. Still, the pain was there, contorting his limbs as though it could bring some relief. Her anger was bitter on his tongue with a metallic hint.

“The one where you fail to kill me? Or get anything of value?” He demanded, spitting on the floor.

From the ground, he looked up at her. As if seeing her for the first time. A new facet to uncover.

“He’s looking into mound builders. Fascinating stuff.” It was vague but true. He didn’t care. It was everywhere and nowhere. Archaic magic that predated the written word. The Dark Lord had him chasing ghosts, and why not get her to do the work for him?

As he spat while he writhed, she glared down at him as she shifted her wand in her hand. Her concentration broke for only a moment as he spoke that truth.

His gaze flicked to the runes, wondering if he could make his exit now.

One of the runes glowed faintly, the inscriptions starting to fade. Fuck. It wasn't enough to break everything down so she had some time. But he remembered more than she would have thought. Underestimating him was never a good idea. Even if she hated him.

"Truly," she drawled before aiming another stunning curse. His wand was too close to him, though. She should have summoned his wand to her first. Damn it.

The stun hit the ground where his shoulder had been moments prior. Wand in hand, he was there, then he was gone. He didn’t leave far. Not yet.

Reappearing behind her, he held the tip against her neck. Lips at her ear, he murmured on final truth. “Not bad, Granger. Maybe next time, you’ll stand a chance.”

The feel of wood at her neck made her skin prickle. His warm breath on her ear made her skin crawl as she hissed and slammed her elbow back into his stomach as the runes faded.

Oh, fuck. The fact she had snippets of information would be better than nothing. She was going to get a talking to about taking her time with him. She could feel it in her bones as she started to spin around, knowing that he would flee as soon as he could now. Damn him.

His laughter hung in the air before disapparating with a purposely loud crack. He wondered if she stiffened at the whip sound as he returned home. He would have to brace himself for his master’s wrath.