The Art of War

If an injury has to be done to a man, it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared.
Sun Tzu, The Art of War

Failure after failure. She hadn't killed Draco, had done something she hadn't expected doing with anyone from that side. Her cat had been stolen. She had research, but none of the artifacts, Luna was missing, and it was going to be a least another week or two before the American university sent over their research for them. They might have some missing components that You-Know-Who hadn't thought of. She hoped. Dear god, she hoped so.

She sat outside of the room that was being used as a conference room for some of their higher-ups. These officials switched places quite a bit, changing between different safe houses, and often took turns looking after Harry. They also assessed the effectiveness of assets and what they were currently doing. The only thing she could confidently say was that she hadn't lost any of their agents, any members of the Order, on any of the jobs that she was in command of. That worked in her favor.

What didn't work in her favor was the simple fact that Malfoy was still running around and getting more things done. Her mind might have been more than a match for his, but he had far more resources. Freedom to walk around. If she wasn't disguised, there were those who would call in reports that they had seen her. Part of her wished she could use a disguise to get out of the conversation she'd have to have with the leadership.

They weren't happy. And if they found out about that damn mirror, they'd be even less happy. It was bad enough that they asked her where her cat was, and she had simply said he went missing after the last safe house raid. She didn't try to go after him, and while they had sympathy at first, they were clearly wondering if she was still cut out for the task.

Agents had sometimes been taken out of the field for a while. They would be put on healing or research duty and not allowed to go to do fieldwork. They were also the ones that more often than not eventually became canon fodder if a safe house had been taken. It twisted her stomach to think about it. All of the blood on all of their hands. How many Death Eaters had she killed or tortured in the last seven years?

Looking down at her hands in her lap, she flexed her fingers slowly. She wasn't the same woman she was when this war started. Innocence was lost, and while they weren't the only ones fighting, there were times when it felt like they were due to how so many things just continued business as usual for so many people.

Amos Diggory hadn’t meant to be here for this, but the other members of the leadership were busy with tasks of their own. Now he had to decide what to do with the witch that had once been considered the brightest of her generation.

“In,” he called in that harsh demand, making Wood stand a little straighter at his side. The days of smiles and formalities had long since passed. After Cedric’s death, he’d barely been able to maintain decorum. Seven years of a war that had left him without an heir had stripped him of any redeeming quality.

“Don’t bother sitting when you shut that door.”

The sharp demand had her tense as she stood up and strode into the room, closing the door behind her. She stood up straighter, tucking her hands behind her back and grasping her left wrist with her right hand, keeping her expression as calm as possible. Even as her heart hammered in her chest and her stomach twisted into knots.

“Malfoy is still alive. Your latest mission was a complete failure, and I’m now questioning if you have it in you to be in the field.” There was no pretense, no raised voice. Amos was stern and calm, but that didn’t mean he’d accept failure.

"A complete failure because they had apparently gotten to the artifacts before we'd even arrived. If you would like, the next time a researcher comes up, we can extract them ourselves and see if they'll be willing to work for us," she said simply, not raising her voice or sounding sharp but clearly not willing to take the criticism that she didn't belong in the field. She knew Amos would pull her if she didn't deliver results. Sooner rather than later.

"I can handle being in the field. I can get our agents through muggle society and help us get supplies that way. I've been invaluable in interrogations. I still have a week. We knew that Malfoy was going to be a difficult target. He always has been. I'm just as displeased at this development as you are," she attempted to assure him, not sparing a glance to Wood. She didn't want the help. The help would make her look weak if she couldn't handle this on her own.

The senior Diggory eyed her. Where his features had once been plump and filled with mirth, he was sunken and disgruntled. He seemed to consider her words, if only for a moment. If he had his way, she’d have been taken off the Malfoy case—a sentiment many had shared in the upper ranks.

“Wood’s come across some information. He’s willing to take you with him. Malfoy better be dead.”

"I would like nothing more than to have him removed from the board sooner rather than later. I'll make sure it's done," she said, not making excuses for herself. Which she hoped gained her some favor. Some did make excuses. She had heard them. And while she did agree with some of them (the other side had more resources, more numbers, were better fed, better outfitted), she wasn't going to start spouting them off as an excuse.

