Shielded

“Do you, Hermione Granger, vow that, for the duration of the mission, you will not intentionally commit any bodily harm against the asset?”

Granger stared at him, clearly in shock. Draco just gazed back, having already had his own moment of reckoning. Seeing her now, in person, for the first time in 10 years, had been disarming. She had featured in the Daily Prophet and other publications multiple times, both for her role in the war and her successive research, but he had somehow been unprepared for how different seeing the living version would be. In the photos he had seen on house arrest, she had always been a contained, professional, adult version of the swotty girl he remembered from school. She exuded the same annoying aura, and as half the time she had been championing for her research or some other cause, she was often portrayed mid-argument, focused, and borderline angry as she gesticulated wildly or stared down opposing individuals.

In fact, Draco had been expecting some version of an embittered, worn out Granger, exhausted from the constant strain of the pressure she put on herself, to open her door. He thought she would sit at home in some almost-matronly business robes, like he always saw her photographed in. He had at one point, during the depths of bored ruminations he often partook in while locked down, tried to envision how long it would take for Granger to develop McGonagall’s sour face (at this rate, maybe by 35). He had (maybe slightly obsessively) started collecting these newspaper clippings, trying to keep track of her evolution, staring at the photos for hours to see whether he could see any early cracks in the facade. It would have to be draining to constantly be that worked up, wouldn’t it? One person couldn’t handle it in perpetuity?

He wondered what she thought of him (not that it mattered, he told himself). He tried to envision when she had last seen him. Was it when the Prophet reported his release from Azkaban? He suppressed a squirm at the thought – that hadn’t been his most becoming photo. He had been gaunt, his eyes had looked dead from the heavy Occlumency he was subjecting himself to, his hair had been ratty, and he had looked so… tired. Which he had been, he supposed. Had she seen that photo? Had she felt sorry for him, or felt he had gotten what he deserved? Was she as surprised by his general appearance as he had been by hers, or was her shock merely at his unexpected presence?

Because the woman who had opened the door had been nothing like he expected. In hindsight, maybe it had been silly to expect her to continue wearing formal clothes in her home, but as that was what his family had always been in when out of their bedrooms in the Manor, he hadn’t been able to envision the alternative. In fact, it was probably better that he had been invisible, as he had physically jolted when he saw her – not just because she looked downright slovenly, in her clothes that were clearly desperate to be put out of their misery, typical Granger bun that was only holding her hair together by the merest definition of the word, and (Draco almost completely balked at this) bare toes peeking out from under the hem of her sweatpants.

No, the getup had been one shock, but the other had been her face. From the years together as students, he had become very familiar with the evolutions of her face. He remembered the round-faced 11-year-old that he had first seen in the Great Hall as he had been desperately trying not to be obvious about laying eyes on his first Muggleborn. He remembered how, with time, her face had slimmed out, as puberty made her lose her residual baby fat. With some consternation, he even remembered thinking she looked sort of pretty in the few occasions that they were closer together – when her eyes blazed as she was swinging to punch him, teared up when he had said increasingly scathing remarks in their classes together, and shone as she smiled brightly at Krum dancing with him at the Yule Ball.

Of course, pretty in purely the most objective of senses. She had grown into her teeth, had developed a confidence many girls their age hadn’t had, and her features had balanced out. And despite Draco’s overall indifference toward romance during his time at Hogwarts (and, let’s be honest, even now), he had been able to recognize that she had been one of the more attractive girls at the school.

He would have scoffed at his younger self’s naivete now. If he had thought Granger came into herself at 17, he had a whole other thing coming for him seeing her now at 27. Where before she had been pretty, she was now… well, not beautiful, but something like it. Maybe regal? She looked self-assured, driven, and completely at ease in a way that Draco hadn’t often come across, if ever. She had smiled brilliantly, while her eyes held the same familiar fire they always had, but instead of stress, competition, or antagonism, they carried warmth and happiness. Draco had had it all wrong – she wasn’t worn down. She had come alive. Too bad that look, which seemed to be a casual part of her demeanor, would be snuffed out the second she finished processing his presence in her home. Oh well. As much as he could internally acknowledge her differences, he still knew who he was, and who she was. That much, at least, wouldn’t change, even after 10 years.

