Shielded

The first thing that Draco was aware of when he regained consciousness was the sound of Granger knocking her fingers against the wooden bed frame. Knock! Knock! Knock! The sound reverberated through the room before ceasing. Then, Knock! Knock! Knock!

“Granger, stop it,” he murmured, still 99% asleep.

Silence.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

“Granger!” he rasped again, tiredly tossing his arm over her torso, parallel with his leg across her hip, to haphazardly hold down her arms (strange, it felt like they were already tucked into her chest). Happy with his contribution to their peace, he drifted off to sleep again.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Was she using her foot??

“Ugh, Granger…” he moaned petulantly.

“Mmmm..?” she hummed back sleepily, nuzzling backward into his chest and using her feet to hold onto his other foot that wasn’t wrapped around her. Ahh, that was nice…

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Suddenly, Draco woke just enough for all the clues to finally come together in his sleep-addled mind. Realizing that he was sprawled across Granger, he quickly pulled himself back, blearily glaring at the smushed pillows that were the remnants of the wall that was meant to have held him back. He only had a moment to feel embarrassed when, yet again,

Knock! Knock! Knock!

That’s not Granger! Someone’s at the door! Looking at the clock on the wall, he vaguely registered it was 7 in the morning. Who on Earth…

With some misgiving, he pulled himself out of bed and padded over to the door, yanking it open. He was greeted by a weathered old man in priest’s clothing looking at him morosely with an agitated Deacon John hovering by his shoulder. Draco looked between the two of them nonplussed.

“Good morning,” droned the priest.

“‘Morning,” Draco croaked back.

“I have been informed by my associate here that you have been deceptive about the circumstances in which you were allowed to stay in our accommodations. He reports that rather than stemming from need, you are here due to a fall from grace.”

Draco’s brain had to use twice the power it usually did to understand what was happening.

“Er… What?”

The priest eyed him once over. “Deacon John informs me that you have come here to sin, rather than out of need, and has asked for my assistance to remove you from the premises.”

Draco, despite himself, blushed at the mention of sin.

“It’s true!” chirped Deacon John, bouncing around. Draco was violently reminded of a tattling child, eager for punishment to be doled for some minor technicality. “He was seduced by a Jezebel, and she in turn lied to the church to cover for it! The enemy misled him, with lust and self-indulgence coercing him to be complicit!”

Now Draco was waking up. He didn’t mind the way Deacon John spoke about him (it was more and more that Draco got the uneasy sense that he really was lusty and self-indulgent), but the deacon’s portrayal of Granger was unacceptable. The head priest opened his mouth, but whether it was to chide or support Deacon John they’d never know, because Draco spoke up authoritatively,

“While it is true that my wife was disingenuous about the motivations by which we got married, that was solely due to her concern that if she were to give the truth, we’d be turned away. What’s true is that we got together under unusual circumstances, that we are in a rush to continue our journey, and that our car is currently in a state of disrepair that prevents us from being able to do so. So yes, we were very much in need. Deacon John, however, was unwilling to help under these conditions alone, so out of desperation, my wife felt the need to instill additional pity by painting herself as a victim. Which, might I point out, was the only means by which Deacon John was willing to offer assistance. I apologize for the deception, but I must repeat my warning from yesterday to you, Deacon John, that you are absolutely not, by any means, allowed to refer to my wife by derogatory terms.”

The deacon had slowly turned whiter and whiter throughout this speech, and by the end was glancing worriedly at the head priest, who continued to steadily gaze at Draco. Seeing that Draco had paused for a moment, Deacon John made to speak, but Draco forestalled him,

“However, Deacon John, you’ll be happy to hear that some of the more gracious members of this community were actually willing to help us without any reservations, and our car is fixed, so we will actually be leaving first thing this morning.”

This took the wind out of the deacon’s sails immediately.

“In fact,” Draco heard from behind him, and it took every lesson in impassiveness he learned from his upbringing not to jump at Granger’s voice, “here is our pay for the lodgings, and some food from a nearby farm that we’d be happy to donate to the clergy, as we won’t be eating it anymore.” With that, Granger stepped out from behind him, the basket that Deacon John had brought the previous day more filled than before, a wad of money tucked into the side.

How long had she been aware of their conversation?? He noticed with a jolt that she was still wearing pajamas and her plaits, and a weird, foreign beast reared itself inside him at the knowledge that they were seeing her in this state. Those plaits were for him, and him alone. Draco shook himself of this strange thought. Nonetheless, when the head priest somberly accepted the basket, Draco stepped sideways to block Granger again, and the weird beast was sated by the fact that she let him.

