CHAPTER ONE

.  .  .

ENOCH HATES CROWDS. Crowds are unfamiliar territory filled with unfamiliar people and unfamiliar emotions. He can't cope with crowds. Crowds make his belly ache with the amount of butterflies– no, dragons rampaging about inside. Crowds make his mouth tingle with the multitude of tastes—ranging from spicy to sweet, bitter to soft—attacking his tongue. His body receives a plethora of temperatures and sensations; his nose is assaulted with a combination of scents. If he spends to long in them, his head soon begins to hurt and he shuts down. He feels like he's already shutting down.

A cool hand slips around his own, bringing a wash of intense emotion: the tranquility of his mother's, Odeda Desrosiers, own herbal tea taste. Dragging his eyes away from the sea of people in front of him, Enoch looks up at his mother, a confident woman who keeps her dark locks tied up in a loose bun and always, when out, has red lipstick painted across her lips (the same brand too, imported from France). These cherry red lips curl into a comforting smile when they make eye contact. He can feel her purposefully sending waves of comfort, which feels like that perfect temperature, towards him. Slowly, his breathing drops to a normal speed—he hadn't even realised he was hyperventilating.

"We don't have to do this, if you don't feel up to it." Enoch shakes his head, determined. If he doesn't do it now, then how will he know he can survive a school full of teens with a hormonally heightened emotional range. He needs to do this, to prove he can—both to himself and his parents who stand on either side of him, protecting him from the onslaught of shoppers going about their business at Diagon Alley, another place Enoch has never been to before. But, he supposes, he hasn't been to many wizarding places.

Enoch was born of a magic mother and a non-magic father... A muggle, he thinks Odeda called them, making him a half-blood. However, even half the percentage of magic in his blood was strong enough to bless (curse?) him with magic abilities that apparently aren't typical for other witches and wizards. For as long as he can remember, Enoch has had the ability to sense others emotions; to him, everyone radiates a combination of sensations that represent how they're feeling. His mother is generally herbal tea, and his father, Alistair Desrosiers, is popping candy. The old man who visited them a few weeks ago, as he and Enoch's parents organised the younger male's late entrance to school, was an odd mixture of musk sticks and the faint smell of vinegar.

In contrast, the sharp smell of vinegar, the smell of fear, permeates strongly from the crowd around him. The brunet assumes You-Know-Who (though he barely does know who) is the cause of this, as his mother had explained his current threat while stressing the importance of staying safe. Most families around him are rushing about, trying to get their tasks down here as quick as efficiently as possible. In comparison, the Desrosiers family seem to be dawdling in comparison, hardly in any rush.

"Is– Is that thing flying?" Alistair exclaims as a product in the window of a shop captures his attention. Enoch grins as he watches his mother rolls her eyes, exasperation beginning to seep through. Since arriving, his father has been completely enraptured by everything he's seen; this is almost a completely foreign world to both him and Enoch, who was raised with only a vague knowledge of the magic world. He was, however, taught the same lessons as the students his age, and received tutorage from Sam Taylor, a family friend who studied at Hogwarts but ended up becoming a high school maths teacher at a non-magic school.

"Al, love, please don't be so obvious." Odeda scolds softly, slipping into French, probably to reduce the chance of them being overheard. "We're trying to hide the fact you're a muggle; some people wouldn't be too happy that we've brought you here."

"Muggle, right." Alistair responds bitterly, smile curling downwards into a frown. His wife places a hand on his shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze.

"You know that means nothing. In fact, you're better than some of the wizards out there." Enoch's father responds with the return of a small smile, immediately distracted by yet another marvel of the magical world. A few metres down the street, contrasting starkly against the rest of the street, is a brightly coloured store that seems to—understandably—be gathering a crowd. As they approach the store, the taste of sugar grows stronger, until it's overpowering the vinegar, and Enoch can appreciate this store's existence.

"You didn't tell me about this store." The youngest Desrosiers tells his mother, also slipping into the French language for comfort, as he turns back to look at her. She too seems amazed by the shop's presence.

"I didn't know it was here," confesses the older woman.

"Who cares? Let's just go inside." When Alistair speaks French, despite his fluency, his American accent is still as clear as day. It's thick, almost to the point where it could cause an initial impression of someone less fluent, but he doesn't make any attempt to lose it—claims it's a part of his identity. And Enoch would be inclined to agree; his accent, a weird mix of American, French and a little sprinkling of British, ensures that no matter what language he speaks, it doesn't sound quite right. But he too wouldn't change that.

Much of the further exasperation of his wife, the older male soon rushes up to the store, pushing through the small crowd outside. Enoch soon follows suit, mother close behind muttering something about wasting time.