Their eyes were still holding contact, rain pattering away at the window. In fact, Draco felt like he couldn’t pull his eyes away even if he wanted to. What would happen if the Vow process was interrupted like this? Maybe they’d need to stay in this eye lock forever.

Draco internally sneered at the idea. While her eyes, with their golden tint that was still flashing from the fire that anyone could see burned within her, were… fine, this would mean he would need to spend his life with possibly the ugliest outfit, only out shadowed by the monstrosity she presumably called hair, in his periphery. Not to mention the implications of being attached to the individual who owned these eyes and clothes and hair — specifically, that would be a lifelong lock to everything Granger, bratty swottiness and all. Draco suppressed a shudder.

“Miss Granger?” Shacklebolt prompted, startling both of them out of their reveries. Draco instinctually pulled away slightly, but Granger’s hand reflexively squeezed his in response, unfortunately yanking his internal attention from pleasantly ruminating about the cons of Granger’s general existence to their prolonged hand contact.

And he had been trying very, very hard not to focus on that. Despite his continued disdain for the person, he couldn’t deny his body’s response to the warmth his hand was wrapped around just then. He cringed to himself at the memory of his hand shaking — shaking! — at the prospect of touching her — it’s not his fault he hasn’t touched another being in over a year! Of course, he hadn’t thought the first time doing so again would have this level of impact, but he should have expected it considering he still felt the tingle in his shoulder from where she had brushed him earlier. He had almost cried with the relief of feeling another organism when they clasped hands.

Sensing the dangerous spiral of his thoughts, Draco put all the force he could into shifting his focus back to the witch in front of him, who was still looking at him agape.

“Do you, Hermione Granger, vow that, for the duration of the mission, you will not intentionally commit any bodily harm against the asset?” Shacklebolt asked again, slightly louder this time. Draco raised one eyebrow at Granger mockingly. It was this that finally prompted her to state firmly,

“I do.”

A set of two interwoven strands of fire now wrapped themselves around the first two lines in a sort of knot pattern, and these lights all together flared brighter once, before dissipating.

Draco swiftly pulled his hand from Granger, repeatedly flexing his fingers apart to shake the residual pressure of her hand. Neither of them lowered their eyes as he leaned back in his chair. He had to suppress a groan – despite having grown up with every creature comfort the wizarding world had to offer, this old, rickety chair was the most comfortable piece of furniture Draco had ever encountered. Maybe it was the weeks of travel speaking – who knew.

Shacklebolt leaned forward to grab a plate with two sandwiches and a cup of soup, ignoring the standoff currently in full effect between the old school enemies. Draco briefly resented the required ego flexing. He was very hungry, and the food smelled surprisingly delicious. But duty called, and while he no longer subscribed to the politics he had grown up around that dictated Granger a lesser magical person, he very much still subscribed to the politics of her being an annoying know-it-all who had supported Potter in tormenting Draco for many years. Well, maybe the tormenting was mutual, but Draco was sure he would have been able to win that spat if Granger hadn’t been backing up Mr. Survival.

And separate from the boys’ rivalry, she had been the bane of his academic existence. Now, again, he no longer believed her magic lesser than his innately, but how on earth was he meant to justify her outperforming him from the jump? How does one soothe one’s ego when the subject matter one was raised around is suddenly better understood by someone who learned about its mere existence a decade after one’s self did?? That’s like spending your life speaking English, and a hippogriff which suddenly gains the power of speech can immediately speak it better than you can! But worse, because the hippogriff presumably knows of human speech at least?

Draco cuts off his internal ramblings when Granger eventually opens her mouth to say, “The food isn’t poisoned, you know,” smirking while sweeping a hand at the provisions set up in front of them.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Only because you didn’t know it was me here – no worries, I’m happy to politely look away if you’d like to belatedly seize the opportunity.”

Granger laughed, “No, no, I can be more creative than that. Besides, with the Vow, that would do me in too, and I have a few more things I’d like to complete before befalling some sort of Julietean fate.”

