Shielded

Having had a late breakfast, Hermione proposed simply grabbing food at the petrol station when they stopped to fill up the tank instead of getting lunch separately, and Malfoy acquiesced. They bought some sandwiches, crisps, and sweets, but to her surprise, he only picked at his food, and other than finishing an inordinate number of Mars bars, he didn’t seem to have the appetite she had expected based on his consumption habits when they were at her house. When she offered to stop separately, however, he declined, so she simply had to assume that he wasn’t hungry.

As they neared Bristol, she turned off the directions, and rather than proceeding southwest, they continued northward across the River Severn, and drove across eastern Wales without any particular direction in mind. Hermione occasionally glanced at her phone’s map to make sure they hadn’t veered far from the border, but otherwise they both seemed largely engrossed in simply observing the passing countryside. 

They were taking rural roads, so their pace significantly slowed, but they made it approximately 2 hours from crossing the border when they decided to stop since the sun had started setting. They pulled over at a quaint inn that they spotted in the village they had been passing through, and were able to reserve two rooms with minimal fuss. 

Hermione hesitated only briefly before letting herself into Malfoy’s room first and explaining the technology the room contained, including the TV and the phone, and went so far as to show him how to call her room next door and the front desk. He listened mulishly, but when she paused, expecting him to revert back to his defensive arrogance that she had learned to associate with him feeling self-conscious, he bit out a question about using the radiator. They agreed to meet in two hours for dinner, and Hermione went next door to her own room.

Once there, Hermione fell back on her bed and exhaled loudly. She already felt gross from travelling, and knew it was only going to get worse the more they moved around. 

Surprisingly, though, she didn’t feel as drained as she typically did from dealing with difficult people, and as she had expected to after spending long uninterrupted hours with Malfoy. Other than some accidental bumps with a couple of strained conversation points, she had to admit that he was a completely bearable conversation partner, if not a bit taciturn at times, and downright pleasant company. Mulling this over, she heaved herself back up, opting to shower first before getting started with preparing the research she hoped to complete when they had downtime.

After showering, Hermione pulled all the books she had brought with herself out of her extended bag and stacked them on the provided desk. She’d have to be careful not to use the bag around Malfoy in case it triggered the trace he had on him. She sorted the books on magical topics from those on neuroscience, and then took out the folder which had been marked CONFIDENTIAL containing the research conducted on Malfoy so far. 

She read through it, and it largely just consisted of lengthy reports on different observations they either noted themselves or had extracted from Malfoy’s mind. On her own piece of paper, she jotted down the key points she believed they should focus on in their own investigation:

• Shield cannot be controlled by host

• Shield cannot be controlled or accessed by external Legilimens

• Memories accessible but cannot be consciously relayed (!!)

• New memory formation not affected by shield

• New memories about Voldemort not affected by shield

• Memories and facts that are known to be in the shield not duplicated outside the shield (!!)

She looked at this list nonplussed. A year of research and this is all that they have come up with? At this rate, Malfoy would truly never be able to regain all his memories. Nonetheless, something was better than nothing, she thought as she duplicated the papers. She’d give the second copy to Malfoy in case he was able to extract something more meaningful than she had. 

One thing, however, was blatantly obvious to her – she was right that a new perspective was sorely needed. The entire research had been focused on finding the means by which a spell could be cast that projected a shield into someone else’s brain, almost like mental Protego. In fact, the brunt of the effort had been in trying to develop a spell which was an intersection between Protego and Legilimens, while simultaneously developing a counterspell. Spells, however, were simply not sophisticated enough for this level of nuance. These researchers had tunnel vision since the only mental manipulation of this type they already knew of was through spells. However, potions like Veritaserum could also be used to influence the brain’s ability to inhibit information recollection (in its case preventing inhibition), and potions were at no point even considered. Hermione contemplated this, considering the best course of action.

She was startled out of her thoughts when the alarm on her watch warned her that she would need to meet up with Malfoy in 15 minutes. She got up and changed from her loungewear into a new pair of jeans and jumper, and then collected all the papers and books she had set aside for him from the desk. 2 minutes before their agreed-upon time, she stepped outside, hearing at the same moment as the neighboring door opened up as well. Smiling to herself, she stepped out to see Malfoy looking at her with her stack of books, an eyebrow raised in question.