She glanced over at Wood when his name was mentioned, then back to Amos as she gave a nod. "Working with Wood would be a privilege, sir. Thank you. I'll do whatever is needed for our cause."

Apparently, except for the murder of a muggle. Her parents would have been proud to see some moral line being drawn by her again. If they ever remembered her again. They were safe. Safe and far away from all of this. It was for the best. At least if she died, they wouldn't grieve their only child. If Amos were any indication or Molly, they wouldn't handle it well.

Amos gave a growl and a nod. “Wood, she’s all yours,” he motioned them away. He had a few more things to do before he moved on to the next safe house. It was dangerous enough to have him and a few more leaders present under the same roof.

With an extended arm, Wood directed her towards the door so they could speak privately elsewhere. He led her down the hall to what was still a living room, though it looked half armory, half study hall.

“My next mission will have Draco present. If I have you doing your mission, it should be a walk in the park.” He began to explain.

That growl put her on edge. Failure wasn't an option, and her stomach knotted at the idea that she could fail here. She followed Wood without much hesitation at all. Better to be around the guy that she was close with than the leader who seemed to dislike her as much as he had grown to dislike Harry.

The remaining duo were symbols of hope, but those symbols of hope could easily be made martyrs. All to weave a narrative. And she was very familiar with it. Brushing her hair out of her face, she glanced up at Wood with a half smile. "Oh, good. I have so missed walks in the park," she attempted the small bit of humor before letting out a slow sigh.

"So. What are we doing, Wood?" Business. Had to be business now.

“Intercepting a foreign minister,” he responded as though it were the most normal of activities. “We’ve heard word the Dark Lord is inviting foreign dignitaries in order to spread his ideals. We’re going to try to stop it. It’s as much as I can give you without risking further,” he added.

Hermione gave a quick nod. It made sense. They had already blown the statute of secrecy wide open and were trying to spread it to the rest of Europe. "Foreign minister. Got it. No wonder Malfoy will be there."

Wood gave a smile at that. Even Draco Malfoy had predictable moves. This was a rare occasion to exploit. Small team, quick extraction. He had faith in her, which glimmered in his eyes as he met her gaze. Those warm chocolate hues that he’d come to appreciate.

“We leave in three hours. Think you’ll be ready?”

Everything felt short notice lately. Though he’d undoubtedly been planning for longer, he had expected one less death eater to the party by now.

His faith in her eased her shoulders as she looked up at him. "I can be. I'll go get what I need and make sure I'm ready to go," she promised.

Short notice was everything going on around them. They stood by to stand by and spent time trying to calculate when they shifted between safe houses.

A few hours later, their party was complete, assembling just on the outskirts of the meeting point by the dock. Diego Caplan had joined them. Beyond a skilled duelist, he offered a means to communicate with the Spanish delegate.

Alongside them, another familiar face remained close. Parvati had wanted nothing more than to hurt the side that had taken her sister from her. Vengeance coursing in her veins. She’d wanted blood, and though she never should have been cleared for it, she had passed every test she’d been put through.

Hermione had one of the smaller bags with her supplies and the extension charm attached to her belt. She was in all black, her hair tied back from her face and secured tightly. The charms on her bracelet clinked together as she stayed in the shadows, waiting patiently as she looked around, straining to hear or see anything from the approaching diplomat. London was a no-go and had been since the war had gotten more heated. But she hadn't expected this to be where You-Know-Who would pick.

She hadn't been to Godric's Hollow since the Christmas before the Battle of Hogwarts. And she'd had Harry with her. She looked toward the graveyard, half wanting to go and leave flowers on Lily and James Potter's graves for Harry's sake. Instead, she kept her expression blank even as she felt a slight ache in her chest. Even though she wasn't alone here, she felt alone.

