CHAPTER SEVEN

.  .  .

AFTER HIS ACT of kindness, Malfoy returns to his cold, distant self. During class, when they're working together, he barely talks to the brunet past what's necessary—and, even then, sometimes he doesn't. His focus is almost always on some book, or notes, that have nothing to do with Alchemy. He doesn't even do that homework, copying his partner's when he thinks Enoch isn't looking. Enoch is, but he doesn't need to be an empath to sense the exhaustion hanging off him, and he lets him go.

The blond's state seems to be deteriorating slowly—his already sharp features seem to be growing gaunt, with the dark shadows darkening. When he speaks, there's less bite too, as though he's just too preoccupied to care that Enoch is the son of the muggle sympathiser, which seems to be only a little better than a 'mudblood'. But if the empath tries to ask what's wrong, he's brushed off and then, the cold remarks come. So he keeps quiet.

He wears the gloves, too. Even if he looks like a weirdo wearing them, when he's out, they stay fixed on his hands. They do help, muting any hand contact, but also provide as a source of fidgeting when the brunet grows restless. He's already discovered the little DM embroidered into the inner lining, as well as the little green snake that decorates the hem. It's weird, wearing the other boy's gloves, but he's nonetheless grateful for the mild relief they bring.

They also, conveniently enough, don't seem to stain. Which is an absolute blessing.

Enoch groans as the ink from his quill once again spills, leaving a large ink blot over his writing. It's not the first blot either—there are numerous scattered across this page alone. The brunet likes to think he's a neat writer, but writing by quill makes it impossible to be anything but messy. His notes, these days, are near illegible and often incomplete; a short essay takes longer than necessary as he constantly has to restart, or write slowly. He's already sent an urgent letter home, asking for normal pens as soon as possible (as well as why he was kept in the dark about how his parents met, and how known his last name seemed to be). The norm be damned, he cannot cope with these unwieldy feathers.

A wand taps his page and the ink blots seem to evaporate, leaving only the writing behind. Looking up, slightly confused, Enoch discovers the owner of the wand is none other than his Alchemy partner—who isn't even looking up from his thick book. He does, briefly, glance up when he notices the brunet's confused expression. He explains simply, "Your notes are my notes and I have enough difficulty reading them as it is," and returns to his reading.

And that's their last interaction for the rest of the day.

.  .  .

It's been almost two weeks since he's arrived at the school. Enoch can hardly believe it as he attends his second weekend breakfast, sitting with Elijah on his left and Gee on his right. Philip, once again, sits across from them at the Hufflepuff table. He and Elijah seem to be having some sort of silent eating competition—but the younger can't be certain.

The noise of the tables is interrupted by the hooting of incoming owls, which seems to only increase the volume of the students. Excited chatter fills the air as they receive letters and parcels from their parents. When the owls do swoop nearer, however, Ferret hisses angrily; it's almost as though he, rudely, doesn't want the brunet to receive his. Enoch watches the air, hope spiking each time one owl looks like it's flying towards him, only to be disappointed to have the delivery go to someone else. It's only when he's beginning to believe he won't receive anything that a tawny owl drops a parcel in front of him. He rips into it with excitement.

A packet of pens—actual, normal pens—tumble out from the top. Underneath were an assortment of muggle-related items the brunet had been missing from home, such as a comic book he'd read to death, a t-shirt he'd nearly worn to death, a tin of lemon sherbets (Malfoy had him craving them) and, though he hadn't asked for it, herbal tea. Along with this was his letter. This, he saved for last, wanting to save the closest he has to contact with his parents. He opens the envelope carefully, not wanting to wreck it. Inside, the comforting slopes of his mother's writing greets him with, 'Mon cher Enoch,'.

Both your father and I are pleased to hear you're settling in and enjoying yourself. Gee sounds like a nice girl and we think you should invite her and her family over during the Christmas break if they'd like.