“Where did you get all those books from? I know you couldn’t have fit them in your suitcase.”

“A magician never reveals her secrets,” she quips, finding herself very clever, but getting a blank look in return. Of course – what would wizards care about a few slights of hand. “Never mind, Muggle joke. But these are the byproduct of me having the honor of being able to do magic. The less you know the better.”

He smirked at this. Like before, she felt an internal awareness of the fact that she was smiling. She looked him up and down. He changed from blue jeans into khaki colored trousers, and from his jumper into a t-shirt with a jacket slung over his arm. He must have showered as well, it seemed. She wondered at his ability to dress so Muggle-like when wizards were typically quite tragic at the endeavor. She recalled the Weasleys’ various disastrous attempts at blending in, and considered whether Malfoy had done more research, or whether it was simply his limited clothing options that allowed his success.

“Anyway,” she continued, “do you mind if I drop these off in yours? I think it would be best if you sorted through them on your own time and then gave back the ones you don’t want to start off with. I can carry the rest so you aren’t overloaded.”

He nodded his agreement before stepping back, granting her access to his room. She strode across and dropped the pile, turning to him.

“Under the top book are the notes from the research that has been conducted so far on you. I reviewed them and drew some conclusions, but would appreciate it if you gave them a look on your own time and let me know what you think of their findings so far.”

He inclined his head. “Sure thing.”

“Also, when you give them a look, I think it would be valuable for you to consider what they may not have noted yet. Especially anything that you think is important, but they simply haven’t thought to ask about it yet, or they have and didn’t seem to give it its proper weight. I find that with the brain, it’s important to always evaluate the person’s perception of a phenomena as much as one considers the phenomena as well, and I… well, I think these people may not have done that.”

He chuckled sardonically at that. She smiled in return, and then gestured toward the door as a gentleman escort might to a lady, signalling she would follow him. He rolled his eyes, then grabbed the door and held it ajar, stubbornly indicating she should proceed. With a light laugh, she stepped through, and went down to eat dinner.

—

After dinner at a nearby tavern, they strolled next to each other back to the hotel in silence, both appreciating the tranquility that the quiet village offered. After having eaten their mince pies and peas (Malfoy, Hermione noticed, had eaten more than he had at lunch, but still not as much as he had that morning or the night before) over a lively discussion about the book Malfoy had been reading the night before (Great Expectations), they both seemed to content to focus their energy on digesting, and she was just contemplating whether Malfoy would enjoy contemporary Muggle literature when he spoke up.

“This is the most relaxed I’ve been in the last year, I think.”

She looked at him questioningly. “How do you mean?”

“Well, with all the running around away from our pursuers and hopping from one research institute to the next, I was moving from place to place every day, constantly staying under new roofs and meeting new people. I think this is the first night where I don’t fear that someone will jump out from the alleyway, either to kill me or to carry me off to another lab.”

“I mean, it’s not like this is more stable. We’re about to be moving every other day again.”

“Yes, but you know how magical travel is. With Apparition and Floo, and even with flying methods to a certain extent, you move from one place to the next either within seconds, or within longer times but at great speed. It’s more efficient, but when that’s your reality multiple times a day, it gets disorienting. You never really feel secure in where you are. Muggle transportation allows you to be aware of where you’re going – you’re not wrung from one moment to the next quite as much. You can see the surroundings go by, mentally prepare yourself for what’s coming, find internal closure on where you’ve been. I know we traveled today, but I don’t feel like I’m being jerked around outside my whim.”

Hermione had to use all her will to suppress the shock that was trying very hard to show itself on her face. Was this Malfoy touting the virtues of Muggle solutions at the detriment of magical approaches?