Draco, whose stomach had flipped at her laugh, leaned forward to grab a sandwich skeptically. “I don’t believe you need to worry about that. Romeo and Juliet’s fates were individually due to their own idiocy, not a rampage Juliet was on against Romeo, and for all our combined faults, I believe we can agree idiocy is one neither of us can identify with,” he said, looking at the sandwich from all sides before nibbling from the corner. Hm, ham and gouda. This was good. He bit into the sandwich with a bit more enthusiasm.

Granger was looking him with open surprise, but as she opened her mouth to rejoin, Shacklebolt cut in, “Well, now that the formalities are out of the way, let me give you the information I’ve been promising.”

Shacklebolt put down his now-empty plate and soup cup, and brushed some invisible crumbs off his robes. Draco leaned forward to grab a second sandwich and a soup cup of his own. Damn, Granger being a passable cook was something he somehow hadn’t expected. When did she have the time to learn? He half expected the demands of being a war hero-turned-researcher would outweigh something as trivial as learning food preparation.

Granger, who had been watching him begin gently sipping the soup directly from the cup, looked back at Shacklebolt again and said, “Please, go ahead. As I’m sure you can imagine, I have many,” she glanced back at Draco, “many questions.”

“Of course,” responded Shacklebolt. “But before I address those questions, I have one of my own. What do you know of the long-term effects of Occlumency?”

“Well,” Granger hedged, drawing out the word, clearly trying to ascertain the motivation of the topic’s introduction, “it’s something my lab has only recently begun studying the neural underpinnings of, but I know that magical research has established a couple of patterns, like that the effects of Occlumency are dependent on whether the Occlumency is being performed actively or passively. With active Occlumency, the fact that the individual is consciously directing the protective shield only has effects of increasingly drastic mental fatigue. At some point, if the mind isn’t allowed to rest, the individual will pass out, kind of like if muscles give out after continued strain without a break. Thus, ‘long-term’ in this context only really has been found to mean a couple of days to a maximum of a week.

With passive, however, the impacts can be more dire, and are less understood. Which is why,” she couldn’t seem to help herself as her tone made a shift to the sardonic, “I believe it imperative that we ‘stoop ourselves to Muggle methods’ and begin to research the biological mechanisms as well, but I digress – since passive Occlumency allows for a shield to be essentially ‘left’ around a specific thought or memory without conscious directive, the shield can grow increasingly solidified if the individual doesn’t regularly break it down, and in worst case can permanently cut the memory off from recollection. In fact,” she sat up a bit straighter, “my hypothesis based on the tragic case of Archie Thompson’s permanent mental collapse following his own repeated passive Occlumency over the years is that the networks, or neurons, underlying the memory get permanently isolated, causing them to essentially decay with misuse, and that part of the brain is lost to the rest, sort of like other neurodegenerative ailments. But that’s just a hypothesis I’ve formed from years of careful neuroscientific research.” Her tone was back to sarcastic. Draco rolled his eyes.

Since the war, Granger had become a renowned mental researcher, and had begun spearheading the push for wizarding mental research to look at the brain directly, not just behavior. The whole idea of looking directly at the brain seemed extremely morbid to Draco, but having understood that Muggle medicine is like this in general, he kept his distaste of the practice to himself. The rest of the wizarding world (or, he admitted to himself, probably just the old codgers running the Wizengamot), were similarly distrustful of such methods, but as opposed to him, they were less willing to keep it to themselves, and actively pushed against her methodologies for her first few years after the war.

She campaigned so hard for the effort that the term “neuroscience,” generally not familiar to the wizarding world, became as commonplace in reference to her as “war hero,” but to no avail. She then disappeared from the public eye, only to return five years later with a Muggle education in the field, and with the miraculous reveal that she had, with this and her magical knowledge, managed to undo the mental degradation that had been caused by the Obliviate she had cast on her parents years ago, despite the fact that wizarding Healers had to that point been unable to do the same for any recipients of broader memory-altering charms. While her parents’ memories were not recovered, per se, the mental diseases which had threatened their continued livelihoods (“and which have a name in the Muggle world ,” he remembered the Prophet quoting Granger on her 35th plea for funding from the Wizengamot, “it’s known as dementia, and Muggles know far more about it than magical people do!” ) was eradicated, extending their lifespans by decades.