After everything she had lost, to be back here again felt strange. Foreign and unwelcome. Despite that, she had a job and assured her superiors she would stop at nothing. It made her curious to know if Amos had known what being here might do to her and if he cared. West Country was still very much intact, as were a few other locations. Untouched by the filth of war and its ilk. Even the likes of Malfoy Manor had survived thanks to its geography. Larger cities, however, were often the sites that took the brunt of the hits.

Curfews and strictly enforced limitations had helped keep certain locations like Godric's Hollow relatively safe. It had become a capital of sorts, though the Dark Lord never made his way there, choosing his retreat near London while remaining far enough from ground zero.

The portkey was to arrive upon the hill three minutes after nine. There, a carriage, pulled by six abraxans, would carry diplomat and delegations of both parties to their meeting point.

Draco didn't like the pomp and pretense, but his master certainly did. Some days, he wondered if this was just a test. A means to punish him for failure by drawing a bullseye on his person. It didn't matter. Ever the diligent lieutenant, he had asked two of his loyal Death Eaters to bring the carriage while he awaited atop the hill.

Hermione turned her attention to Wood, waiting for his command. This was his show. But she saw one lone figure standing up on the hill. If it was Malfoy, she could likely draw him away. He wouldn't want the delegate to see him fighting someone. If she were a delegate, she would simply pick back up the portkey and return home after all.

"I can draw him off, keep him out of the way. Or are we waiting until the delegate shows up?" She asked quietly, glancing at Pavarti and Caplan before looking back to Wood. She'd listen to what commands he gave. He did have a higher ranking in the order than she did, even if that bothered her some days.

Wood nodded. "Go, fulfill your mission," he called in his Irish lilt. The lingering statement that they could celebrate later left between them in the void.

"Patil, you know what to do," he told the remaining twin before turning to Caplan. "You also know what to do, too," he added.

Offering him a brief smile, it was gone as soon as it was there as she strode through the shadows, making sure she was silent as death. Drawing her wand as she approached, she sent a brightly colored jinx flying by Draco's head, purposefully missing to get his attention. She needed to draw him away. And while she had no real plan as she had before to torture him, she had to make sure that he was dead by the end of this.

"Escort duty twice now, Malfoy?" She called.

His wand was in his hand as surely as he took a breath. Her voice was a song on the wind, though he did his best to remain stoic.

"Are you keeping track?" he drawled. "Could confuse it with obsession," he reminded her of her accusations.

His steps towards her were steady. If she was here, there were others, which would be a problem soon enough. One he had to take away from the drop while remaining close enough to catch up.

There was one advantage that Hermione had, and she hoped it was an actual advantage. She knew Godric's Hollow. She took steps slowly backward as she kept her eyes narrowed on him.

"Could just be keeping track of my job," she said sternly with a shrug of her shoulders before she cast another stunning hex towards him, slowly starting to draw him away.

A flick of the wrist sent her hex to the side, a riposte coming just as quickly as they slowly descended toward the village.

"Yes, your escort phase has been by far my favorite attempt," he retorted in that cold, condescending tone he could muster effortlessly. Hadn't she called him an escort? At least his version of it had merit. Though he supposed even whores needed a roof over their heads.

Godric's Hollow had received an upgrade. More buildings had been built, and a more vibrant nightlife had come to the once quiet village. It had grown into a hub for magical folk with similar tastes, or at least the sense to do so to survive.

Deflecting the hex with a flick of her wrist, she went for something more substantial. A stinging hex followed by a stunning hex. Her eyes remained on him as she snorted. "Was it? Glad my acting skills impressed then, I suppose," she drawled.

If he were like any other man, he'd be offended that she might have faked it. It might get him to get even more off-balance. She kept her gaze on him, knowing that Wood, Patil, and Caplan could handle anyone meant to help extract the diplomat.

She could hear some of the nightlife of the once-quiet village. She hoped they would stay inside as they heard things go off.

"Then I suppose I should thank your acting skills for cracking Miss Hamilton," he praised in an attempt to goad her, deflecting her spells. If he didn't know better, he'd think she wasn't actually trying to kill him. "Another artifact and more tidbits of information..." he taunted. "Crookshanks absolutely loves interrupting her research," he continued, throwing a few more curses her way.

