The Art of War

“In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity”
Sun Tzu, The Art of War

In a clearing, deep in the woods not too far from Malfoy Manor, Oliver Wood hung limply in the air. A means to display his status as still a member of the living, and yet how precarious of an event it was. Draco had carefully placed his men. Some were hidden, two in plain sight as they awaited their due.

A life for a life. It wasn’t every day they allowed such a thing, but then, Draco seldom lost on the exchange rate.

There was no need to restate the rules of engagement. They would send Hermione over, and they could retrieve Oliver Wood. It was merely a bonus to see Petrus in the distance.

Being this close to the Manor had her skin crawl. Her scars felt like they itched but she knew it was just her mind focusing on what had been done here before. Nothing like when Harry's scar had prickled, burned, or ached. And yet she walked along, her head held high. She was supposed to speak to those that were trading Oliver and then the exchange would be made.

There had to be another Portkey that was going to bring the agent to be traded. What Death Eater did they have that they could possibly want? How valuable an asset when compared to Wood? Didn't matter. Already above her paygrade since she knew what was to happen to her next.

The damn peacock remained glued to her side, not even darting forward as it saw Malfoy in the distance. It seemed more interested in looking out for her.

"Your damn bird is clingy," she snapped, her arms crossing over her chest as she glanced at Wood suspended in the air and then back at Malfoy with cold hatred burning in her brown eyes.

Draco looked over her shoulder at the man who had brought them. He’d expected a number of higher rankings, but not Amos Diggory himself. It almost made him want to rescind his offer and end him on the spot.

“I tried to warn you,” he retorted dispassionately, motioning for Zabini to start leading Wood’s hanging body back to their enemy.

When Oliver was halfway to Amos, Petrus spread his wings and deflected a curse aimed at the witch. His witch. It made his blood boil. His silver gaze darkened, needing to control the situation before investing himself further.

Watching Zabini start to lead Wood back towards Amos, she was about to say something before the curse was aimed at her back and deflected by the bird. It had her spin around, her hair whipping as she stared at Amos Diggory in open shock. He hadn't just....but he had. He had attempted that.

“Time to go pet,” he gripped her and the small coin that would bring them back to the manor. He couldn’t risk splinching her. The others and his bird could make it back on their own.

As Malfoy's hand wrapped around her wrist, her attention snapped back to him. "Pet?!" She snarled incredulously before it all dawned on her. Her. She was the exchange. Obsessed, she had said. Clearly she had no idea. And in her being 'captured', she would inspire others to flock to the insurgency. Harry would be livid. Would be willing to do anything they said to try and help his friend. Or avenge her.

"...No..." her voice was a hiss of horror before she drew her wand, attempting to curse anyone close to her. If they wanted her, they were going to pay for it.

Draco gripped her wrist, digging his fingers into the flesh to make her drop her seize on the length of wood.

“I will be keeping this,” he plucked her wand and pocketed it. He let her take in her surroundings, the change in location. “These are my quarters. Stay here, and you’ll be safe. Leave them, and I cannot guarantee your survival.” He wasn’t about to repeat himself, not when he had to leave. “We can go over whatever anger you’ve decided to aim my way when I’m done teaching your…friends some manners.”

Hermione gasped, the pressure he put on her wrist making her surrender her wand. And shame and anger burned through her. If she had known that she was part of the exchange, she would have had one of those potions on her. Better dead than giving them anything. How much information did she have in her own head that would be useful?

Draco didn’t bother staying for whatever witty retort she might have, returning to the fray. With some luck, they’d kill Wood and still manage their bargain.

He was gone as soon as he warned her. Leaving her in his quarters. His rooms. Not this house again. She would not be trapped in this damnable manor again. And with her able to move around the manor freely, even without her wand, she'd risk it.

Drawing a knife out of her boot, she took in a slow breath, composing herself, before she slowly exhaled as she approached the door. "....I don't listen to you, Malfoy," she grumbled under her breath with such venom that she wished he could hear it as she opened the door to his rooms and strode down the hall.

The first Death Eater she saw got that knife into his shoulder. And while she had seen Nott for just a moment, he apparated not too long after that. Just as more Death Eaters came into the hall from the shout of the first one.

