CHAPTER TWENTY

. . .

THERE is a certain kind of dread attached to receiving mail for Draco. Usually, mail either means further orders from his family, on what he was doing wrong and developments in what he had to do, or the occasional parcel he needed. The parcels aren't so bad because he's expecting them, but when an envelope lands in front of him, he can feel that dread bubbling away in the pit of his stomach. Sometimes he considers ignoring the letters, throwing them away, destroying them somehow, but he knows he can't. That would only make things worse.

This time, when he turns the envelope around, he sees his name scrawled across in... Biro? The blue writing is definitely not the typically quill and ink, and the handwriting he recognises―it's a letter from Enoch, written in his hurried way of writing, somehow still smudged despite his insistence that the pens help him write better. The dread lessens lightly, like the brunet is actually there, taking a little bit of the worry away from Draco. He slips the envelope away in his pocket, refusing to answer any nosy questions about it, and goes back to eating his breakfast.

"...I also have some information that I think you'll actually probably be interested in (maybe). Remus Lupin (he said he was a teacher at Hogwarts, but now he's not) came over for dinner the other day. He works with Mum, Mum has guests a lot. But anyway, the interesting thing is he smells like you―like petrichor! His petrichor is a bit different to yours (yours is a bit stronger, like really fresh rain) but it's the closest I've ever smelt. You might not care, but I thought you'd be interested in the update..."

The dread is back. The kind that creeps up on him, wrapping itself around him like a boa constrictor. He's glad he waited on reading this, until later in the evening while everyone is supposed to be asleep. The piece of paper is shaking between his fingers as he rereads the words over and over, as though willing them to change. He doesn't need this, doesn't want this. He can't handle this kind of information right now.

Before the overwhelming wave of emotions can completely crash down on his mask, he storms out of the bedroom, shoving the letter under his pillow. Someone in the dark, their voice groggy and tired, asks where he's going but he doesn't even acknowledge them. He barely even hears them as it is.

Draco isn't as careful as he should be, rushing to the girl's bathroom on the second floor. He's not even conscious of the fact that he's walking here, not until he's got the door closing behind his back and aware of the fact that he feels oddly safe. But the safety doesn't make him feel better, it's the kind of safety that seems to unhinge something―it lets his mask down, against his will, and he very nearly lets out a whimper. But not quite. He's not that bad.

Again, with little care for the fact that he should be in his dorm, his fist slams against the cubicle wall beside him. It doesn't create a loud noise―because it wasn't a hard enough hit―but it was enough to let out some of the tension filling his body. He feels stiff, muscles seizing up as he forces them not to tremble. He won't tremble.

He knows. A cold reminder, the thought washes down on Draco. If Enoch doesn't know yet, he'll definitely know soon. The brunet isn't as stupid as some people like to make him out to be, and connecting the dots isn't anything like Alchemy. Slowly, he slumps down onto the ground, back pressed against the door of the bathroom. He reaches into the pocket of his robes, hands meeting cold metal; pulling it out, he quickly opens the lid of the container and takes out one of the lemon lollies. He'd gotten into the habit of eating them whenever he feels particularly stressed. He's running low.

The lolly, he quickly realises, doesn't help as much as he thought it would, given he associates it so heavily with the brunet. If anything, it focuses his thoughts even more on the issue. He knows, he knows... He'll know, he'll know.

"Who knows?" A sudden speaker reveals that he'd been talking aloud, muttering his thoughts under his breath. Draco jumps at the voice, looking up at the owner in alarm. And then he relaxes, just a fraction: it's only Myrtle. The ghostly girl watches him curiously, head tilted in an almost comical manner as she observes him. Draco can't read her expression completely―has never been able to, not properly. It's always been difficult to tell if she is genuinely concerned or if she's simply storing the information away, to use against him in the future. But either way she seems to enjoy having company that doesn't immediately call her names and he uses that as a threat, to keep her silent.

"What do you mean?" Draco asks anyway. He hates the way his voice trembles, hates the way he feels the strong need to sniff, like it's already filling up. He won't cry.

"You said, he knows."

"My friend," responds the other boy as he sniffs loudly, brow furrowed rather pathetically. He looks like a wounded puppy, but the kind that's trying to hide that they're hurt, trying and failing to put on a brave face. Myrtle's head remains tilted as she floats above him, curious expression trying to get him to reveal more information. "I think he's figured out my secret, or is close to it. He'll think I'm a monster."

"Some of the first years think I'm a monster. They scream and point when they see me, then they run away." Myrtle pouts as she floats down to Draco's level. Her anecdote does nothing to make the Slytherin feel better. If anything, it only feeds his worries as he starts imagining Enoch's own reaction; it might not be to that same extent, but it's still something he'd prefer to avoid. He sniffs again, rubbing his hand underneath his nose. He doesn't feel the need to cry, but his nose certainly feels the need to run. Myrtle misinterprets this, "You can cry if you want. I won't laugh."

"I don't." The blonde mutters, brow furrowing further. There's a headache waiting just around the corner with all this tension. Draco's whole body still feels tense, aching from it.

"The boys liked to tease me until I cried. Then they'd laugh at me..." Draco rolls the lemon lolly in his mouth. It's grown smaller, almost able to be crushed underneath his teeth. But he holds onto it, trying to make it last as long as he can. It doesn't freak him out even more now, instead bringing the comfort it usually brings. It burns his mouth a little still, but he thinks he's getting used to the sourness. "Everyone loved laughing at me."

Draco grunts softly in response, only vaguely paying attention to the girl's complaints. His attention remains fixated on the lolly, trying to reduce it to nothing as his mouth tingles with its sourness. She continues to talk, encouraged by his minimal responses, whining about Merlin knows what. Myrtle seems to take great joy in finding things to whine about, almost as much as she seems to enjoy collecting and spreading gossip.

When the lolly is gone and he feels a bit calmer, tiredness slowly creeping up on him, Draco chooses to leave. He gets to his feet, giving Myrtle a small goodbye, and hurries back to the dorms. This time he takes a little more care to avoid being caught, though he doesn't pass anyone. However, someone is awake when he returns and they ask some sleepy question about where he'd been. The blond gives a cold response of "Mind your own business," and crawls into bed.

It takes him a while to fall asleep, thoughts still fixated on what might happen if Enoch does find out about his secret―all the good and bad alternatives.

( AUTHOR'S NOTE )
Can you believe we're twenty chapters in? I can't tell if that's long or short, I feel like for my average we're reaching a halfway point... I'm not sure this story has hit halfway though

Oh, I remember: so you know, I ended up deciding on a new faceclaim for Elijah. I got some recommendations & both of them were really good (very strong contenders) but I wasn't 100% sold and that was making me hesitant. So I ended up going with Reece Bibby, which means I don't need to edit pics of some of the gang together

(gifs are still hard to find though, so there's that)