CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

.  .  .

ENOCH,

I'm so proud of you. Finally, showing interest in someone other than Leonardo DiCaprio (don't get me wrong, I'd love to have him in the family, but it's been hard organising those set ups). Next break, you should invite this boy over for dinner so we can give him the old Desrosiers treatment. And Elijah, I have some non-magic things for him I think he'd like.

But, I think if you're sure of what you're feeling, you should tell him how you feel. Just be honest with him. It's what I did with your mother and look what that got me - a scary family of magicians (I'm kidding, I love you and your magic. And your mother). To help make the talking easier, I got you some gifts to give him as well. Gifts are great to soften people up.

——

Your father fails to remember that when he confessed his feelings for me, he almost got hit by a car, crashed into a table and chairs, and yelled something about being soulmates from across the road. We hadn't even met at that point. But I do think he has a point, telling Draco your feelings is likely to be the best route. Even if it doesn't go well (if it doesn't, it's his loss), at least you'll have done it and not stressed too much over it.

The gifts were your father's idea. He tried to get some more outlandish things but I stopped him at the bear and chocolates. Both were bought in normal stores but if Draco has issues with that, I've enchanted the bear to always smell of lavender so you can tell him it's magical.

Good luck. Keep us updated.

Bisous,
Maman and Papa

.  .  .

It doesn't take long for news that one of the students—Ron, one of Harry Potter's friends—had been poisoned to spread around the school. Along with the tales of Harry's quick thinking and skills in Potions, which saved the poison from being lethal. It happened so suddenly that Enoch doesn't quite know what to make of it, can hardly believe that the Gryffindor really is up in the Hospital Wing recovering. But Enoch has heard several different variations of the story so he assumes it must have. Philip claims the only reliable one is that they'd been visiting Slughorn's and Harry saved him with a bezoar. It's good to know the truth but it does take some of the excitement from the stories being retold, depicting Harry as the brave hero, Slughorn as a villain, Ron as a bumbling buffoon, and everything in between.

And yet, despite the excitement of the event, life continues on as normal. Teachers expect concentration, his day is still full of classes, and his life is barely affected. Though, Enoch is hardly surprised.

The only thing that is different is the way Draco fills the classroom with vinegar, overpowering everything else. He barely acknowledges Enoch—or anyone else, for that matter. He just spends the class staring blankly at his desk, clearly drowning in the fear. The brunet makes a few attempts to distract him, to take the emotions away without actually replacing his emotions, but nothing works. Draco gives him a weak smile once but it doesn't reach his eyes and the vinegar doesn't change.

After class, the blond is one of the first to leave. Still packing away their things, Enoch can't follow him like he'd planned to. Not wanting to lose him—though he's sure it would be easy to track that vinegar—he sets Howie on him. The little ferret runs out of the classroom and Enoch can only hope he finds him. With far less care than it deserves, the Hufflepuff puts everything away and hurries after Draco.

The vinegar trail leads Enoch to one of the girls' bathrooms. He hesitates outside, because it's the girls' bathroom, but he can tell Draco is somewhere inside here. Making sure no one's around, he quickly slips inside. Nerves begin to bundle inside of him as he walks slowly through the bathroom, questioning whether he should even be doing this, worried he might get caught or even upset Draco further. The vinegar has started to mix with brine, rather than overpowering it; Enoch can't even see the blond and his emotions are uncomfortably strong. Draco finally comes into view and he looks so small, sitting up against the wall, head curled up against his knees. Enoch can see a white tail poking through the dark robes. As one of his steps echoes through the bathroom, the blond's head snaps up and the vinegar washes over Enoch. The sudden blast of fear relaxes when he recognises the brunet but still doesn't go away.

"Sorry, I just wanted to make sure you were okay." Enoch says softly, still worried he might have intruded. Rubbing the corner of his eye, Draco shakes his head. Enoch takes this as enough of an invitation to come closer, and sits down beside him. Howie is curled up in the blond's lap, licking and nibbling his hand. After letting some silence sit between them, uncomfortable, Enoch asks, "Are you okay?"

"I suppose you can feel everything." Draco's voice sounds clogged, all sharpness losing its edge. The brunet nods once.

"You taste scared. And sad."