“Thank you, dear,” he said to her, sneering at Deacon John as he craned his neck to look at her. Not on his watch, thought Draco bitterly, making himself stand wider.

“Yes, indeed, thank you. This is most generous and kind,” intoned the head priest, inspecting the basket contents. “I must say, the couple I see in front of me right now is much more like what Deacon John had initially reported to me than what he has since notified me of.” The head priest smiled slightly at this, and for a brief, alarming moment, he reminded Draco ever so slightly of Dumbledore. “And especially as you mentioned you would be departing today, I no longer see any issue, and will leave you be. Please, take the time you need to finish your business here — there is no rush to depart.”

With that, he inclined his head once before turning to shuffle away towards the church, leaving Deacon John sputtering at their entrance. Draco simply raised an eyebrow at him.

“Come, Deacon John,” rasped the head priest, still heading away. “Let’s exchange some words in my office.”

At this, a flush suffused the deacon’s face, but he nonetheless turned around to follow the priest. When they were far enough away, Draco stepped back again to close the door. He turned to face Granger, who was standing right by the entrance, lips clamped together and eyes watering, clearly very tense.

Draco was briefly alarmed. “Hermione, is everything—“

“BAHAHAHAHAH!!” Granger burst out laughing, mirth making her double over and catch hold of his shoulder to support herself. He briefly froze at the contact, but the laughter was so contagious, he couldn’t help but smile down at her as she laughed at the floor.

“What??” he implored, smile widening when she stood back up and removed her hand to wipe the tears from her eyes.

“I… told you… he’d try… to kick… us out,” she heaved between laughs, and then doubled over again as a new gail hit her, this time propping herself up by her knees.

“But… but…” she sputtered, righting herself, “he wasn’t ready… for the indignation of… of a Malfoy.”

He chuckled briefly, still not sure what was funny but enjoying the circumstances nonetheless.

“A Mallow, you mean,” he corrected dryly, and a new wave of hilarity hit Granger.

“Oh God, oh God, my sides are hurting, I need to sit down,” she said, stumbling to the bed and sitting down on the edge of his side, last chuckles sputtering out of her like an emptying bottle of Madame Mim’s Luscious Lock Solution. When she finally got it all out, she looked up at him, eyes shining bright with the remaining tears of mirth and grinning ear to ear.

“You were marvelous,” she effused with every apparent ounce of sincerity she could. He blushed. “I just,” she sighed happily, “I never imagined how… incredible it would be to have Malfoy righteousness on my side. You’re a powerful ally to have. You asserted yourself, corrected the record, and reprimanded him, all with the utmost propriety and grace. What a thing to witness.” She continued gazing at him with just an open, awed expression. Malfoy felt his insides contort. Warmth flooded through his body and his throat closed up. 

“Can I hug you?”

“Wh-what??” he choked out.

“No pressure, I won’t mind at all if you say ‘No,’ but I’d like to hug you if you’re open to it.” She continued smiling at him serenely, as if she hadn’t just uprooted his life with a single question.

When he just kept staring, she said, “Not a problem. But please know I’m very appreciative of what you just did. I can’t lie and say I wasn’t apprehensive about this confrontation happening, and you were so much better at handling it than I ever would have been.” She stood up and made to head to the bathroom.

“Wait, no, Hermione,” he managed to get out, weakly raising his hand in her direction. Though he didn’t touch her, she stopped and looked in his face. He didn’t know what he was doing. He just gazed at her desperately.

She seemed to understand. Wordlessly, she opened her arms and stepped into his space, stopping a short distance from him, clearly still wanting him to make the final call. She had lowered her gaze, and this somehow made it easier for him to fall into her hold and wrap his arms around her, squeezing her body against his. He felt the moment her arms wrapped around him in return, her cheek pressed against his shoulder as she squeezed back with equal strength.

Draco gasped silently, and turned his face toward her head, his nose smushed into her hair. This felt so, so good. The pressure, the warmth, the fact that she had reached out to him… at this last thought, he had to squeeze his eyes shut, a tear trickling down his cheek. 

Every touch they’d shared, either intentionally or accidentally, has somehow accumulated to this moment of them holding each other. He felt the palms of her hands through the back of his shirt, her body flush against his, her puffs of air against his shoulder, the tendrils of her hair tickling his lips. He shuddered as an involuntary sob silently coursed through him, and with the resulting inhale, he was surrounded by the smell of her hair.