“Not to mention,” he continued, oblivious to her struggle, “doing what we’re doing right now would be much more challenging with wizarding approaches. I mean, do we even know what the name of this village is? But nonetheless, we found our way here. The only way we could do the same with wizarding approaches would have been by flying, and even then I am skeptical that we would have been able to see this small of a place from up there, so we would’ve had to accidentally crash land here. We wouldn’t have been able to Floo or Apparate here without knowing of it in advance, which, let’s be honest, why would we. And if we wouldn’t know about it, why would whoever is after us. If we chose to stay here forever, there’s a good chance they would never find us.”

“Assuming we never use magic again in your presence, I’d be inclined to agree.”

Having barely recovered her composure, she was this time unable to hide her surprise at him merely shrugging. He noted her response and asked, “What? I could live without exposure to magic, I think.”

“Who are you and what have you done to Draco Malfoy,” she murmured.

“I mean it!” If she really had any doubt this was Malfoy, it would have been quashed by his affronted response. No one could be indignant quite like Malfoy could. “I don’t say it would be easy, but Muggles have solutions for many of the day-to-day challenges magical people have spells for, and for those that there isn’t one, they make up for it with other ingenuities that the magical world doesn’t have! They don’t have dish washing spells, but they have the magical box that contains moving pictures far more complex than our own! What are those called again?” 

“Television.” 

“Tellibision. I’d wash dishes by hand in exchange for tellibisions!”

“And in fact, Muggles have inventions that automatically wash dishes as well, so you may not even need to do that much,” she added with a small smile.

“See! My point stands. There’d be a growing pain, but I’m sure it would be doable.”

Hermione was amazed. “Malfoy, when you said your views on Muggles had changed, I never thought it would be this… drastic.”

By the light of a passing streetlamp, she saw him blush lightly. “Well, better late than never I suppose. I actually went down a bit of a rabbit hole following my reformation classes and learned quite a bit of Muggle history. Suffice it to say that learning about the extent to which Muggle evolution influenced the wizarding world altered my foundation enough to make me realize my folly.”

They had reached the inn, and silently weeded through the other guests in the downstairs restaurant before taking the stairwell up to their rooms. Outside his door, Hermione stopped to turn around and look at Malfoy. He looked so… endearingly self-conscious following his dramatic pronouncement. Hermione’s hand twitched, and the odd compulsion to cup his cheek overtook her. She grasped her hands behind her back to subdue any unwarranted motion, then said,

“Well, it makes me very glad to hear that. It gives me hope to see you so open minded. Anyway, I’m going to head to my room now, but I’ll probably be up for another hour or two. If you could come by at some point in that time with any books you don’t think you’ll need yet, I can pack them up before we head out again tomorrow.”

“Sounds good. I’ll give them and the research a quick look and should be over in the next hour.”

“Cool. Well, until then.”

She turned around on his nod and walked into her own room. Here, she quickly changed into her pajamas (this time a long sleeve and long pants, thinking that Malfoy’s prudish heart may have an aneurysm if he saw her knees again), and after performing her typical bedtime routine of brushing her teeth, washing her face, and plaiting her hair (eugh, she would need to wash it soon, it was getting greasy), she climbed into bed with the research and her notes in hand. 

She began annotating the research with questions she had on methodology and gaps that remained in their exploration in addition to the questions the researchers had made note of themselves, highlighting any of their or her questions which could be answered by simply asking Malfoy of his experience. 

She gritted her teeth when she noticed how many of their questions fell into this category. How inept were these researchers? Did they really not think to ask the only person who possessed the phenomena they were researching whether said phenomena felt like a regular Occlumency shield or not? Instead, they made note that the Legilimens hadn’t been able to ascertain the answer, and moved on. 

She recalled his shock at her including him in the research, and his question about the dastardly plans. Were they too suspicious of him to believe his responses? She scoffed to herself, making a list of the top priority questions she would want to ask him under the bullet point list of general findings from earlier that evening, including that one. She became so engrossed in her task that she visibly started at the knock on her door. 

“It’s me,” came Malfoy’s whispered voice from outside. She glanced at the clock, and saw with surprise that it was half past 11 already – 3 hours after they had gone their separate ways. Where had the time gone?

“Coming!” she whisper-shouted back, slipping out of bed and hurrying over to the door before opening it.

