CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

. . .

"YOU excited yet?" Philip asks, voice rather loud as he leans up against the younger boy. Enoch gives a small nod, still lying somewhere between nervous and excited. The Gryffindor had picked up on that earlier on, before they'd even left for the stadium, and had been checking in on him periodically. Enoch assumes the fact that he's asked again means his excited face isn't that convincing. It's not that he's not excited-because he is. It's more just the noise and the people are all very overwhelming; he can't quite detach his own emotions from everyone else's. Even up in their seats, slightly better and less crowded than the lower levels, it's still noisy.

As he'd promised, Philip had sent Enoch a letter during the holidays, inviting him to stay over at his place and come to a Quidditch match that evening. Not wanting to turn down the offer, especially when the older seemed so excited over letter, Enoch had accepted and arrangements were made. And now here they are, sitting up in the stadium, waiting for things to start.

Philip leans back in his seat, hand rummaging through a bag of chips. As he crunches them, he offers some to the brunet, but Enoch declines. Within a minute (at least), the bag is finished, crumpled up, and shoved in the older boy's pocket. They sit there for a little, staring out at the noisy stadium, before Philip sighs softly.

"What've you been up to?" He asks, leaning against Enoch again. His side presses gently into the younger's, sparking a sudden jolt of emotions. Mostly, it's just excitement but, underneath, rests a rather strong wave of salty nerves. Then it's gone, as Philip shifts in his seat so he's facing the other boy a bit better.

"Not much. We had Remus Lupin over for dinner, that was nice. Christmas was quiet. Then you and Gee came over." The older brunet nods once, chewing on the end of his nail. "What about you?"

"Da 'n' me had to visit the grandparents, went shopping while we were there. Had to go without Ma because she and them are still fighting."

"They're always fighting," pipes up Mr Densmore from beside them, in an almost despondent manner.

"Yeah, well, I basically lived off cakes while I was there. It was great." As if sparked by the topic of food, Philip reaches into their small travel bag and pulls out a sandwich. Arm still buried in the bag, leaning over his seat, the boy looks up at his friend, "Want one?" Enoch shakes his head again, and Philip sits up. He begins to eat the sandwich, still leaning slightly against the brunet. His shoulder and upper arm rests against Enoch's, an oddly comforting kind of pressure-warmth without the emotions. "Feeling any better?"

"Yeah, a bit better." Philip stares at him for a few seconds, eyes barely keeping still as they travel all across the younger's face, and then he nods.

"It'll probably get noisy again when the game starts. People get really into this kind of thing."

"AW, COME ON!" Philip yells as his father groans softly, their emotions echoed throughout the stadium. Enoch stares at them in alarm, startled by the sudden noise; he's not quite sure what's happened to warrant such a reaction. He glances back at the pitch, but the game has continued on normally. Within a few seconds, Philip has settled back into his seat a little. He's still frowning at the field, knee bouncing, tense. But Enoch only gets the lightest tingle across his tongue-barely anything spicy-so he assumes the boy is alright.

He returns his attention to the players zooming around on their brooms. He still hasn't grasped the rules of Quidditch completely, so he's never quite sure what's going on. But it's still enjoyable to watch, he even finds himself getting a little into it. The waves of excitement and enjoyment from the crowd, far overpowering the annoyance, is contagious. By the end of the match, Enoch is really into it, cheering along with the rest of the crowd when he thinks their team has scored. (Sometimes he cheers for the other team too, because they're doing a good job and sometimes he can't tell the difference).

To leave the stadium, it's only a short walk, but it's made longer by the ambling crowd all loudly talking to one another. It's noisy, with people failing to find their inside voices, arguing or agreeing with one another, and just generally continuing their good time. As they're pushing through the crowd, there's a loud scream-a playful scream, like that which would come from a child. But it's enough to make Philip leap, suddenly grasping for Enoch as he pushes his body against him. As his hand wraps around Enoch's, skin contact is made and all Enoch feels is fear-pure fear rolling over him, nearly debilitating. He feels his heart thump painfully in his chest, legs grow weak, mouth dry. For a few seconds, he's not sure if he'll make it out alive.

"A-Are yo-ou okay?" Enoch barely manages to speak, trying to fight past the emotions he's experienced. He manages to gain control, pushing them down enough for him to focus. Philip turns his wide eyes to the brunet, confusion flashing across them. Then realisation.

"Oh, your thing-I'm sorry." He instantly withdraws his hand, shoving it sheepishly in his pocket.