She had no idea how many of them were here. Nor did she care. This was a death sentence or a sentence that would get her tortured. She wasn't about to just roll over and let that be the end of her story.

“Look what we have here,” Warrington called, looking over the brunette.

“Seems we have a guest…” another dark-haired one jeered.

“We should make sure she’s comfortable,” a dirty blond motioned to a set of doors that lead to a large guest room.

"Over my dead body. Or yours," she hissed the words, moving forward swiftly to swipe at them with that sharp knife. Without her wand, she was a lot more defenseless than she would want. More at their mercy. And she hated it. She'd have to damage their dominant arms or their hands first. And even then, she'd be overwhelmed eventually. But she'd make them bleed first.

Determination and hatred burned in her eyes, and her mouth curled into a sneer as she struck.

Drawing blood had only caused more strife, and before long, her knife was on the floor, as she was taken through the doors. Slicing charms and more painful hexes to compensate with her lack of compliance under an attempted imperius.

With two of the death eaters holding her down on the mattress, another tore at her shirt, exposing her.

The witch thrashed, cursing them and trying to tug at her wrists. The bruises were already blooming. Cuts bloomed on her own body, blood rolling down her fair skin. But not nearly as bloody as they were. She had struck deep. Several of them would be scarred. And as they tore through her shirt, exposing the bra beneath, she kicked the one over her in the face.

"Go to hell!" She snarled, her hair a mess across the bed. She felt lucky she was in pants, and her nails dug into the arms, holding her down to the mattress.

"Filthy Mudblood," Warrington hissed, backhanding her as the other wizard tried to recover from the kick to the face, blood gushing down his nose.

Draco hadn’t inflicted half as much damage as he’d hoped to when he’d returned to the Manor. No sooner had he closed up a duel, that Nott had been on his heels.

“She escaped…”

The words had been enough to have him arrive in the foyer with a deafening crack of apparition before Blaise was on his heels with even worse news.

Wand out he pulled on the wards of his home, placing every soul in that room at his mercy. Forcing them still as he threw Warrington and Pucey to the side. They were still before he even made it to the room in question, drawn by the spells that gave him dominion on his ancestral home.

“This is my guest,” he spoke clearly, the eyes of the six death eaters around the witch filling with fear.

With a flick of his wand he covered her with his cloak, avoiding touching her, yet needing to shield her.

That backhand had her head forced to the side. She could feel it throbbing. And yet she almost spun her head to bite into that hand before others were tugged away from her, and she heard Malfoy's voice. The cloak covering her was a surprise, it flickering in her eyes for just a moment before she wrapped it around herself tightly, glaring at each man in the room in turn.

“Stand,” his gaze met hers, silently beckoning her closer.

Getting off that bed, she rubbed at the side of her face before she spun around and punched Warrington right in that broken nose, causing him to scream and more blood to gush from him as she strode over to Draco, shaking the blood off of her hand with utter contempt. Though the way she considered him, it was like she was wondering if she should punch the blond as well.

Draco made no motion to stop her when she hit Warrington once more. When she was at his side, he drew on those runes again to bring all six to their knees.

“You’ll apologize. We’ll see to your punishments later,” he spat, having no issue exercising his will. Especially so close to his wing where the wards were strongest.

Watching all of them fall to their knees, she almost arched a brow but simply glared as quiet choruses of halfhearted, whimpered, or hissed apologies that left them.

“Clean this mess, and yourselves, and be scarce.” He added before gripping her shoulder to lead her straight back to the sitting room he’d initially brought her to.

Rage continued to burn through her before she was gripped and led back to the sitting room of his quarters again. Crossing her arms over her chest, she scoffed. Not even looking at the bags she had abandoned on the ground.

“Are you trying to die?” Demanded once the doors were closed.

"I'm already dead. I'm here." She seethed. Under all of that anger, there was fear as her heart hammered in her chest.

“Very much alive,” he pointed out. “I’ve no intention of making you a martyr,” he poured two glasses of Firewhiskey.

"So you'll torture me and make me wish I was dead. What was it you said? Death might be too kind for me?" Keeping her arms crossed over her chest, she glared at him, not daring a glance to the firewhiskey and not reacing out to take one.