Enoch glances up from his letter, looking at the friends he's created since writing the letter. There's more than just the one now, and it would be insensitive to invite Gee in front of them. Focus returns back to his letter.

The package should have everything you asked for, as well as the herbal tea. The tea was your father's idea, because he remembered you saying it calmed you. Also, tell us if we missed something. Just remember, you have to take home everything you–

"Would you guys like to come over during the holidays?" Enoch asks, looking between the trio. He figures the invitation extends to any nice friends he makes, he'd just have to tell his parents about it first.

"Sure! Holidays at home are so boring." Gee answers first, smile as wide as ever. "I'd love to meet your parents too."

"Same, don't think many here have met the Desrosiers."

"I, uh, I can't come." Elijah speaks up, gaze glued to his plate of food. Glancing up at Enoch, he brings a smile to his lips, "Mother has gotten me a tutor for the break; she wants me to get some extra study done—says it's the perfect time to."

"No way," Gee exclaims, turning to the curly haired boy, "That's so unfair. It's Christmas!"

"Exactly, other students will be relaxing then. Perfect time to get ahead of the game."

"Eli, even most Ravenclaws aren't worrying about all that yet."

"But that's the point, isn't it?" The curly haired boy mutters as he pushes some good around his plate. It seems as though he has forfeited to Philip, no longer eating. "To get ahead of them."

"Surely there are other ways to get ahead that don't involve spoiling Christmas."

"Gee, please, my Christmas isn't spoilt. I want to get ahead, and I'm fine with doing it this way. I'll visit another holiday." The older girl gets the message and backs off with a nod of resignation. She returns to her juice, taking a small sip as she and Philip share a glance. Elijah stays silent, ears red again, and takes a small nibble of his food. Possibly sending another sad boy, Ferret crawls over to the boy's hand, right beside his plate. But then, with that he grabs some of the crumbs, the pet may have just been after the food...

Once the conversation is over, Enoch makes a mental note to tell his parents of the two affirmative responses, and returns to his letter.

As for why we didn't tell you about how we met. You father and I never thought to tell you because it was never important to either of us. It has never defined our relationship for us – it defined our relationship for others. I also wanted you to enter as a blank slate, not as 'the son of Odeda Desrosiers'; that sort of fame can go to a child's head.

And on the topic of that, no, I have never met Draco Malfoy. His father, I have, and I believe he is a terrible man, but that doesn't define his son. For all I know, he could be lovely. If you want, give him a chance and at least then you can say you tried.

Also, thanks for telling your father that all the girls are asking about him and think he's handsome. It's gone to his head.

Following his mother's letter was Alistair's own slightly smaller one.

Do people really think I'm handsome? They haven't even seen me! If they keep asking, tell them, yes, I really am that cool.

The house is really quiet without you here, kiddo. We made bread on Friday but no one here had fingers made to knead like you. I had to do it for you, it wasn't as good. When you come home, we'll (as in, your mother) will make all your favourite food before you have to go back to vegetable pasties.

Backstreet Boys are touring in November. Mum refuses to go, but we can still go together. See if any of your friends want to come.

Je t'embrasse fort, your awesome Papa

P.S. Be careful when you take the clothes out of the parcel. They're filled with lollies I smuggled you.

Glancing back at the parcel, the brunet pushes down on one of the articles of clothing. Sure enough, they crinkle like wrappers and feel like lollies. A small smile stretches across his lips in amusement; the only reason it doesn't become a laugh is because he's in the company of others and he doesn't want to draw attention to himself.

But, slowly, the warm feeling turns cold as he grows aware of the distance between his family and himself. He's never been this long without them—in fact, the longest time was one weekend, when his parents had no choice but to leave him with the neighbours. One weekend, he could handle. This, he's not so sure.

( AUTHOR'S NOTE )
I actually had a chapter almost written, but then I realised the scene would be better if it was saved, so I had to rewrite