Inside, the sugary sweet happiness is stronger—so strong that it's like a tsunami crashing over him and he's forced to take a physical step back. Pausing near the door, Odeda watching carefully in concern, Enoch takes a moment to adjust to the overload of happiness. While the brunet definitely has a sweet tooth, in this form, he can't handle the sugar; its strong presence fills him with the strong need to vomit. His temple begins to throb, a sharp pain punctuating the smaller signs of an incoming headache. Leaving against the doorway, potentially blocking it for anyone wishing to come in or out, Enoch tries to take control. Eyes scrunched tightly shut, he tries to block everything else out, but this leaves him focusing on his thoughts.

If he can't handle these emotions in this smaller area, how can he possibly handle a whole school? Maybe this is actually a terrible idea, maybe he shouldn't be going to school. He was perfectly capable of doing his O.W.Ls from home, why not his N.E.W.Ts as well? Oh god, this was a terrible idea. He can't do this—this was destined to fail from the start. How did he not see this?

Odeda continues to watch, trying to determine if she needs to step in or not. Enoch is essentially only being held up by the doorway he's slumped against, fingernails digging dangerously into the sleeves of his thin jacket. Face clearly contorted into a mix of pain and concentration, it's a wonder no one has asked if he's alright yet. He's all but hyperventilating again, controlled breathing exercises failing him. But underneath all that, she can see he's trying, and she doesn't want to constantly be saving him when she knows he can do it.

Suddenly, someone bumps into Enoch, knocking him both literally and figuratively out of his thoughts. With the brief contact, despite the clothing barrier, brings a muted burst of emotions: suddenly, beneath the sugary sweet is the smell of incoming rain—a threat, of some turbulent suppressed emotion. The brunet's snap open and upwards to make contact with a male with messy dark hair and a rather eye-grabbing scar on his forehead curiously in the shape of a lightning bolt. Couldn't be natural, Enoch thinks as he peers at it.

"Sorry," says the stranger, an apologetic expression spread across his face. Before the younger can reply, Lightning Scar has already left to greet a pair of identical red heads in uniforms (presumably workers here). Enoch watches him as he goes, grateful for the distraction his bump brought.

"That's Harry Potter—the boy who lived and, apparently, the Chosen One." Odeda whispers to her son, eyes following the same boy. "From what I've heard, he's a lovely boy. Unfortunate, everything that's happened to him. Misfortune just seems to follow him."

Enoch wonders if they could be friends, given they both possess something that causes them to be separated from the crowd, but he brushes the thought off. There's no way someone like The Harry Potter would consider befriending him; it'd be like his crush on Leonardo DiCaprio being returned—impossible.

The trio look around the shop for a little longer and Alistair leaves with a few things, though he is also forced to swear he won't use them on his Muggle friends, and they head further down the alleyway. Once again, the street is packed, causing them to push their way through. Enoch, embarrassingly, keeps his hand tightened around his mother's the entire time, clinging to the calmness she radiates; he wishes he could possess even half the calmness she has.

"To save time we lost," The dark haired woman sends a pointed glance at her husband, "I'm going to go collect your books while you and your father go look at pets. Now remember, nothing too crazy, please. I don't think the school would appreciate that."

"Sure thing, Maman." Enoch gives a small smile before he loosens his grip on his mother's hand and follows his father. This is, of course, before Odeda calls out to them, pointing out that neither of them actually know where to go. She quickly gives them directions as simple as possible and once again they are on their way. Enoch switches his grip to his father's hand and, for the entire walk, his mouth is filled with the crackling of raspberry popping candy. But at least it's not vinegar.

Enoch likes animals. Animals are simple, with plain emotions. Animals bring him calm with their singular emotions. It's the whole reason they're buying a pet, as some form of anchor during the times when emotions might get overwhelming.

It takes only a few minutes for the empath to be charmed by a pet, utterly sold. While walking around, father at his side, Enoch spots a small group of ferrets in one of the cages. One of them, a small white one, immediately approaches where he stands, pink paws reaching up to the side of the cage. He reaches out, stroking it lightly through the cage. In response to this action, he receives a brief flash of emotions: a vision, of human/boy/friend, staring into the home/cage/prison. Then, quickly withdrawing his hand, Enoch pauses.

While the emotions always trigger his senses, he's never experienced one influencing his sight before, not like that. This is something new, confusing, but Enoch takes it as some sort of sign and looks to his father.

"I want that one."

(  AUTHOR'S NOTE  )
should point out this is gonna be relatively slow burn. I mean, Malfoy doesn't pop up til chapter 3 or 4 if that's possibly any indication

Also I realised I kinda left out the warnings in the introduction so I'll just put them here

WARNING! This story will contain: blood prejudice, low levels of bullying, violence, and some other potentially triggering things that I've forgotten but will update when I've remembered. Also, it'll probably contain Australian slang that I don't realise is Australian slang until someone goes "wait, what's that??". Reader discretion is advised.