The Art of War

“"Those skilled at making the enemy move do so by creating a situation to which he must conform; they entice him with something he is certain to take, and with lures of ostensible profit they await him in strength.”
Sun Tzu, The Art of War

After hours of chatter with the academic, he had convinced her to join him. It wasn't every day one had access to one of the most well stocked libraries in the wizarding world, and his collection had grown with the changes in political tide. She'd been settled in lavish quarters with full access to his books. Crookshanks was around, which had seemed to ease the redhead. He had to imagine this was all...strange for her. Either way, she had information that might be useful. It was the only reason he would fathom a muggle at the Manor. He just hoped she kept to herself, and didn't stray. Even he wasn't aware of just what lurked in every shadow, even less how his men would take to her presence. He could only protect her so much.

Mirror in hand, he paced his study, that fat orange cat huffing gruffly behind him.

"I just fed you," he shot to the cat accusingly, pausing only to have its large head ram his shin. With a sigh, he pat his desk expectingly and waited for the animal to jump before giving him the scritches it seemed to long for. "If shaving you wouldn't leave you looking like a lion, I'd consider it," he huffed at the cat.

He hadn't heard anything for days nor caught a glimpse of her chocolate gaze. Pocketing the mirror, he walked out onto the balcony and felt a shift in the air. And then there had been a scream from his peacocks.

Within minutes, he was at the scene, a white feather on the ground, a single galleon left atop it. With a whistle, he called his peacocks to heel and paused. Of all the three, he knew exactly which one was missing. The larger albino avian he had come to know as Petrus.

With a flick of his wand, he lifted feather and gold, leading it back to his home where he could analyze it—the rest of the night had been spent studying the coin. Though the feather was merely a message, there was magic imbued in the coin. His diagnostic spells only offered so much. He knew of some of the charms but wasn't quite certain what to make of it. He pocketed it.
Nott and Blaise had asked for a night in, and he'd joined them, anything to stop thinking of his lost bird.

“Come on, it’s not like you can’t get another,” Nott said. “You hated that bird.”

And though he certainly had had times when the peacocks of the Malfoy gardens had scared him, he had stopped being that petulant child a long time ago.

“Not the point,” he gritted through his teeth.

“She got on the property, Theo,” Blaise said. “That’s what this is about,” he pointed to the disgruntled Draco Malfoy sat among them.

Malfoy tried to keep himself in check. “You’re right, she did, so which one of you should I consider blaming it on?”

At that moment, the galleon warmed in his pocket. Not enough to harm, but enough to get a person's attention. Hermione Granger had kept her master galleon for the Dumbledore's Army meetings and felt that this would be the best way to handle the theft of her animal. Stealing one of his.

The numbers on the galleon changed to show the day's current date and a time an hour from now. The galleon stayed warm longer, just in case he didn't manage to have it in his pocket.

As he drank deep, he felt that heat. It wasn't so much down his throat as it was over his heart. Reaching in his pocket, he disinterestedly looked at the piece of gold currency while Blaise and Nott made some plea for clemency.

The flip of the coin had Blaise's eyebrow give a slight twitch as he watched that coin curiously, though as Draco kept speaking, he grimaced, sharing a look with Nott.

"Just make sure it doesn't happen again," he flipped the coin. "Or we can play heads or tails to see which one of you I do decide to punish..." he drawled, looking between the pair of them. The dirty blond and the swarthy man both eying him with what he could only assume was fear. Good.

Once out the door he returned to his quarters and changed. He had an hour to meet his peacock's captor. Her. It had to be her. Who else would have been so petty? Now alone, he could see the message for what it was. An invitation. He could practically feel her through that piece of metal.

Always punctual, Hermione had the mirror propped up on a desk so her face could be seen in it, and she was there ten minutes before the hour. She was pouring over the research that she did have, having sent copies to Kingsley but kept some for herself.

The peacock was contained. Piece of work that it was. It had pecked her hand, and she had a bandage wrapped around it. It seemed to have calmed down after giving it some food and space. For now.

"A damn peacock of all birds," she muttered to herself with a shake of her head, brushing her fingers through her frizzy brown hair. What she wouldn't give for a hot shower and some hair potion to better contain the locks again...

Draco left the mirror upside down on his desk, taking a deep drink from a fine crystal tumbler. He still debated giving her the attention she sought. She was alive; surely she couldn't expect more?

Finally, a few minutes after her demand, he propped up the mirror, seeing her in it.

"Afraid you'll lose your panties again if we meet face to face?" he asked in silken accusation.

