Shielded

Hermione woke the next morning feeling oddly apprehensive. She tried very hard not to think about last night, so naturally she immediately began obsessing over it. She wasn’t at all sure where the intensity had come from. Something had gone woefully wrong at some point between pragmatically drying his hair and running her fingers through the strands for no actual reason. She reviewed the encounter in her mind, trying to pinpoint what had been the catalyst.

Maybe it had been when she touched him? But no, even before then, she could remember herself getting mesmerized by the moment, with her caring for Malfoy and him thoughtlessly submitting to her ministrations. She had been hyperaware of the body heat and soap smell radiating off of him, of the moments where she grazed against his shoulders moving around him… of him watching her with the same intensity he always did when she was doing something. She hadn’t been able to help raising her hand to brush it against his head.

She hadn’t been lying, she had needed better access to the roots of his hair, but more than anything she had felt a distinct siren’s call to touch him. She wasn’t typically a very physically affectionate person, and not being sure what else to do with the feeling, had acted on it. Running her fingers through his hair had satiated and inflamed her, and when she had finished drying his hair, there was a moment when she felt… drawn to him. Like if she looked away, he’d disappear into thin air, and that would have been unbearable.

And then there had been his comment on her plaits. She groaned, rubbing the heels of her palm into her eyes. She had no idea what had inspired the admission, but something about it had been the most invigorating thing ever said to her, and she felt out of control long after she had left. Why Malfoy affected her so much, she couldn’t understand, but she needed to learn to moderate it. 

For one, she was on assignment to protect him – on that notion alone, this was unacceptable. But for another, she felt like she was taking advantage of him, and it grossed her out. He was clearly and understandably starved for touch, as had been apparent from his entrancement as she had dried his hair, and while this poor guy was recovering from multiple types of isolation from the years, here she was, acting entitled to take advantage of his vulnerability. He had said he didn’t like her, and she needed to be respectful of that. It wouldn’t happen again, she chided herself firmly. It couldn’t.

She would need to re-establish the boundaries of professionalism… again. They kept crumbling for some reason. She had come in with the intent to discuss their research last night, but that had completely slipped her mind. She had a strategy now – she would pick up that conversation as they hit the road again, and avoid discussions or themes that could potentially turn the dynamic strained.

She packed up her belongings, stored the unneeded books Malfoy had returned in her charmed bag, and finished getting ready for the day. She went to the neighboring door, knocked on it, shouted, “I’ll wait for you downstairs again,” and then descended when he called back his assent. 

They were meant to head to Cheshire today, but as both fastest routes there took them through bigger cities, they’d need to deliberately take rural roads to avoid the exposure, which would probably add quite a bit of travel time. She ordered them both sandwiches to go, and when Malfoy came down, they loaded themselves in the car. She tried to turn it on, but to Hermione’s dismay, the engine turned over twice before it fired to life. She eyed it uneasily, but when it kept running as usual, she let out a sigh of relief before pulling out.

“Was that… expected?” Malfoy asked skeptically.

“No, but not a cause for alarm,” responded Hermione, happy that this slight obstacle gave them something new to discuss, dispelling the somewhat tense vibe they had had between them. “It happens with old cars. I’m sure it’s just getting overworked, being constantly used to drive across the country like we have been. I just hope it holds out until we get there.”

Malfoy, who didn’t look reassured at all, asked, “This is an old car? I didn’t realize. It looks like all the magical ones.”

“Yeah, for Muggles, a car built more than 10 years ago is already considered older, and this car looks like it’s from the 80s,” said Hermione. “Magic just allows for these sorts of things to have a longer lifespan – Muggles don’t have the ability to undo the natural wear and tear that using something like a car causes, so it’s typically more straightforward to get rid of one car for another after a certain point. I also think the simplistic design of older Muggle technology makes it easier to manipulate it with magic for wizarding purposes, which makes wizarding developers more likely to use older models anyway. The cameras magical people use look straight up antiquated by Muggle standards.”

Malfoy seemed to contemplate this before glancing at the dashboard again warily, and then pulling out The Art of Imbibing Intangible Objects with Magic, opening it to its first page. Hermione glanced down at the book before saying,

“I had a thought last night before I came over. I’ve been trying to figure out how it was that Voldemort built shields specifically around the memories of him. I mean, some Death Eaters had to have already been Occluding before initiation, right?”

Malfoy nodded. “Many of us were actually. I know I was.”

“And you had shields around things to do with Voldemort, too?”

He nodded again.