She then went on to apply her findings to other recipients of Obliviate , helping alter the fates of high-profile cases like that of Gilderoy Lockhart, and even managed to undo some of the effects of other curses that affected the brain, like that of the Cruciatus Curse and Imperius .

Eventually, St. Mungo’s finally seized the reins from the Wizengamot, and championed with their fundraisers directly to expand the mental healing wards to allow for this research to be conducted directly in the medical centers. Draco, who had just lost his father, had donated generously to the effort as one of his first bids to recover the Malfoy name from the catastrophic lows his father had left it in. Then, for some inconceivable reason, he had anonymously donated an additional double of the original sum. In retrospect, he blamed house arrest. Isolation makes one more prone to funding dubious projects being headed by one’s school rival and encourage looking inside the human body.

“Precisely,” Shacklebolt said, a slight smile lifting the corner of his mouth, “in fact, you clearly know more than I even know. It’s this passive Occlumency that brings us here, to you, today. While you were completely correct in the effects of self-imposed Occlumency, I need to inform you of something we’ve only recently been made aware of even being possible: externally-imposed Occlumency.”

“External?” interrupted Granger, “As in, someone else casting a shield over one’s memories??”

“Yes, exactly. As I mentioned, this was something we didn’t even know was possible until a year ago, and has been researched aggressively ever since. With externally-imposed Occlumency, an individual can cast a shield around another person’s memories, and this shield cannot be controlled by the person receiving it – it’s very complicated magic, and as you just explained, the fact that it cannot be lifted by the individual means that those receiving it are at risk of losing those memories entirely over time, making it dangerous as well. In fact, since one is reliant entirely on the external individual to manage the shield, one has to either completely trust someone who would cast such a shield, or be blindly devoted to them beyond reason. Knowing that, can you guess who was the only person we know of so far who managed to cast such a spell?”

“Voldemort.”

Shacklebolt nodded once. “It turns out that an element of the Death Eater initiation was to cast a shield around all matters pertaining to Voldemort’s endeavors in the Death Eater’s minds, which is why we were unable to use Legilimency to extract his secrets and plans from Death Eaters over the two wizarding wars. We didn’t know it at the time, but no matter how skilled the Legilimens, since the shield wasn’t controlled by the Death Eaters themselves, there was no way to break through them.”

“What do you mean by ‘matters pertaining to Voldemort’s endeavors’?”

“Exactly that! Everything from what missions individual Death Eaters were on, to who was undercover, who was being targeted, strategy, and so on. As you can imagine, this information would have been critical during the war, but having won the war without that information, it’s imperative that we access it now so we can ensure any lingering sympathizers and extended efforts are addressed.”

“So… what happened when he died? Was control of the shields handed back to the individual?”

“Great question. And unfortunately, no. In fact, the opposite effect – the isolating effect over time was sped up, and if your hypothesis is right, the… networks, as you said, were cut off beyond recovery.”

Granger slumped back in her seat in disappointment.

“However, there is a silver lining. While this was the fate for a majority of Death Eaters, there was an edge case that I don’t entirely understand myself – if the individual was still young, their mind was somehow able to preserve the memory contained by the shield, so while they still can’t control the shield itself, the underlying memory wasn’t irrecoverably lost.”

“This makes sense,” Granger said, staring into the abyss, deep in thought, “before roughly 25, our brains are much more malleable, and can recover from injuries and alterations faster. I could imagine a scenario in which a younger brain would be able to adjust around the shield enough to continue nourishing the network being contained, at least for the time being. I would love to be able to participate in this research. Is that why you’re here?”