He set the tumbler down on a small table across from her. “I meant it when I said I don’t plan to kill you. And now, you technically no longer have orders to kill me…” he noted carefully.

Hermione snorted, ignoring the table, refusing to sit, and keeping her arms crossed over her chest. "Torturing me isn't killing me," she pointed out carefully, watching him with narrowed eyes. "And if I still want to kill you?"

“And what? Go back to the very people eager to get rid of you?” He demanded. “Perhaps I miscalculated your will to live…”

She bristled as she glared at him. "Pretty sure killing you and any of them in your house would have me welcomed back," she almost growled the words, but she deflated just a little bit. Her shoulders dropping. They tried to kill her. That damn bird had saved her. She owed her life to an angry and clingy peacock. Great. "I want to live. I don't exactly have a death wish." Partial lie. Her wish was to take out as many Death Eaters as possible if she was going to die.

Draco scoffed at her statement. “They’ll never take you back, and you know it,” he retorted. How many life debts had they racked against each other. He’d guessed too many for either of them to succeed. He drew closer to her. “I obviously can’t give you free rein here, but there might be a way to ensure our mutual survival and allow you to maintain that freedom you so crave…”

Hermione watched him warily as if he truly was a snake about to strike rather than try to offer her anything. He'd saved her life. He hadn't killed her multiple times now when he had the chance. Obsession. It was what had continually gone through her head every time he had brought things up in regard to her attempted assassination of him. it had been stupid. It had gotten them into hotter water. And it had cracked something in her she didn't know could crack if she genuinely did enjoy how he had touched her—something she was denying even to herself.

"You can't give me anything. Any freedom you give me is at the cost of selling out more of my friends. The freedom of wandering your wing of your bloody manor. A cage." She grumbled, not having any idea of what he could be trying to allude to as he drew closer. The closer he got, though, the more her shoulders tensed again.

“Unless…” he began and stopped himself. “You’re right, even you wouldn’t go so far…well I suppose you’ll find comfort in Crookshanks in your gilded incarceration…” he began pulling away.

She seethed. "Unless what, Malfoy?"

“There’s only one type of magic that can ensure our mutual success but it comes at the cost of our mutual demise,” he said meeting her gaze. “The kind of freedom you seek comes with a steep price.”

"Are you going to dance around what you're hinting at for much longer or are you hoping I'll guess at something?" She snapped, her gaze meeting his with that same heated anger it always seemed to hold towards him. "Spit it out or let me see my damn cat."

He clenched her jaw and kept her close. “Be my wife,” he whispered. “You’ll never want for anything, my name alone can open every door you can imagine wanting open. Purely convenience,” he added before she got any ideas. “All I ask is your cooperation."

The words were enough to make her eyes widen incredulously as she stared at him. His hand clenching her jaw to hold her close. He can't be serious. But the way he purred his words had her shoulders tense even further. "You've gone completely mental. Did someone give you a blow to the head?"

“I always knew I’d enter a union of convenience.” It was cold, detached. He could spin it any way he wanted, but the fact remained. Parkinson. Greengrass. His mother had pushed especially hard in the last few years.

“You don’t have to answer now.” He let her go. Choosing his drink instead. “Think about it without the romantic notion of it all. I deal in death, you wouldn’t be safe, so much as free to retaliate.” Because if she were Mrs Malfoy, that would give her a certain level of immunity the likes few knew.

"How lovely for you," she drawled, cold and detached herself as he let go of her and moved away. She watched him as if he had grown a second head. Like what he proposed was the most insane thing she had heard in seven years. Which was saying something considering the fact a man splitting his soul seven times and putting them into items was something that had happened.

...How many times had her own soul been split with the death she had dealt?

Shaking that thought out of her head, she felt like she needed a drink but didn't want to touch the firewhiskey. "You do not want me as your wife. And I can think of several things I would absolutely want for if I was tied to you...."

“And yet I asked…” he reminded.

Demands weren’t uncommon in such a process. “And what does my wife-to-be want?” He demanded, though his tone didn’t have the scorn and contempt it once would have held.

"It sounded like a command more than a proposal." She countered. Though looked even more surprised at that question, staring right at him.