Hermione raised a brow as she saw his face in the mirror. Well, at least he wasn't terribly late. She doubted the peacock was as valuable to him as Crookshanks was to her.

"I think the only one of us still thinking about that is you, Malfoy." Lie. But at least she had a cool expression, and she was rather certain it would be harder to tell she was lying through the mirror.

"If you say so," he shrugged.

Leaning back in her seat, a simple chair in a relatively sparse room of this safe house, she crossed her arms over her chest. "Do you name your guard birds or are they simply there for status."

"Given his failure, Amandine sounds about right," he drawled, suggesting he would do something as horrendous as cook one of his peacocks. "It's Petrus, if you must know," he added nonchalantly.

Raising a brow at that, she wasn't sure if he was being serious or not. She would believe almost anything of him. "Interesting. And are you fond of the peacock? Your guard on the birds is incredibly lax."

If he were paranoid, he'd slip. If he thought that she could get in and out as she wished, he'd get more unhinged. At least, she hoped so. Someone that was angry or desperate could slip up. And he had been doing that to her enough that it was time to switch it up.

"The birds are the damn guards," he hissed, running a hand through his hair to smooth his anger out. No, she wouldn't get a rise. "Unless you plan to strip for me, I don't see the point of this," he motioned to flip the mirror.

Hearing that hiss, she actually smiled a little bit, feeling pleased for himself. However, that offhand comment had her raise a brow. "First, you bring up my knickers, then you bring up me stripping. And before that, you stole my cat. Someone's obsessed."

It was a goad, not expecting an actual rise from that. But she shook her head. "If you want your pretentious bird back, I want my cat."

Draco laughed, taking the mirror rather than ending the call. "Are you really that selfish?" he demanded, marching over to his study where her cat lazily rested, limbs dangling off a deep emerald velvet settee he had claimed for his own. "Do you even have the means to feed your captive," he reminded wickedly. He couldn't imagine her side had an interest in keeping his bird alive, even less to take care of it.

Hermione raised a brow at that. "Selfish? To want my cat back that you stole, Malfoy?" Her voice was colder at that moment. Laughing. He was laughing at her. Seeing Crookshanks, though, gave her a moment's pause. He was comfortable. Actually being spoiled like the old cat deserved. It tugged at something inside of her. She hadn't been able to provide something like that for him for years.

The reminder about feeding the bird actually had her shrug coldly. "For the moment your bird is fine. Fed. Contained." A pain in her ass that hurt her hand. It was a beautiful creature. Not that she thought the Malfoys cared much for beauty if it wasn't useful.

"I have very few things left that are mine in this world, Malfoy. Not that you would understand that in the least. My cat belongs with me." Even if she felt a pang of guilt at the idea of taking him away from being the spoiled house cat he deserved to be. No. He wasn't that because of them.

There it was, the vulnerability. Did she realize how delicious it was? Every word she spoke painted a canvas of desperation he hadn't quite expected. Not from her. He could work with that.

"For someone who tried to liberate elves, you certainly are possessive over the non-verbal," he tooled with her wickedly. "You want him; you'll have to come get him." It was easier to push her than to think of Petrus.

Glaring at him through the mirror at that comment, she wanted to curse him. But she shook her head. "I'm not so eager to be killed or tortured, Malfoy."

"You've been the only one trying to do those things lately," he recalled their last few encounters. "In front of muggles, no less. Shameless." Oh, he wouldn't let that one go. Friendly fire, especially from her. He liked how deep he got under her skin.

"It's not like the Statute of Secrecy is still in effect. Muggles know about us. Percy is even making a magical curriculum at Oxford," she drawled. That intel had gone to her side as well. It wasn't the most important intel she could have gotten. But it was something. "But I'm not naive enough to think I could prance into the Manor, scoop up my cat, and leave. Torture. Execution. Or I'd be imperiused. I'm not a fool."

Now, that was quite the idea. An imperiused Hermione Granger. It had a few ideas bubble beneath the surface. "I...have to go," he said. "This was nice, let's try it again sometime," he taunted, not meaning a single word.

"Malfoy. My cat." She insisted, but there was a crack in her hard demeanor. She wanted, no, she needed, to have her cat back. "I will make sure the rest of those damn birds are taken off your property and any replacements as well if you do not give me back my cat..." She tried to sound firm, but after losing everything else with no end in sight for this damn war...she needed the orange ball of fluff.

His name gave the slightest shiver down his spine. How delicious to hear that failure in her tone. He left her to threaten the inside of a wooden box that only opened to his touch.

He moved to scratch Crookshanks behind the ear. "I think you've just earned yourself some caviar," he praised gently before going to the library. He had preparations to make.