“Well, yes and no. Somewhat. I may have oversold it when I called what we’re performing ‘research.’ This would imply we have multiple cases of this to investigate and compare, and as I had mentioned, the only known cases of this sort of externally-imposed Occlumency are from Voldemort on the Death Eaters – we aren’t even sure how he did it. In addition, we need subjects who were inducted as children, many of who are dead, or are alive, but are still known sympathizers who wouldn’t cooperate, even if captured. In fact, the sample size of ex-Death Eaters who have since become sympathetic to our cause, but were made Death Eaters as teenagers, but not so long ago that their brain hadn’t since naturally cut the memory off due to age is…”

“One,” Draco cut in humorlessly. Granger’s eyes, which had been fixated on Shacklebolt during his speech, cut to him, and widened.

“Yes, one,” confirmed Shacklebolt. “A year ago, Mr. Malfoy made contact with the ministry, alerting us to the fact that he identified a shield he hadn’t placed in his own mind, and shared his concern that this was an artifact from Voldemort. At the time, we didn’t know what it was, but before we could begin the investigation, two separate attempts were made on Mr. Malfoy’s life. It appears we still have Death Eater sympathizers in the ministry who intercepted the message and were… uninterested in the secrets being revealed. Maybe they’re someone Mr. Malfoy is even aware of. Who knows.”

Granger mulled this over. “Well, can’t we just ask Malfoy? You said he couldn’t control the shield, but there had to be some way to access the information, otherwise how would they know what they’re supposed to do, who is working with them, who Voldemort even is?”

“You just struck on another challenge,” said Shacklebolt, “while Mr. Malfoy confirms he can access the memories themselves, he has no way to communicate them. The way he explains it, while he can recall memories and associates, the moment he tries to consciously convey this information, be it through speech or writing or even to a Legilimens actively performing Legilimency, the memory shuts down. He’s unable to deliberately recall it.”

“Wow,” sighed Granger in awe, excitement lighting her eyes. Draco was immediately irritated.

“Oh yeah, it’s super fun,” he drawled. “Not having complete control of my brain and recollections, and potentially losing access to these memories forever is not something I would particularly enjoy, despite how painful the memories themselves may be.” The light in Granger’s eyes dimmed, taking on a sympathetic air, which was somehow worse.

“I don’t want your pity, I just want to be clear that I don’t relish the idea of being some research subject due to the circumstantial anomaly I was at 17 years old.”

“Of course,” Granger immediately conceded, ignoring his hostile tone, “I can completely imagine. I apologize for my insensitive response.”

Draco, who had been expecting defense, was completely disarmed, and clamped his mouth shut.

“Anyway, back to the point,” Shacklebolt continued, dismissing their interjection, “Mr. Malfoy has now become a priority for three reasons: One, we need access to those memories. While I know you have stepped back from defensive efforts, our Aurors’ efforts could be greatly helped by having this insider information we have yet to directly obtain from Death Eaters themselves. Just the fact that there is a sympathizer in the ministry should illustrate that the threat is still very real, even a decade later. We are also hoping that once we locate any sympathizers from the war, we’ll also be able to identify neo-Death Eaters who have joined the cause after Voldemort died. Our studies with Mr. Malfoy indicate that new memories obtained following Voldemort’s death are no longer added to the shield, so even if we can’t learn how to lift the shield itself, we can at least stop the movement from growing further. Second, but related to the first, if we learn how to do this with Mr. Malfoy, we can apply the same solution to others we find with such shields – while Mr. Malfoy is the only known case, there were other Death Eaters recruited as children in the first wizarding war, so we may be able to extract even more of this information from them if captured. And finally, and potentially most importantly, as Mr. Malfoy mentioned, it’s only right we grant him control over his brain and memories in full. I’m sure this last point is one you can appreciate especially, Hermione.”

“Yes,” Granger confirmed. “If this shield is anything like what’s known about passive Occlumency, he isn’t at the point yet where he risks full loss of those memories, but in the coming decades, they’ll become more difficult to access. We will want to do all we can to prevent that.”