He’d remember that smell forever. He could identify her shampoo, as he’d curiously sniffed it in the bottle when he had been at her house, but layered within and around that was a smell that was just… such a specifically Granger smell. It was warm and sweet and comforting. It was like nothing he’d ever come across, but simultaneously brought him a deep peace that he’s rarely experienced before. It was so… human. It made him very aware that he was in such close proximity to a person, and that that person was Granger. He breathed in the smell, letting it calm the tempest inside him.

Granger seemed in no rush to let go. Now that the initial turmoil was subsiding, Draco started working on pulling his composure together again externally, surreptitiously wiping the errant tear against his shoulder. As much as he’d like to, he was pretty sure people couldn’t just spend all day hugging. With a deep breath, he finally started pulling away, and Granger easily acquiesced.

What was post-hug etiquette? Draco had only ever hugged friends and family, he wasn’t sure what he was meant to do when one was potentially attracted to the person one was engaged in hugging with. Like an uncouth lout, he just stared at her, at a loss for words, but she didn’t seem to mind. Instead, she smiled at him sweetly, and raised her hand to cup his cheek. 

If he thought he was hot before, he was burning up now. She just gazed at him, and for a brief, terrifying, wonderful moment, he wondered if she would kiss him. Would she let him kiss her back? Draco had to suppress a groan at this thought.

Despite knowing she only touched his face briefly, time had slowed down to a glacial pace for him. He gazed into her eyes, feeling her touch on his face, her mouth slightly parted, and he suddenly felt the need to kiss her clawing through him ferociously. And not like he kissed society ladies, on the cheek or hand (although he would take anything at this point), but… but like lovers. On the lips. She said it was different, and for the first time ever, Draco desperately wanted to understand what she meant. Once the thought took root in his mind, it wouldn’t let go.

“Thank you again,” she spoke up, and time returned to its normal rate, the spell broken by her voice.

She dropped her hand and turned to head to the bathroom, but whether it was because she needed to or to give him a moment to stop gaping, he wasn’t sure. He watched her walk away with the intense impulse to pull her back churning through him.

—

After taking their time getting ready, Hermione looked around the lodge one last time, verifying that nothing was being left behind before shutting the door firmly behind her. Hooking her bag more securely over her shoulder, she locked up and turned to walk to Malfoy, who was waiting for her at the start of the path to the church, gaze locked on her. She made eye contact with him briefly before looking away quickly. Ever since the excitement from that morning, he had had the most intense look in his eyes that she had ever seen, and it flustered her every time. It was… fervent. Ardent. Predatory. She took a steadying breath.

“Shall we go then?” she said chipperly, glancing at him briefly to see his head nod in acknowledgement. 

She headed down the pathway, and noticing Deacon John at the entrance, marched over to him, feeling Malfoy’s shadowing presence silently following right behind her. The deacon, who was sweeping the stairs, started when he registered their approach. She put a forced smile on her face and walked toward him with the key extended his way.

“Here is the key. Thank you for your assistance. I’d say it was a pleasure, but it wasn’t.”

The deacon sputtered at her outspokenness. “Madam! –”

“I already said once, don’t ‘madam’ me,” she interrupted him primly, looking down her nose at the deacon.

He briefly flailed, then turned to Malfoy with affront. “Sir, you need to better manage your wife.”

“How can I manage someone who has me wrapped around their finger,” Malfoy calmly responded, completely flooring Hermione, only shocking her further when she felt the warmth of his hand make familiar contact with her lower back. Her heart picked up at double speed. For all the touch that there has been between them, this was the first time he had deliberately initiated it, and the awareness sent a tingly feeling through her entire body, radiating from where he touched her.

She schooled her features to remain impassive, instead waving the hand holding up the key in front of Deacon John’s nose impatiently. He looked at the key as if it had personally offended him, then glanced at Malfoy and around them, but apparently noticing no one would save him, gingerly took it out of her hand using two fingers before dropping it in his pocket.

Without another word, Hermione felt Mafloy’s hand gently push her to turn, and she allowed his touch to guide her away, only dropping when they were outside of the church courtyard. She immediately missed the warmth. She glanced at his hand surreptitiously, and saw it was doing the flexing he always seemed to do after prolonged contact, but for the first time, she wasn’t insulted – it no longer seemed he was shaking the feeling because he didn’t like it.