“Right, but you weren’t aware of him setting up the shield, so it wasn’t as if he had asked you to lower them or anything to configure the right one, and you would’ve felt him tearing them down. He would’ve had to know which memories pertained to him without you being aware. Well, I was reviewing the biology of unconscious recollection, and I had a theory about the shield. With traditional memory and recollection, encoding new memories in the brain is most effective when a conscious intent and interest is paid to subject matter that is in short term memory. So basically, if something is encountered, then prioritized for recollection, that memory is more likely to be stored in long term memory for passive processing. And the more that memory is deliberately recalled, the stronger the encoding becomes.”

“Okay…” Malfoy said, clearly unsure of where she was going with this.

“Well, I was thinking about Occlumency, and how it may have some similarities with encoding and recollection. The way you describe it, both active and passive shields require intent in erecting them, but the challenge in the strength of a shield is the extent to which protection of those memories is prioritized. So like long term encoding gets stronger with greater internal prioritization, the strength of a shield could be proportional to the importance of that memory.”

Malfoy didn’t respond.

“Well, what if that’s what Voldemort capitalized on? What if he used existing shields Death Eaters had erected as a blueprint for what he wanted to preserve independently, and based on the strength of the shield, decided which contained memories tied to him!”

“… I’m not following.” She couldn’t read Malfoy’s voice.

“I expect that out of pure devotion to the cause and faith in Voldemort, Death Eaters would have wanted to protect thoughts about him above everything else. Now, Voldemort wouldn’t have known which shields contained thoughts of him, not unless Death Eaters lowered them, which would have notified you of the shield being set up, but he could infer it based on which shields were the most heavily guarded. Top-down control is very effective. So rather than erecting his own shields in their minds, when he could, he simply found the one that indicated the greatest level of protection, and bolstered those – somehow. Almost boosted the existing shielding using his own magic to ensure they remained after his magic was withdrawn.”

Malfoy was very quiet.

“Malfoy? What do you think?”

“I… I don’t think Death Eaters particularly wanted to protect his agenda. At least, not reliably enough that every single one would prioritize that above all other thoughts.”

Hermione scoffed. “Oh, come on. You can’t seriously believe Death Eaters didn’t, to some extent, worship Voldemort so much that they’d place him on a pedestal.”

“I didn’t.” He said it almost quietly.

She looked at him in outright surprise. “Really? Not even at the start? I know you weren’t crazy about what you had to do for him, but you had to be committed to the cause to sign up as a Death Eater!”

“Oh, did I have to?” Malfoy said, voice suddenly very cold and sarcastic. Her blood froze. She hadn’t heard him sound like this in over 10 years. Her breath was taken away at the reminder of how disdainful he could sound. “Did I have to blindly adore the maniac, who, already then, was torturing my father and threatening me and my mother with the same. Did I have to be so infatuated with him that, despite him wielding my life as a bargaining chip, I decided to act the soldier against my better judgement and morals? Did I have to be committed to this stranger, who made me harm my peers and classmates of many years, made me harm other witches and wizards, to further an agenda which I was only committed to out of familial duty, and not out of any true internalized motivation? Of course I did. I’m big, bad Malfoy, who just exists to be big and bad, and who obviously had no nuance or conflict in his feelings for the war.”

Hermione tried to interrupt, but he bulldozed on, sarcastically jeering.

“You’re right, Granger. My top priority was to protect this random menace that had been forced into my life. Instead of my friends, my family, my SELF, my priority would have been the Dark Lord of all people, who took away any control and autonomy I had over my life. It’s only natural I prioritize him, allow him to take control of a part of my brain in perpetuity, because as someone who wouldn’t let anyone control my thoughts, that seems a natural progression.”

“Malfoy, I’m sorry—”

“Save it, Granger. I now understand how you see me. I should’ve known your acceptance of having me in your life now was too good to be true. To you, I was evil, then good. It’s very black and white. I went from being corrupt to being reformed.” He scoffed. “I don’t think you appreciate how much agony I had been going through during the course of the war, or how much guilt I feel now for everything I turned my back on since. I lost family, friends, everything that brought me stability for the first 20 years of my life. For good reason, mind you, but it still hurts. And just like I’m not all Gryffindor-goodie-goodie now, I wasn’t all Slytherin-baddie-bad then. So if more of your theories are based on the genius notion of understanding something you know nothing of, I don’t want to hear it. In fact, leave me alone. I’m going to read this book since apparently only one of us isn’t interested in drawing conclusions based on pure conjecture.”

She tried one last time to speak up, but his glare cut at her, freezing the words in her throat. She shut her mouth and swallowed what she was going to say. They drove in silence, only interrupted by Malfoy turning his pages.