Deflecting the curses, her eyes narrowed as she looked at him, and she cast the cruciatus curse at him once again. The fact that there was another artifact and more tidbits of information was something that infuriated her. But not as much as him having her cat and her cat cozying up to someone new.

"Glad to know my cat is finding entertainment," she drawled, her free hand spinning a long peacock feather in her hand before she tried the disarming spell. It had been far too long since she'd tried to disarm. All the while, she walked backward, getting closer to the village proper, trying to keep her wits about her as they drew closer to alleys.

The arc of red narrowly missed him. There she was. That killer instinct he had come to nearly respect. Of course, who Hermione Granger had been in his mind and the limitations she presented in turn, were two different women, he realized.

He retaliated with a curse to slash her, to make her bleed. It'd been too long since they'd properly played. Now, with neither hostage nor reason, they could resume a familiar cadence. And then she'd gone back to silly recourses.

"Disarming me, truly?" he recognized the color, the faint taste. "Even you deserve told to hold onto your wand until your dying breath, now..." How often had he envisioned her cold, frigid fingers in that final vice grip? It didn't help that she held a piece of Petrus. Perhaps she had learned something in their years of toeing this dance.

"That almost sounds like respect, Malfoy," she threw back as she deflected that curse before casting his godfather's curse back at him, trying to slash him open in much the same way as Harry had. Her expression more cold and distant again.

She did snort a little, though. "The only thing you deserve is a hole in the ground," she shot back easily before casting a deterioration hex, wanting to lessen his stamina so she might stand a better chance of taking him out this time.

"Fucking you was as close as I'm willing to get," he retorted, nostrils flaring at the audacity of her to use that curse. When he shot back, it was a tendril of unforgivable hate she would soon recognize.

As she cast another curse, one that would slice through him like the one she had managed to get on him on their fight before the bought of executions. But that hex left her open to the tendril of garnet she was far too familiar with. And she didn't have time to deflect it.

In a mix of shock and pain, she screamed. Her hand tightened on her wand, and her legs nearly gave out as her body went rigid, her teeth biting down into her bottom lip to hold back any other sounds of pain. The peacock feather fluttered out of her hand.

His shoulder flared with a cut, but he gripped his wand tighter and, with it, his resolve. As much as he wanted to summon that damn feather, he merely stepped forward, tearing into her with pain and anger. The way those teeth dug into her lower lip, her limbs angling and struggling against the ground. He'd be lying if he wasn't reveling in it.

"I do so love to hear you scream," his words were a purr he doubted she could hear.

As that pain persisted, her legs did give out beneath her, her screams muffled as she bit into her bottom lip hard enough to cut open her bottom lip. Her body writhed as she tried to lock her muscles to keep from moving. Her body burned in pain, wanting to writhe to try and escape the pain.

She saw his mouth moving and could only imagine what he was saying, glaring up at him through the pain. If she could get her muscles to obey...the blade tucked inside of her jacket would help her get out of this hell.

Did she realize how absolutely delightful she looked in such a state? Disheveled and writhing on cobblestone. He might not have drawn all the delicious parallels if he hadn't had her another way. It seemed, either way, he had a way of making this particular insurgent scream and practically beg.

He was so caught in his thoughts he had barely registered his original mission. A blast in the distance caused his spell to break and his sights to rise on the hill. Darkness kept most of the ongoings out of sight, but he saw the exchanges of firepower being dealt. The carriage had long since vanished, but a few figures remained in an intense duel.

After years of suffering under that curse, she was able to recover more quickly as he lost focus. She took in a ragged breath, looking up at him as she drew the knife she had tucked inside of the jacket she wore. Pushing herself up from her knees, she tackled the blond with full force.

If he wasn't distracted, she was sure she wouldn't have been able to take him down even with the momentum. But as it was, it brought them both down to the ground with her on top of him, knees on either side of his hips as she pressed that knife to his throat, her wand raised to his face, she panted, burning hatred shining in her eyes.