“So,” she finally spoke up, interrupting the silence stretching between them. “I think it would be a good idea that we continue on to Yorkshire today instead of finishing the trip to Cheshire – I’d say we’ve spent enough time on this side of the UK, and I’d expect we’re already close anyway, so might as well progress further north now.”

“Makes sense,” Malfoy responded uninterestedly.

“That way we can also spend a bit more time in one place, so we can hopefully make more progress on researching whatever we get from Maeve, if anything.”

He hummed at this noncommittally. He almost seemed distracted.

“Everything okay?” she asked, a bit disconcerted by how preoccupied he was.

“What?” he looked at her then, confusion written all over his expression. “Yeah, all good.”

“Okay, that’s good then.” Having reached Robert and Maeve’s house at that point, she let the subject drop, but noticed that the distant look had returned to his face. They knocked on the door, and were cheerily welcomed and let in by Maeve, who ushered them into the kitchen where Robert was already laying the table.

They sat down, and happily began chatting over the breakfast in front of them. Robert told them of all the repairs he’d made (and reassured them that they would be set for the rest of their journey), and Hermione recounted the unfortunate saga they had experienced at the church. Maeve and Robert laughed to the point of tears at her regaling their confrontation with Deacon John last night, and commended Malfoy for his honorable defense of Hermione that morning, making him blush. 

Maeve had gone all out, preparing a quiche loaded full of vegetables, cakes, a loaf of bread, and chopped fruit, all of which was delicious. Hermione complimented almost every bite she took.

“You are too kind,” tittered Maeve. “You know, you remind me of Orla sometimes. She was always too busy to eat, so I’d always cook for her when she was home, and she would get so appreciative that she spent more time thanking me than actually eating the food.”

“Oh, you have no idea how accurate you are about Hermione,” said Malfoy, pouring himself a second cup of juice. “At school, she never used to eat, she would just sit with her nose in a book, poking around at her meals and leaving half of it uneaten. In fact,” he chuckled, “the only point that she made actual note of her food was when she was informed that house elves made it for free, and she took such deep ethical offense to that that it was only then that she finally focused on eating everything she served herself, and that wasn’t until fourth year!”

Maeve and Robert laughed at this, but Hermione felt oddly warm that he had been aware of this progression. How had he known?

“Oh, you poor dear,” Maeve said, smiling at Hermione warmly. “I hope you didn’t terribly neglect eating.”

“No, no, it was nothing like that,” Hermione reassured her, collecting herself, narrowing her eyes at Malfoy accusatorily. “I ate plenty.”

He scoffed. “I’m pretty sure 90% of your sustenance your first three years was just fruit and the raspberry tarts you liked so much.”

Maeve gasped. “Hermione! And I thought you said your parents were dentists!”

She blushed. “He’s being dramatic! On occasion I would treat myself to a raspberry tart!”

This made Malfoy outright laugh, turning to Robert and Maeve conspiratorially, and pretended to whisper, “Once, I counted her eating 5 in one sitting! 5!” The couple chuckled at this admission, but Hermione was just further flummoxed by how… aware of her he’d been.

Not to be shown up, she tossed her own hat into the ring. “Yeah, well, Draco used to pack an apple with him every day, but didn’t always eat them, so once, when I peeked inside his bag, I saw he had at least 7 jammed in there! And once,” she matched his confiding tone from before, “I stole one, and ate it.”

“See! I told you!! All she ate was tarts and fruit!” If she had expected to disarm him, she was sorely mistaken. Instead, Malfoy just smiled at her victoriously, the intense burn back in his eyes as he gazed at her. She stuck her tongue out at him childishly, to the great enjoyment of Robert and Maeve.

They moved on from this topic to discuss the couple’s travels (without bringing up the unpleasant circumstances of it), but Hermione couldn’t shake the intense awareness that Malfoy was focusing on her more than usual. Every time they made eye contact, rather than avoiding it like he often did, he held it until Hermione was the one who backed down, feeling flustered.

The morning otherwise passed in high spirits, and as they were clearly finishing up the meal, Malfoy casually asked,

“So, you had mentioned that Orla was looking to isolate spells for you. What kinds of spells would you have wanted?”

Maeve looked surprised at this turn in conversation. “Oh, nothing big I don’t think, just silly things, especially now that I’m getting older and my body is failing me. The ability to water my plants without having to carry a watering can the entire way, a way to make heavy things like sacks of potatoes lighter, a way to clean particularly stubborn stains. I also wish we had those nifty floating lights magical people can produce so my Robert could perform repairs with better light than the flashlights we have. Things of that sort. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious about the possibilities. It sounds like interesting magic, and is related somewhat to what we’re researching, but obviously Orla was much more advanced than anyone else in the field. Would you be amenable to us seeing some of the research she left with you?”