When the door was open, she saw with surprise he was still in the clothes he had worn to the restaurant. She also noted that while the response wasn’t as intense, upon looking at her, he inhaled slowly through his nostrils as if deeply shocked, and then closed his eyes while holding his breath briefly before exhaling, opening them again to now look at her again with frantic eyes. If it weren’t for the gaze, she would have moved past it as being surprised by her nightwear, but the look wasn’t leaving. There was clearly something larger affecting him. She was about to ask him about it, but it was at that point that he shoved the pile of books she only then noticed he was holding out at her. She would estimate that there were about 4 less books than there had been before.

“Thank you for these. And my apologies for being late – there was more to look through than expected,” he announced, oddly stiff and formal.

“No problem,” she said, eyeing his posture. “I’m excited to hear what you think tomorrow.”

He nodded, the movement stiff as well, and made to turn away. She quickly reviewed the interaction in her mind, and realizing she had no idea what brought on his drastic change in demeanor, she grabbed his arm to prevent his retreat back to his room. If possible, he became even more erect, and whipped around to glare at her with now manic eyes, then jerked his gaze down to where she was holding on to his forearm. She pulled it away quickly, and then, before he thought to dart again, blurted,

“Malfoy, what’s the matter?? I’m clearly making you uncomfortable, what did I do?”

“You grabbed me unprompted!” She bristled at this.

“I’m sorry for grabbing you, but you’ve done the same to me as well, and regardless, you looked very put out before I ever touched you. I really don’t want to do anything that causes issues between us.”

“I… you didn’t! I apologize for my ‘put out’ behavior, but nothing’s the problem,” he insisted petulantly, although she could still see the fire in his gaze.

“Are you sure? Is it what I’m wearing? Should I avoid wearing pajamas around you?”

She didn’t think it possible, but his appearance became even more wild as a blush suffused his face. “No, I said it’s fine!” She both watched and felt as, like last night, his gaze flitted over her toes, up her legs (did he pause at her hips?), across her torso, along her neck, across her face, before pausing their searing perusal at her plaits, which were hanging down to her waist. Her plaits? She raised one hand hesitantly, lightly stroking the top of one with her fingertips. 

His eyes flared, watching the movement. “You didn’t do anything! Please do not alter anything on my behalf! All is well!” he barked before rushing off into his room and slamming the door behind himself. The door was whipped open again as he tossed out one last belligerent “Good night!” before slamming it shut once more.

Hermione just gazed after him in wonder, still touching the top of her plait. “Good night,” she murmured to the empty hallway, before retreating to her room as well.

—

Draco woke the next morning feeling like he hadn’t slept at all, which might as well be true. After his graceless departure the previous night, he had kicked off his clothes and climbed into his bed, yet again trying to get his inflamed body to cool itself by sheer force of will alone. He tried to force his attention away from his arousal, only making him more aware of it, and spent a long time restlessly tossing in his bed, unable to to avoid his predicament but unwilling to do anything about it. 

He, Draco Malfoy, was never attracted to anyone, much less Granger. It was both a fact and a source of pride in himself. He always found himself above such base inclinations. Whenever he had to relieve any arousal with his hand in the past, it was a very pragmatic operation to address a physical state of being. It was never a sexual endeavor. Why was that suddenly changing? 

And, again, why to Granger? Of all the people to feel this for, she was the least opportune! Aside from the fact that she was generally way too Granger, they had a history between them that, while it could be overlooked for the purposes of this journey, was simply insurmountable in the broader sense. He briefly felt disgusted at himself for being able to dismiss what he had done to her so thoroughly that his body found it acceptable to yearn for her.

Whenever the feeling of attraction got overwhelming, he tried to remind himself of this fact, even going so far as recalling specific wrongs he had committed against her, and with great difficulty managed to get a few hours of what seemed to have been very fitful sleep. With the clarity that the new day offered, he chided himself again for his lack of control, but chose to see it optimistically. Yes, he would need to apologize to Granger for his abhorrent behavior, but it seemed his response hadn’t been as intense as it had been at her house, and he decided to view that as a win. Maybe next time he’d be fully acclimated to the shock.