“I’m glad you feel that way, because this is where you come in. And with it, my third request. Since the attempts on his life, Mr. Malfoy has been on the move across southern England for the past year, evading pursuers as we attempted to establish mechanisms by which to lift or break the shield. We did all we could to preserve his identity and limit his exposure further, hence why we asked you to take the Vow as well, but with the mole in the ministry and the fact that he had to remain around London as long as possible so the ministry and St. Mungo’s could retain access to him, Mr. Malfoy was increasingly in danger. Then, one day ago, two things changed: first of all, the ministry mole managed to place the Trace on him again, preventing him from using magic or being magically transported through Apparition or Floo without it alerting the ministry. In addition, they actually flagged any magic used in his vicinity, much like the magic which notifies the ministry when magic is used around Muggles – it would seem this magic can be applied to magical individuals as well. Thus, any magic used around Mr. Malfoy alerts this undercover ministry official of Mr. Malfoy’s location, making them much more effective at tracking him.”

Granger glanced with alarm at the sandwich tray she had floated in, which was now empty after Draco had cleared off the last 4 sandwiches and 2 cups of soup.

“No worries,” Shacklebolt smiled, “the wards I placed around your house prevents their access, although I’m sure our pursuers await us outside.” At this, he casts a wordless Hominem Revelio in the direction of her entrance, and true to his word, the faint outline of two individuals was revealed approximately across the street. “As I thought. I’m sure you can imagine, keeping Mr. Malfoy in London, wizarding or not, poses too great a risk of his exposure to magic, and thus a continued threat to his life, not to mention that all of our approaches to investigate rely on the use of magic. Thus, we need to transport him to a secure location with zero use of magic. The secure location we landed on is, to no one’s surprise, is Hogwarts. Specifically, the Room of Requirements.”

“But that burned up,” contradicted Granger.

“Yes, but it has since migrated to a new location. The House Elves informed Headmistress McGonagall that it can now be found in the third-floor corridor, across from the room which had housed access to the Philosopher’s Stone, of all places. The Room of Requirements, as you know, cannot be accessed by just anyone, so required researchers can meet us there, and hopefully give Mr. Malfoy some much-needed stability.”

“I see. And how do I come into the picture?”

“Well, as I mentioned, two things changed. First, with the new tracking threat, Mr. Malfoy must travel by Muggle means. Second, we have finally managed to privately raise the funds for research to be conducted directly on Mr. Malfoy’s brain, and while there are a multitude of Healers and researchers analyzing the magical aspects, there is only one researcher who has experience with tying that to the biological – you. We want to ensure that all avenues are explored as expeditiously as possible once Mr. Malfoy reaches his final destination. Your mission, should you choose to accept it –” (Granger snorted at this, but at the baffled looks of the two wizards, waved it off) “—is to accompany Mr. Malfoy to Hogwarts using Muggle means. It can only be the two of you, so to reduce the risk of him being exposed to magic, you would need to travel using backroads and rural towns rather than public transportation across cities. You would be responsible for his safety and protection. The country is big, and it’s unlikely you would be pursued like this. In addition, once you reach Hogwarts, we would ask you to remain to conduct the research on this shield as I have described it to you. I know you mentioned that you have not yet truly started research on the matter, but you really are the only individual who has any experience in this approach at all.”

“And whose fault is that,” prompted Granger with a raised eyebrow.

Shacklebolt raised his hands in defeat. “I know the ministry hasn’t granted you the support you should have received, but for what it’s worth, if you contribute to the success of this challenge, the benefits of what you propose will become undeniable. If you manage to blow any remaining Death Eater plots open, the sky will be the limit of what the ministry will want to back you on. In fact, you’ll probably need to fend them off.”

Granger met this pronouncement with apparent skepticism.

“Hermione, trust me. There is nothing more effective at getting the Wizengamot moving than fear. If your findings can alleviate that, which would be illustrated by this achievement, they will all be singing a different tune.”

“Fair enough,” conceded Granger, “So to summarize, I’ll be using my dirty Muggle means to transport a pureblood heir to then conduct my dirty Muggle methodologies on his beloved brain to ultimately help greater wizardkind?”