As she bore down on him, though, she could feel the strain in his trousers. It gave her pause for a moment before she actually chuckled, an almost mocking amusement in her eyes. "I wonder what your Master would say if he knew that you lusted after the mudblood you're meant to kill," she taunted, pressing that knife into his throat, drawing a thin line of blood, more than he had drawn from her in that club.

Chin in the air, he eyed her with a steely resolve. He’d been prepared for many retaliations and verbal ripostes, but then she was straddling him, a shift of her hips that had left them both highly aware of his predicament.

“So long as you wriggle,” he hissed. “I couldn’t give much of a damn.” It was more honest than he’d wanted it to be, but enough to grip his wand and flip them so she lay beneath him.

“He certainly wasn’t pleased,” he looked over her with a mixture of hate and lust. He rolled his hips against her. “Perhaps death is too kind for you,” he dug his knee into her wand wrist, where he pinned her with the motion.

Shock was visible on her face at his honest admission. She had expected a strike back, mentioning how it was just his body reacting but not specifically to her. It had allowed the opening for him to roll and flip them.

Her back hit the cobblestones, momentarily knocking the air out of her. As he rolled his hips against her, her breath hitched involuntarily. Glaring at him with more hatred than anything else, she winced a little as his knee dug into her wand wrist. She tried to flex her wand hand, trying to get something, but she still held the knife up against his throat, though he could move away from it. If she wanted, she'd be able to slice him.

"Too kind?" She hissed incredulously.

“Kind,” he repeated as if he hadn’t considered an alternative that plagued his mind. “There are far worse fates,” he gripped her other wrist and forced her away from his throat. As much as he wanted to force it back down on her, his sliced shoulder made the motion too great a risk.

"Like being tortured to death? I made my peace with that," she snarled at him, trying to tug her wand arm out from under his wrist. The constant feeling of his hard length pressed between her thighs made her want to get away. Made her want to feel more. Something was wrong with her. Horribly wrong with her.

A crack resounded beside him. Nott, he recognized from the mask he wore. “We lost the delegate, but we got two of them.”

This war was snapping something inside of her, breaking a piece of her. Hearing Nott's voice, she started to smirk, about to try and push that knife back into Draco's side. If she killed him and then got killed by Nott, at least they'd have an advantage again.

Draco felt that surge of anger, stripping Hermione from her knife to bring the blade under that mask at his throat.

“Give me one damn good reason not to bleed you like a pig.” The coldness of his voice was palpable.

Theodore held back a swallow to avoid cutting himself on the sharp metallic edge digging into his throat. “It’s Wood. We’ve got Wood.”

As he took that knife from her to point that blade at Nott, she felt cold dread rush through her at that admittance. Bloody hell. Wood.

Without hesitation, she struck Malfoy in the solar plexus, trying to cause enough pain to knock him off of her, bucking her hips. She had to try and get him back. Even if they succeeded here by getting the delegate, losing Wood would get her in even hotter water.

That hit in that same spot was getting old. Even with the precautions he took beneath his robes to dampen her outbursts, it still always knocked air and sense out of him. In his attempt to shirk from her first, he had sliced through Nott and cursed under his breath as a familiar sticky warmth coated his hand.

It seemed Wood was important after all, and not just because of what he’d overheard. It sounded like they had work to do, and once again, the Gryffindor princess would take a back burner.

With a searing hex, he cauterized Nott’s neck and side apparated them out of Godric’s Hollow down a nearby alley. From there, he checked the wound before returning them to the manor with the rest of their crew to get a full report.

As soon as Draco cauterized that wound, she was about to try and curse him before he apparated with Nott. It left her on the ground, trying to catch her breath. A bruise bloomed on her wrist, going up her arm from his knee and leg, pressing down into her. She was going to be covered in bruises again.

Pushing herself up off the ground, she cursed. She'd have to make a report that he got the drop on her. But she had caused damage to him. Amos Diggory would be livid and blame her for the failure even when she hadn't been near Oliver for this to have happened. "Damn it all," she swore before apparating back to the rendezvous point. Knowing that she'd be exiled to the same lone safe house again.

At least she sort of had the damned peacock for company.