—

“Oh no no no no,” Hermione groaned as the car started slowing. The engine had begun sputtering half an hour ago, and she had planned to pull over at the next opportunity, but villages had been getting further and further apart. No sign of civilization had been visible in the last hour, just farmland.

With one last rattle, the engine died out, and Hermione used the remaining momentum to pull over before slamming her forehead against the steering wheel.

“Now what,” asked Malfoy bitterly. They had ridden the entire past 4 hours in tense silence, only breaking it to discuss bathroom breaks and meal logistics.

“Well, I don’t know enough about cars to fix it, and my phone’s dead, so I think we’ll need to go by foot until we find someone to help us.”

“Marvelous,” he drawled. Hermione tried not to react. She felt very guilty about their squabble, but was still processing it, which made her prone to lash out in irritability. It wouldn’t help to add fuel to the fire.

She sighed. “I don’t want to leave you here on your own, so let’s keep walking along this road together. We know there’s nothing in the direction we came from. Grab a change of clothes and your toiletries, I’ll put them in my bag, so if we end up having to stay wherever we end up we have the necessary resources to do so.”

He nodded his assent and hauled himself out of the car. They silently rooted through their belongings, and when both of them had what they needed, Hermione hid out of Malfoy’s line of sight to pack them away in her bag. With all the preparation available to them taken care of, they began walking along the edge of the dirt road they had been driving down until then.

An hour later, Hermione was busy silently thanking any and all higher powers that it wasn’t raining when Malfoy exclaimed “There!” with more vigor than he’d used at any other point since that morning, pointing at the horizon. True enough, Hermione could see a trail of smoke drifting off in the distance. 

“Good eye!” she responded with excitement, and both of them picked up the slow trudge they had been walking with. In another 20 minutes, they could see what looked like a farmhouse surrounded by auxiliary structures in the distance.

“Wow, this is very lucky timing,” said Hermione, eyeing the sun. “It would’ve started getting dark soon.”

Malfoy, who was lightly panting, nodded, which was more acknowledgment than what he’d given the other inane observations she’d made in an attempt to extend an olive branch.

By the time the sun started officially setting, they had reached the main building and walked up to the entrance. Hermione looked for a doorbell, but being unable to find one, knocked twice at the front door. After a moment, they heard scuffling, and the door creaked open to reveal a motherly-looking older lady who reminded Hermione very much of Mrs. Weasley if she aged 15 years.

“Good evening,” said the woman cheerily, wiping a dish with a rag.

“Good evening,” responded Hermione, smiling politely. “My name is Hermione, and this is Ma– Draco. Our car broke down about an hour and a half walk from here, and we were hoping for some assistance finding the closest place we might be able to repair it. We’re on our way to Cheshire, and thought to take the scenic route, but that obviously backfired,” she said wryly.

The woman chortled good naturedly. “Why, but of course! You poor dearies! Come in, come in, we’ll get you settled right away.”

She waved them in, pointing them toward an arched entry to what looked to be the kitchen.

“Head right that away. I’ll go and get my husband, he’s more likely to be able to help you with the car issues.”

She scurried out, and Hermione and Malfoy sat down at the table in the kitchen. Despite the bad terms they were on, he sat down in the seat directly next to her, clearly wary of the unfamiliar surroundings. They were gazing around the rustic kitchen when the woman hurried back in, followed by an equally energetic old man.

“Dear, this is Hermione and Draco. Hermione and Draco, this is my husband.”

They made to stand up to greet him, but the man waved his hands for them to stay seated before sinking into the opposing chair, so Hermione instead said,

“Very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. …?”

“Oh how rude of me!” gushed the woman, who was coming over with a tray of tea. “I’m Agatha Peppers, and this is my husband, Harold.”

“In that case, very pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. and Mrs. Peppers,” said Hermione with a smile, and Draco nodded his assent.

“Likewise,” said Mr. Peppers, mustache twitching with a smile, and Mrs. Peppers beamed at them before she began pouring their tea. “Now, what’s this my wife told me about a broken down car?”

“Well, we were on our way to Cheshire, and our car broke down about 5 miles from here. It had been sputtering a bit before that, so I didn’t dare to charge my phone with it, but it died anyway, so we weren’t able to call anyone. We ended up walking instead, hoping we could find some help before it got too dark.”

Mr. Peppers tutted. “Very fortunate you were this close – the Wilkinsons are more than an hour’s drive in the direction you came from. Could you explain the car issues in a bit more detail? I have some familiarity with repairing the things.” 