He glanced at his clock. Despite the restlessness, he still managed to sleep until a little after 9. He wondered if Granger was awake – straining his ears, he thought he could hear shuffling from the other side of the wall his bed was up against. She’d probably been up for the last hour, busying herself with whatever Grangers do in their free time. With a final huff, he hefted himself out of bed and began getting ready as well.

After donning the horrid jeans again (he was really hopeful that they would relax soon) with a new jumper, he let his gaze flick over the room one last time before heading out. For his first experience staying in Muggle lodgings essentially on his own, he felt he had done quite well. He had been unable to turn the tellibision off using the device Granger had used, but knew enough of Muggle technology that he managed to pull the cord that powered it out from the wall, and had otherwise not had too much difficulty navigating the room. He had avoided washing his hair since he couldn’t use a drying charm and didn’t want to go to dinner with wet hair, but he was sure there was some Muggle resource he wasn’t aware of to address that – he just needed to ask Granger about it.

He went to her door and hesitated only a moment before knocking. Almost instantly she pulled it open, looking frazzled with her jumper still in the process of being pulled down and toothbrush poking out of the side of her mouth. When she saw it was him, she briefly froze, eyeing him a bit warily, but opened the door to let him in wordlessly (not that there was much she could say with her mouth otherwise preoccupied). Well, it appeared he had yet again managed to prepare himself before Granger did. She flew around, tossing items into her suitcase, stopping only briefly to dash into the bathroom to rinse her mouth, and then resuming her haphazard packing process. Draco watched somewhat entranced.

“I caught you at a bad time it seems,” he joked halfheartedly, sitting down on the edge of her unmade bed. He had intended to apologize first thing, but didn’t think that would be the best move as she was busy flying around. She huffed out a laugh before slamming her suitcase shut on top of the books she had fit in there. He watched in bemusement as she began stacking all the items she had scattered across her desk before he realized that she was shuffling around the same items over and over, as if she was trying to drag out the process, all while studiously avoiding eye contact with him. In fact, despite all the motion, her entire body looked extremely tense. Ah, so she was preoccupied by the night before as well. Maybe it wasn’t a good thing to delay addressing it then.

“Um, Granger?”

She didn’t react. Was she trying to ignore him?

“Hey, Granger,” he tried again. She was still extremely focused on the apparently engrossing task of restacking her papers. He decided to proceed. “I’m really sorry for my abrupt and rude behavior last night. I don’t know why, but I always get startled when you are… prepared for sleep. Maybe it just goes against the mental image I have of you,” he said, shrugging, “but my reaction is unacceptable, and I know it. I don’t want you to think I actually have any negative feelings toward you, even if in sleepwear, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to moderate your behavior on my behalf. In fact, I’m opposed to the idea. So please forgive me for how I behaved.”

His gaze had been fixed on his hands, and he glanced up through his eyelashes to see how she reacted. She had stopped shuffling the desk contents and was now bracing herself against the desk’s edge. He could only see her back.

“Look, Malfoy. I’ve been trying to figure out all morning how to address this, but there isn’t a single way that I can figure out that isn’t weird, so I’ll just go for it – I know it wasn’t my pajamas that were the issue.” His heart stuttered, and she turned around to face him, revealing a furious flush across her cheeks. “You seemed particularly insulted by my hair. I don’t know what it was about the plaits that were the issue, but I know as a child you were always quite… critical of my hair, and I just wanted to call out that it seems there’s some of those feelings still latently in you now.” Draco’s stomach lurched, and her blush increased in ferocity. “You ask me not to moderate my behavior, but against all odds, you have actually been quite pleasant the past two days, so I don’t want this to throw a wrench into our dynamic. I’ll avoid having my hair in plaits around you from here on, so you don’t need to worry on that front. Just please… don’t lie to me. Don’t ruin the little foundation we have.”

Draco’s mouth dropped, his brain scrambling to keep up with what she had said. So she’d noticed his preoccupation with her hair? And thought it was negative? He supposed, based on the past and the reasoning she had laid out, that it made logical sense for her to think so, but how can he correct in a way that reasonably explained the excessive response but doesn’t reveal his attraction to her? He didn’t think that being completely frank would go over well. Oh no worries Granger, I don’t hate it. In fact, I’m completely infatuated with it, and spent long hours fantasizing about rubbing my hands across your plaits. As he mulled over this conundrum, she seemed to finally finish her packing, and then turned to him once more.