"Lip, are you alright?" Mr Densmore asks, placing his hand on his son's shoulder. "It was just someone being silly, nothing to worry about."

Philip nods, "M'alright." Enoch, naturally, hasn't taken his eyes off his friend; a small, confused frown is furrowed into his brow, teetering between being curious and wanting to ask what's caused this. Philip catches his eye and a shaky embarrassed smile curls across his lips. It doesn't reach his eyes. "Last time―last quidditch match I went to―there was a... thing. Nothing, really, but the scream reminded me. Sorry about grabbing your hand, didn't mean to hurt you or anything."

"It's okay, it didn't hurt." The smile grows a little bit more sincere, a small sparkle finally reaching the Gryffindor's eyes, and he nods. There's still the faint traces of vinegar emanating from him, but it's reduced significantly. Once Mr Densmore seems convinced everything's alright, they start moving again. The crowd has dispersed a little, with most of the bulk having already left, making their exit a little easier than if they'd left only moments before. There's, thankfully, less noise, no more screaming and, gradually, Enoch sense Philip growing calmer and calmer.

He doesn't calm completely until they're back at his place, though.

. . .

It's dark but Enoch can hear Philip munching softly in the bed above him. He's lying on the floor of Philip's bedroom, on some mattress they dragged out from the large cupboard in the back room, in the dark because the older boy claimed his dad would come in earlier if the light was left on. There's snacks strewn across the bedroom, which Philip grabbed before they left for the bedroom―an open packet of chips on the bed, some cookies on the desk with a bottle of fizzy drink, and a block of chocolate beside Enoch's mattress. There's some glasses of the fizzy drink somewhere, but Enoch has forgotten where he left his and at this point he's afraid to move, in case he knocks it and causes a mess.

"So what's with you and Malfoy?" Philip's voice breaks through the silence, mouth full of food, loud despite the claims that they had to be careful of his dad. But the words startle Enoch more than anything. How does Philip know they're friends? The brunet thought they had had to be careful, for the sake of Draco's reputation, but somehow Philip knows? Who else knows? Will Draco be in trouble? He doesn't realise he's been silent, incriminating himself further, until Philip pipes up again, "S'cool, y'know? Malfoy's a jerk to everyone, so it's weird, but you've got your thing. You friends or something?"

"I think so. Secret friends, though."

"Yeah, yeah, secret. You guys are real secret." There's rummaging, then crunching. "Like, it took me forever to find anything on you two. Only really had my hunches. Practically had to threaten a Slytherin to get stuff out of them... Not that I didn't enjoy it though."

"Why?"

"Slytherin was one of those Slytherins, like a real piece of work."

"No, why were you trying to get information on us?" There's some more rummaging, followed by some heavy crinkling. After a few seconds of quiet, only filled by the sound of a packet uncrickling itself, there's a soft thud against the wall. The crinkling gets louder, though now distant.

"'Cause I, like, figured out there was something going on, right? You had his gloves, he came to us for help, all really weird stuff. Figured if you hadn't told us already, you weren't gonna confirm what was going on. And I wanted to make sure Malfoy wasn't being Malfoy."

"Does anyone else know?" The real question Enoch is interested in. He couldn't care less if his friends know about the odd friendship, he trusts them enough. But Draco seems really hooked up on what people think and know. He doesn't want their friendship to be jeopardised by gossip.

"Nah, far as I've heard. You two are safe." Relief floods through the younger male. There's some shuffling above him. When the brunet glances up, he sees the outline of Philip's body propped up on the bed. "What's Malfoy like?"

"Nicer than everyone seems to think he is. He has his problems, of course, and I imagine everyone's opinion is probably deserved―but I think it's all a front. He can be pleasant company when he wants to be." There's a soft snort above him.

"Can't believe we're talking about the same person." A small grin flits over Enoch's lips, chuckle almost slips past. "If he ever does anything, I mean it, I will make him regret it."

"Thank you... I think."

"And hey," Philip shuffles again, reaching down so his hand hovers above Enoch, outstretched, "No more secrets, yeah? Not like this, at least, you can trust me."

Taking the hand and shaking it despite the awkward positioning, the brunet repeats, "No more secrets."

( AUTHOR'S NOTE )
I was wondering, would you guys be interested with some chapters of like Gee / Philip / Elijah's POVs scattered here and there? Wouldn't be anything drastic, probably just some fillers or something