However, when she described the order of events from their drive, he huffed out in disappointment, making his mustache billow. “Ah, engine issues aren’t something I can help with, which it sounds like what this is. Fortunately, however, there is a small… well not quite a village, but bigger than a hamlet, about 10 miles from here, and there is a man who recently moved there, Robert, who was trained as a mechanic, I presume he’s your best option out here.”

Hermione nodded. “Might we give him a call and see if he could come get us?”

Mr. Peppers shook his head. “No, I don’t believe you’d be able to reach him so late, and even if you were, he wouldn’t be likely to come out after dark. Why don’t you stay the night here, and give him a call tomorrow?”

“Would that be alright?” asked Hermione, looking between the Peppers.

“But of course!” insisted Mrs. Peppers. “We have a guest room all made up, and you are more than welcome to stay there.”

She felt Malfoy stiffen next to her. “Uh, is there any chance you have a couch or something as well that the other person could sleep on?” she asked awkwardly.

The Peppers looked between them with surprise. “Well, our son is currently out of town, so one of you could stay in his room for the night,” hedged Mrs. Peppers, now looking at them with outright interest. 

“That would be great. Thank you for understanding.” Hermione smiled graciously.

“Not at all, dear,” tittered Mrs. Peppers. “Have you had dinner?”

“No, not yet, unfortunately,” admitted Hermione.

“Not an issue – we just finished up (old people eat dinner quite early I’m afraid), but we have leftovers from our roast that I can reheat for you two. Go ahead and settle in your rooms, Harold can show you the way, and I’ll begin the preparations.”

Moments later, after Hermione had given Malfoy’s belongings back to him and left him to brood in the Peppers’ son’s room, she returned to the kitchen to offer her assistance in preparing dinner.

“Oh no need, but you’re a dear for offering,” Mrs. Peppers reassured her warmly. “Feel free to just sit down – everything will be ready soon enough.”

Hermione acquiesced, and after a moment of silence, asked a couple of questions about their life on the farm, which Mrs. Peppers answered happily enough.

“What I’m dying to know,” Mrs. Pepper admitted, voice lower conspiratorially, “is why you aren’t shacked up with that gentleman you’re with.”

Hermione blushed. “Oh, we’re just friends. Not even. We’re… acquaintances from school. We just happened to be… going to the same place and thought we’d carpool,” she improvised.

Mrs. Peppers winked. “Acquaintances, eh? Not the impression I got off of him. He seemed very… protective of you.”

Hermione jolted at this. “Protective? How do you mean?”

“Oh, he was just looming in a way that warned everyone to stay away. It was all very debonair.”

“Well, we got in a fight when we started this trip, maybe that’s what gave the impression. It’s left him very… surly.”

Mrs. Peppers chuckled. “Men, right? Nothing to make them tighten their grasp more than feeling like they’re losing you.”

Hermione wasn’t too sure about that. “It was my fault anyway,” she said. “I was being insensitive, I just haven’t had the chance to talk to him about it.”

“Well, if you want to talk to him about it, maybe I’m not as far off as you think,” the old woman challenged, clearly having a great time with the conversation. She started loading baking dishes of food from the oven to the table.

“I just… we weren’t particularly close in school, and there’s a chance we’ll cross paths more now, so I don’t want us to start our new relationship on the wrong foot.”

Mrs. Peppers nodded wisely, but there was still a twinkle in her eye. “I’m sure you’ll sort it out. You seem clever, and while he’s quiet, I’m sure he is too. Anyway, here are all the leftovers, and here –” she laid down plates and cutlery “– are all the utensils. I’ll head up to bed now too, but if you could be so kind as to return any remaining food in the refrigerator and your dishes to the sink, I’ll make sure to clean everything up tomorrow morning.”

Hermione nodded before the women bid each other good night. Hermione waited a moment before creeping back to the room Malfoy was staying in and knocking quietly.

“M– Draco?” she whisper-shouted, worried the Peppers might hear her. “Are you hungry?”

“No,” came the muffled reply. She sighed. She went back to the kitchen, took one of the plates, and loaded it with a variety of offerings on the table, before returning and opening the door slightly to peer in. Malfoy was at the desk in the room, deeply engrossed in his book, and didn’t acknowledge her. She put down the plate on the floor and shut the door again before going to eat her own dinner. After she finished, she consolidated the remaining bites of food into a single baking dish and washed up the emptied ones before laying her plate in the sink. Remembering the food she had left with Malfoy, she crept back to his room, only to find the plate on the floor outside of his door, completely empty. With a small smile, she brought that back to the kitchen too.