CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

. . .

THE first night back, at dinner, is the first time Enoch sees Draco. The blond is, naturally, sitting over at the Slytherin table, staring vacantly into space as those around him chatter and eat their meals. It's hard to properly see him over the sea of moving heads but, every glimpse Enoch gets, he's just sitting there. He looks detached from those around him, detached from everything. He looks tired, which seems to be a fairly common state for the boy (and for most students, really).

But that's the last Enoch sees of him all week. After that, he seems to disappear without any kind of trace. He doesn't appear in classes, in the hallway; even Philip doesn't hear anything about him. It's almost like he never existed.

. . .

Relief floods through the Hufflepuff when he spots a familiar blond head, hair tousled like barely any effort has been put into maintaining the usual style. It's neat, though barely. Everything about him looks minimal: his robes are full of creases, tie uneven, doesn't even have any school supplies on him. Up close, he looks gaunt, as tired as ever. But, mostly, Enoch is just happy to see him. It's been a week of complete silence. He'd started getting into the habit to stare at the door of any of their shared classes hopefully, until he wasn't able to stare any longer, waiting for the boy. He'd been starting to lose hope, giving up quicker, spending the rest of the lessons concerned. But now he's here.

Draco all but falls into his seat. Up close, Enoch can see the light scratches healing on his face and hands, the bandage poking beneath his robes.

"Hi," The blond says when he meets the brunet's gaze. The greeting feels so casual for someone who's been missing for a week. It's said like he saw him yesterday, and they're just catching up now.

"Hi," Where Draco's is casual, Enoch's is awkward, a clearly forced attempt to mirror the same nonchalant attitude. The short greeting betrays that, behind it, the brunet's mind is running a million thoughts a second, betrays all the worry that's still barely been resolved. So he tries to smile, hoping that might cover it. Surprisingly, the Slytherin boy smiles back. It isn't much, just a small curve of the lips, but it's still something. Just that tiny gesture does wonders for him, brightening the otherwise sullen face.

There isn't any opportunity for further conversation, as Professor Moro calls for quiet and begins the lecture. As though she wants to keep the boy from catching up, today is only theoretical. Enoch is forced to sit quietly, thoughts buzzing with questions he wants to ask Draco.

At the end of the class, Enoch lingers. He packs up his things slowly, gaze flicking over to Draco almost every second. The other boy has barely moved, like he has for the entire class, staring at his desk. There's a deep frown on his face, like he's trying to solve the world's most difficult problem. He's distant again, off in a world of his thoughts. Enoch isn't even sure he's noticed that class has ended and almost everyone's left.

As the brunet taps lightly on the older boy's shoulder, which seems to get his attention. Draco blinks, eyes coming into focus as he looks up. Comprehension flashes across his face. He starts to collect what little he did bring—a pen—and stands up.

"What do you have next?"

"Spare." The blond boy nods softly, knocking strands of his hair out of place.

"Want to come with me?" The offer takes Enoch by surprise, as he's usually the one initiating things like that. But, he's quick to accept, before Draco can change his mind or take it back.

Despite being the one to offer, Draco still seems on edge. The mild vinegar radiates from him as they walk through the corridor, as he constantly seems to watch every student they pass. None of the students pay him any attention, though. No one even glances at him. He's just another student, walking through the corridors, like everyone else.

Draco doesn't relax until they're inside that strange magical room that only appears after the boy's paced back and forth in the corridor—Enoch forgets its name. But even then, he's barely relaxed, he's just notable more relaxed than he was outside. The room is different this time. Instead of the large, cluttered room from the last visit, it's a smaller room that more closely resembles a living room. There's couches, a bookcase, and a fire crackling softly in a fireplace. Draco doesn't seem fazed, but it takes Enoch a second to adjust. By the time he starts moving, the blond has already made himself comfortable in one of the couches.

Draco sits, motionless, eyes closed. He looks like a very realistic statue, light from the fire flickering across his face. The only way Enoch can tell he's alive or real is the cacophony of emotions—fear, exhaustion, sadness, anger, whatever petrichor is—and the shallow rise and drop of his chest. Enoch sits carefully beside him, eyes barely moving from the older boy. After a few seconds of long silence, he forces his attention onto the room, examining every small detail in an attempt to distract himself. It doesn't work.

"I can practically sense your questions." Draco mutters, cutting through the heavy quiet. Now his eyes open, drifting over to the brunet. "But do you mind if we don't talk about it?"

"That's fine." The smallest of smiles curls around Draco's lips, a grateful smile. There's a faint taste of honey behind it. But it's only faint and leaves almost as quickly as it appeared, as Draco's focus drifts to the fire. Well, his gaze does—he doesn't look focused at all, looks more distant.

"Do you ever feel like everyone expects so much—too much—from you, and you have no way of meeting their expectations but you can't afford to not?" Draco's voice is surprisingly small and weak, a slight tremor behind it. The frown on his brow has deepened.

"Not– Not really."

"I do." When Draco looks up at Enoch again, Enoch doesn't need his powers to sense the fear resting in his eyes. The vinegar has a sudden burst, almost overpowering. Unable to help it, the brunet reaches into his pocket and retrieved the new tin of lemon candy he has. He eats one, offering them to Draco. Draco also takes one, though it rests between his fingers for a little longer, waving it around as he says, "I just don't know what to do. I'm not even sure what the right thing to do is. I don't think there's a single option where I don't lose."

"What happens if you fail?" Draco puts the candy in his mouth. It clinks against his teeth as he pushes it into the corner to speak.

"I lose everything."

"And if you succeed?"

"I lose... basically everything too."

"And there's no other option?" Draco shakes his head sadly. "I think you should do whatever is best, for you. Like, whichever you lose the least." Draco still looks sad, still feels sad, and it compels Enoch to tentatively reach out and place his hand softly on the older boy's shoulder. He had intended on patting it lightly, but instead he just rests his hand there and gives the shoulder a small, hopefully comforting squeeze.

"You're doing that thing again." The blond mutters, glancing at the younger's hand. "I thought it didn't work through clothes."

"What..?"

"The emotions thing. All I can feel is warmth—happy warmth—right on my shoulder." Enoch removes his hand in confusion, staring at it like it's some strange, alien entity. "And now it's gone."

"I didn't even realise I was doing that." Draco stares at the brunet's hand with a small frown.

"You should learn how to use that. You could use it as a defence if you needed, or something."

( AUTHOR'S NOTE )
Cutting it off at an awkward spot because this whole chapter is awkward! I wanted them to be slightly awkward but instead like, I became the one who was awkward? I just forgot how to write, and how to write this story more specifically?? I don't know what happened but hopefully this is just a hurdle and we'll be back to our usual next chapter... hopefully

While I'm in the mood for complaining about myself, sometimes I get self conscious about the fact that Draco feels pretty OOC to me even though that's half the point (at its roots this was supposed to be Draco's POV told from someone else's POV / a better redemption story of some sort) and this is my first time writing a HP story so I figure there'll be hiccups, but I still feel bad about it. So I promise, some time in the future, I'll write a little more IC Draco fic. Maybe better than this one, definitely more comfortable

On a more pleasant note we've entered what I consider the "fluffier" section of the book & that's more my strength so that's exciting