“I wouldn’t quite –”

“Granger,” Draco finally spoke up, “I want to address this before it becomes unmanageable: I don’t hold these sentiments toward Muggles anymore.” Granger’s eyebrows flew up, hiding behind the increasing number of hair strands that have since escaped the nest. “I mean it. While I don’t understand Muggles, I have since come to recognize that this is solely due to my own upbringing and inaction, and not due to any inherent… inferiority of Muggles themselves. I have been traveling using Muggle means more over the last year, and recognize the efficacy of your Muggle approaches. I don’t deny my continued ignorance of the world, but I wanted to update your understanding of my sentiments. This entire effort is entirely to shut down that way of thinking once and for all.”

“Well, that may be a bit of a stretch,” Granger murmured. “I don’t think anti-Muggle sentiments can be fully eradicated – but,” her voice got louder, “I understand your point, and appreciate your clarification. That’s good to know.”

Draco nodded once, and feeling inexplicably awkward, reached to grab a cup of now-cold tea.

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Malfoy,” Shacklebolt concurred. “Well, Hermione, I’m curious what you think.”

Granger’s eyes went back to staring into nothing, one finger wrapping around a curl in a hypnotic pattern that Draco couldn’t look away from. He was so absorbed, he almost jumped when she finally spoke up,

“I’ll do it. Both the transport and the research. But we will travel on my terms, and I’ll be in charge.” She shot a challenging look at Draco.

“I’ll be at your mercy.”

She suppressed a smile at that, then turned to Shacklebolt.

“Do we have any resources, or are we starting from scratch?”

Shacklebolt, now all business, pulled a folder out of his robes and placed it on the coffee table between the trays.

“We can get you started on your journey. We have secured an automobile for your use which is currently outside on the street, Muggle clothing for Mr. Malfoy, and cash to fund the journey in the amount of 10,000 pounds.” Granger gasped at this, but Shacklebolt continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted, “We also have a proposed route across the country that seems effective in the form of a list of locations. It’s not a direct shot – we want to make it as unpredictable as possible. While I understand you could drive the full distance in a day, we want to make sure you follow a nonlinear route, and stop at each location for differing stretches of time. End-to-end, we expect it to take about two weeks. We included a map of how to reach each stop.”

“Oh, no need, Muggles have way more evolved means of acquiring directions than that,” Granger interjected, “but thank you anyway.”

“Well, I defer that to your judgement on that,” Shacklebolt said with a smile. “Finally, we have also included all the research we managed to conduct so far, or a copy of it at least. With the approach we proposed, I expect you’ll have quite a bit of downtime to review it, and I’m sure you’ll want to arrive informed.” Granger nodded enthusiastically. “As I thought. Other than this, anything you can anticipate needing?”

“Nothing that 10,000 pounds couldn’t cover,” Granger said with a chuckle.

“Excellent. Thank you for all your help, Hermione. When is the earliest you can expect to depart?”

“I believe I’ll need a bit of time to put my affairs in order and collect everything I’ll need. Tomorrow morning, perhaps?”

“Perfect. As I leave, I’ll hopefully be able to draw our pursuers to follow me – they have been doing so whenever they find us with the assumption that Mr. Malfoy is under the cloak. I’ll leave the cloak with you – Mr. Potter assured me he wouldn’t miss it. Once you drive off, make sure you’re outside of the city before Mr. Malfoy removes it. After that point, you should be able to move in relative anonymity.”

“Great! How have you been able to shake their trail on foot?”

Shacklebolt got up and walked over to his outer robes, which he had left hanging by the entrance, to pull them on. Granger followed him to stand by the entrance.

“I have three colleagues waiting for me down the street – from there, it’s impossible for the pursuers to know which of us Mr. Malfoy is departing with before we get into taxis. They essentially will just rely on any circumstantial magic around Mr. Malfoy when he’s visible, which hopefully won’t happen.”

“Agreed. Well, Kingsley, anything else I can get you before you leave?”

“No, thank you. And Mr. Malfoy, if you could please move out of the way of the entrance while I leave? It would be a shame to undo all our hard work thus far.”

Draco got up and strode into the kitchen entrance that Granger had walked into earlier. Shacklebolt came over to shake his hand.

“It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Malfoy. Hopefully I’ll see you at Hogwarts soon.”

“Likewise, Minister.”

Shacklebolt nodded once more at him, then Granger, then opened the door and exited, leaving Granger and Draco behind.