"I have not said yes, Malfoy." Distance. His last name. They hadn't even said each other's first names since school, had they? "Nothing you can actually give me." Harry free. A semblance of her life back. Voldemort dead.

“You’ve also not said no,” he reminded. “You would be free in your movements. No safe houses, no curfew would apply to you, I might even be inclined to spare a couple of your friends,” he added. “You could study the artifacts with Miss Hamilton; you could go pursue your education if you wanted. All I need is for you to be at my side, playing your part when I need it. A photo here, a gala there, and your ability to research when I need it. I’m not asking you to go slaughter a village, just willingly pursue what you’ve been inadvertently doing…”

"Pretend that I'm completely fine with the slaughter. With the continual power grabs. With my friends that you don't save being executed or tortured. Or if your master wants me delving into their minds, since I'm good at it, giving up what secrets or privacy they hold," she hissed, accusing him of everything that playing her part might actually entail. Not just researching for him. "Your side gets a lovely win. A hit to the moral of the people I've worked with and tried to help for seven damn years. To what? Save my own skin?"

“No one expected my mother to participate,” he told her sternly. “The Dark Lord would much rather threaten your well-being to keep his lieutenant in line than employ you in any of those capacities. Your side traded you for a prisoner and a bad one at that,” he said simply. He didn’t even have to finish that statement to make clear of the nightmare they’d created. “I can already imagine the headlines…I’m giving you a chance to write your own narrative for once.”

"I'm not your mother. I'm far too good of a card to keep playing. I'm not some pureblood witch," she snapped. She didn't believe him. Couldn't believe him. Her well-being wouldn't keep him in line in the least. Was he obsessed? Absolutely. The blood covering him from whoever it was he had bled rather than simply killed with a curse spoke to that. But that obsession wasn't going to do her any favors. "They'll try to twist it that you stole me, Malfoy. That I was captured or someone had managed to Imperius me. They wouldn't believe that I was traded. They'd sooner believe that you decided to take control of me."

Her stomach was twisting into knots. She knew Amos Diggory didn't like her, knew that he didn't like Harry, but the thought that he had tried to kill her after making a deal? The fact he had made a deal in the first place. Had Kingsley been aware? Her thoughts were spinning. After another moment passed, she picked up the glass of firewhiskey and downed it in one go, welcoming the burn.

“They did a number on you,” he looked at her, almost sneering. “Perhaps you’re weaker than I thought. Reaching into his pocket to extract on his knives he placed it in her hand. “It’s so hopeless you might as well just end it all.” He met her gaze. “My wards will prevent you from landing that on me, and if you’re going to go through with offing yourself, avoid the carpet will you.”

"Did a number on me?!" She shot back, sneering right back at him. Though she did take the knife, twirling it in her hand as she moved closer to him, clearing still tempted to try and sink the thing into him. "You're asking me to turn my back on my friends. On what is actually right so that I can live. So you can have another pet researcher. A trophy. I would much rather drive this knife through your damn neck."

Draco watched her. The toying with the blade, the theatrics. “I’m asking you to choose yourself,” he corrected. He pitied the fool that would consider her a trophy. She was no such thing. Still, he kept his gaze on that blade. He wouldn’t actually let her go through with it, but that was beside the point. “Then do it.”

"Like you have?" She shot back. He hadn't. She remembered her sixth year. When he had wanted to get out so desperately that he had apparently gone to Myrtle about it. Or at least she had tried to comfort him about everything he had done. And then he'd been unable to kill Dumbledore. Yet look at him now. But she did attempt to get him with the blade rather than herself. Not caring what the wards might do.

The moment she lunged, the dagger dissipated into the air. He’d managed this far without a partner. “Your room’s that way,” he pointed to a door. “Obviously there’s no point in discussing with you,” he dismissed. He would break her. He didn’t bother warning her to stay in his wing. She wouldn’t make it out a second time. He made sure of that.

Hermione seethed as she grabbed the two bags from the ground and stormed out of the room. He wouldn't give her back her wand, she couldn't kill him in his damn house, and he had clearly gone completely mental. She had to think of.....something.

The moment her door closed, he was gone to deal with the six that had dared. Their only saving grace was that she had been left mostly unharmed.