“Having gotten that out of the way, I want you to know I don’t hold any hard feelings. I’m just a bit… embarrassed I suppose.” She was embarrassed?? “I’ll go out to load my stuff in the car. Whenever you’re finished gaping, feel free to come down. I’ll wait for you in the restaurant downstairs so we can eat something before heading out.” Without waiting for his response, she exited, leaving him behind – gaping.

—

After breakfast, they had gotten into the car, and wordlessly pulled out of the inn’s parking lot. Hermione, trying to diffuse the tension, had started playing music again, but didn’t have the heart to sing along like she had yesterday. She was still feeling sore – self-conscious, embarrassed, disappointed in Malfoy, even more disappointed in herself. She had drastically mischaracterized their relationship. She had extrapolated his renaissance with regards to his attitude towards Muggles to herself as well, assuming that his sentiments toward her had improved. And they definitely had, to be fair, but he had explicitly told her he didn’t like her, and she had let a single day of pleasant exchanges make her forget the fact. She had let herself believe that if they were… well, not friends, they were at least friendly. In hindsight, he was surely just being polite, making the best out of the situation.

Malfoy seemed in a similarly contemplative mood, and she felt a bit guilty for calling him out so directly, dragging the underbelly of the beast into the light. He had probably relied on using the unspoken nature of the truth to dictate the dynamic, and was now unsure how to engage with her.

She would need to take the reins until they found even footing again. “So,” – he jolted at her voice suddenly breaking the silence, which she ignored – “do you want to discuss the research that’s been conducted so far?”

“Not particularly,” he murmured, and she sighed internally, wondering if he was going to be deliberately nasty now that they had upset the status quo. “But yeah, let’s do it. Now’s as good a time as ever.”

At this, she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He sounded more resigned than irritated. Was it at holding a conversation, or was it that he would’ve rather discussed something else? Either way, this was important, so Hermione held her mouth shut, waiting for him to continue.

He paused, collecting his thoughts, before saying, “I guess overall, the findings they noted were more or less what I expected them to note based on what I noticed them assessing while performing Legilimency on me. It’s also less than I expected, considering they had asked me extensive questions, but it seems they didn’t deem my answers worthy of note without being able to corroborate them from my mind directly. They seemed to have a lot of ‘unanswered follow up questions’ that I had definitely answered.”

Hermione nodded at this slowly, reluctantly invested. “I had noticed the same. They seemed pretty biased. Which is a shame since they had some good questions.”

“Yeah, well, they were more than a little suspicious of my integrity. Either way, I guess on a purely theoretical standpoint, they seem to be conducting the proper research of a traditional Occlumency shield, my main opposition is well… I don’t think that’s what this is. As in I don’t think what I have is a shield which is purely designed to hold against a Legillimens spell, and it wasn’t cast by a spell, as seems to be their prevailing hypothesis.”

“Yes!” exclaimed Hermione, excited despite herself. “I had the exact same thought! They seem to be trying to believe that the shield was built by a spell, and are attempting to prove it by in turn inventing a spell that can build a shield, but that just isn’t the correct approach! And I would go far as to say that the signs point toward it not being a spell. I was going to ask, how does this shield feel compared to other Occlumency shields? What makes you think it isn’t spell based?”

“It definitely feels different. Can you perform Occlumency?”

Hermione shook her head.

“A traditional shield is kind of like… well, it’s a magical field. You have to collect your magic and erect it against the encroaching magic of whoever is performing Legilimency. Imagine it as if you were tasked to build a wall out of dirt with just your hands. You would most likely build a wall that is wider at the bottom and narrower at the top, with uneven densities along its length. These shields are similar, where even the best Occluders have variable thicknesses in their shields, with some areas thinner and others thicker, especially with internal biases that favor one memory’s protection over the other. This is why strong Legilimenses know how to break apart almost any shield – they know how to find these pockets. This shield in my mind, however, is completely uniform and stagnant. It’s like someone had a mold to pour the dirt into. And instead of dirt, they poured… oh, I don’t know, clay. It feels fundamentally different in its aura. It feels too formulaic to be a spell.”