“But of course!” effused Maeve, smiling at this. “It would make her so happy to know her research was being carried on, especially by such talented young people as yourselves! In fact, let me go see what she had hidden, and you can take whatever is most relevant to you.” With that, she scuttled out of the room momentarily, and returned with a large box, which she placed down in front of them.

“I haven’t looked through this in a long time, so I can’t remember the contents anymore, but I hope something is of use.”

Hermione and Malfoy took a quiet moment ruffling through the first piles of papers. There was so much it was overwhelming. Hermione, not knowing what they were looking for, was getting increasingly excited by the depths of knowledge in their possession alone, and paused for a moment before saying, “This is incredible. Your sister was a trailblazer. At risk of sounding demanding, would you be okay if I just duplicated this entire box? Even if something isn’t relevant to us directly, I know I’d personally love to read about everything she discovered, and that way you can keep a copy for yourself.”

Maeve looked gratified at this. “Of course, dear. Just…” she looked a bit unsure, “please be careful. I know we’re no longer in danger from Voldemort, but as I told you yesterday, it seems there are still those who are after the information.”

Hermione nodded. “But of course. I’ll charm it so it looks like cake recipes to anyone but Draco and myself,” she reassured with a small smile. She made to pull out her wand when she registered that Malfoy was still there, and froze, making eye contact with him. Understanding her meaning, he excused himself, and she quickly completed the magic required to duplicate and charm the contents before returning the originals. Maeve smiled as she lowered them to the floor.

“One last request,” Hermione said. “If we give you a map, could you please show us approximately where we are? We got a bit lost from the excitement on the way, and wanted to make sure we’re set in the right direction when we head out again.” At Maeve’s nod, Hermione pulled the folder containing the map from her bag, and was unfolding it when Malfoy reappeared nonchalantly. He watched with interest as Robert and Maeve reviewed the map of the area surrounding Stoke-on-Trent before carefully placing an X along an unmarked road and handing the map back to them.

“There you go,” Maeve said, smiling.

“Thank you so much,” Hermione responded. “You can’t possibly understand how much happening upon you has helped us.”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Maeve responded, waving her hand dismissively. “It’s been so gratifying to finally reconnect with the magical world, and with two such wonderful people as the means to do so…” she drifted off, blinking wetly. “I mean it when I said that you reminded me of Orla,” she added after a pause. In a moment of impulse, Hermione wrapped her arms around the woman in an embrace. 

“I’m glad,” she murmured after they let each other go.

“Well, let’s see you out,” Maeve announced bravely, and walked out of the dining room, followed closely by Malfoy. Hermione stopped Robert before he left as well.

“How much do we owe you for the repairs?” she asked.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Robert responded. “The joy and closure you have brought my wife… a small car repair doesn’t even get close to conveying my gratitude. She mourns her sister still, and having not only given her the chance to voice the story but being willing to carry on her legacy is something that neither Maeve nor I take lightly.”

“I insist,” Hermione said, unwilling to leave the couple having only taken from them.

“As do I,” Robert maintained firmly, before walking out. Hermione hesitated for only a moment before reaching into her purse and pulling out 2000 pounds – they had spent only half that much so far anyway – and left it on the table before following him outside.

Malfoy and Maeve were chatting about her chestnut tree, and she was showing him how to crack the ripened nuts. He excitedly mimicked her movement to expose the treasure inside the prickly peel. He showed it to Hermione when she came out.

“Look!” he pronounced proudly, and she smiled at it slightly.

“We’ll make sure to get the nut out of the skin once we reach our inn so we can eat it,” she said, and he nodded before putting the large object in his pocket.

After exchanging (somewhat teary) goodbyes with Robert and Maeve, Hermione and Malfoy got in the car and pulled out onto the road. The couple came out onto the street as well, waving at them from in front of their house. Having pulled down her window (and showing Malfoy how to do the same), Hermione and Malfoy used their free hands to reach out and wave back at them as they drove away. She giggled.

“We probably look like a large beetle with its antenna waving in the wind like this,” she said to Malfoy’s questioning glance. He smiled back at her.

They kept waving until Robert and Maeve were small pinpricks off in the distance.