Hermione contemplated this. “Couldn’t that be because it’s a passive shield?”

“No, definitely not. Passive shields are much harder to perform because you need to cut off the connection to the magic that’s setting up the shield, but they still have the same properties in terms of feel that active shields do.”

“Oh, so you know how to passively shield? That’s incredible!”

“You kind of have to when the world’s reigning tyrant lives in your house – I taught myself to erect and tear down passive shields methodically to improve the odds of being protected in case the Dark Lord opted to take a gander in my mind, but without the downsides of memory loss.”

“Yeah, I… I noticed you did that. Your eyes Occlude semi regularly.”

“I don’t even notice it any more,” said Malfoy with a slight frown. “Or I do if I pay attention, but I guess I got better at it than expected. I think that’s also why it took me a while to realize there was an uninvited shield taking up residence in my mind.”

Hermione had the odd urge to giggle. His dry delivery of horrific experiences really tickled her sometimes. She schooled herself with the reminder that they weren’t friends.

“So the shield feels significantly different from… let’s say the texture standpoint – is there anything else?”

“Well it’s significantly more rigid, but I guess that’s to be expected. Shields I impose on myself are fluid and adjust themselves as the thoughts and memories they’re shielding evolve. This one doesn’t do that.”

“Can you gauge what specific memories it’s wrapped around?”

Malfoy opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. He closed it again and smiled bitterly.

“I… don’t think so. I guess that’s the final big difference – with other shields, I can feel and ward against intruding magic, but I can still consciously access the memory. With this one I…” – he seemed to struggle to find the words – “I swear I know the information, and logically I know what it contains, but it’s like trying to catch a fish with your hands – the second I think I have a concrete idea in my hands, it escapes me.”

Hermione thought this over. “That would make sense – your brain knows how to use stored information without consciously being aware of processing it. There is a very famous experiment where individuals who didn’t have a connection between the two halves of their brain weren’t able to verbally communicate what they saw in the same visual field as the hemisphere that their speech-control center was in, but they were able to use that information in answering questions. It seems whatever you have may just be blocking your conscious manipulation of information, but you can still subconsciously use it.”

Malfoy, who looked a bit queasy from the explanation of split-brain syndrome, asked, “So does that help us?”

Hermione cocked her head. “I’m not sure. I think it’s valuable to make the distinction between conscious and unconscious memory, though I’m not sure it helps us at this point, and it’s good to know that those memories aren’t totally inaccessible to you. Clearly, some level of communication is still happening with that region, so the shield is more of a… filter than a wall. It’s letting information through, just not everything.”

He nodded at this, clearly deep in thought. “I guess that’s something. We wouldn’t be looking at a fully secured mechanism like Protego, but instead something more… porous. With more caveats”

Hermione was reminded of her own thoughts from the night before. “So, if you had to make a guess, what do you think it was that created the shield, if not a spell?”

Malfoy reached to the back seat where he had laid the books he had selected and pulled one toward himself. “I’m not sure. Do you have any thoughts?”

“Well, I was thinking yesterday that since potions like Veritaserum allow for lowered mental inhibition that maybe it’s a potion? But ever since you mentioned the wall feels formulaic, I’m almost wondering if it isn’t more likely to be…”

“A rune,” Malfoy concluded, eyes brightening. Hermione couldn’t help a reluctant smile in return. It really was strangely invigorating to work with someone who worked through information at the same rate she did.

“I think that’s where I’ll start from,” continued Malfoy. Leaning back in his seat, he opened the book he had selected, which she saw had to do with the theory of magical mental manipulation. She had skimmed it before, and had thought it largely lacking as the author spent most of the textbook only partially proving any of their hypotheses and then concluding them as fact, but if it helped Malfoy in his research, she would refrain from commenting. Instead, she focused her attention back on the road, lightly humming to herself as they continued east.