"I have something I have to do. A task—like an assignment but it's not classwork. And if I don't do it properly, I'll be in trouble. A lot depends on it. But it's so hard." Enoch listens as the vague words spill from Draco's lips is a nervous rush, not understanding much. He understands the pressure, but that's it. The blond runs his fingers through his disheveled hair, only managing to mess it up further. "I have to do it but I'm not sure I can. It's not working."

"Am I able to help?"

Draco shakes his head, "You shouldn't know. I'm not supposed to– I've probably told you too much already. I'm sorry."

"Can I help without knowing anything then?" There's a small pause, a quiet second punctuated only by the drip-drop of something leaking.

"Can you just sit here with me?"

"Always." Enoch decides to be brave—or stupid, he doesn't know—for a moment and reaches out, wrapping his gloved hand around Draco's cold one. Even with the protection, he can feel the increase sensitivity to the emotions. But he does his best not to take anything away. He wants to, desperately, but already feels like he's pushing boundaries. But, the blond doesn't pull his hand away.

They sit there in silence until they've definitely missed their next class, until Draco seems to be a little calmer, at least enough to face the world outside the bathroom again.

.  .  .

Katie Bell is back.

First, Ron drinks the poison meant for Dumbledore and now Katie Bell is back. Standing in the Great Hall, tormenting Draco with the reminder of his failures. This year has been failure after failure, disappointed and worried parents conveying the words of a disappointed Lord. The calendar is passing quicker than Draco would like, his time running out, and he still hasn't succeeded. And Katie Bell is talking to Potter.

Their gaze turns towards the blond and fear rushes through him once again. They know, the paranoia feeds him, convinced that he's been caught. One way or another, he's doomed. They'll probably throw him in Azkaban but not even that would protect him from the punishment that comes with failing the Dark Lord. Draco chooses to not stick around and see if his paranoia is right, because if he does he's worried he might break down in front of all these students. He can already feel the anxiety, stress, paranoia bubbling up and swallowing him whole.

The secluded bathroom is his closest safe place. He hurries there, glancing behind him every time the footsteps get too loud. Eventually the halls clear, giving him the chance to slip into the bathroom unnoticed. Everything feels too tight on him, clothes restricting him, tie choking him. After loosening his tie, he pulls his jumper off in the hopes of giving himself more freedom. But the weight keeps hanging down on him, suffocating him. It's hard to get enough oxygen into his lungs, even though his breath is going so quick.

Everything is going so wrong. He's going to die. He doesn't want to die, but he's going to. It's him or Dumbledore, and Dumbledore is proving impossible to kill.

Against his will, a choked sob leaves his lips, followed by another and another until they start to sound like gasps for air. Tears are burning damp cheeks, stinging his eyes.

"I know what you did, Malfoy. You hexed her, didn't you?" A voice spits behind him, revealing he's not alone. In the reflection, Draco could almost pretend the dark hair belongs to Enoch. But the hatred in his voice betrays him—Potter.

He knows. He knows. He knows.

Fear turns into rage as Draco is forced to look at that vile face, clearly looking down on the blond. As if he understands. He's just looking for another reason to vilify the blond, push him down further in his mind. He doesn't even care. With a small, goading nod of his head—what does he want? A confession? "Oh, Potter, you're so clever for figuring it out. So very heroic, cornering me in this bathroom like this."—the brunet waits expectantly. Draco, fear and anger whirling around inside of him, instead answers him with a hex. It misses, crashing into the wall as Potter dives out of the way. The Gryffindor retaliates and this time it's Draco's turn to duck. The hissing of a broken pipe fills the room, accompanied by the quiet grunts of both boy trying to beat the other, the crackle of magic, the fizz of spells missing.

Draco can't see Potter, and assumes the same goes for the other. At one end of the cubicles, he's crawls slowly onto the ground, peeking underneath the walls. Potter stares back at him at the other end and he doesn't hesitate in attacking. The spell is dodged but Draco can hear him running down the aisle. Planning on meeting him at the other end, getting there first, he's waiting by the time the brunet pokes his head out. He'd make Potter hurt like he hurt. Then he'd understand. Maybe then he'd wouldn't act so high and mighty. So much better than Draco.

But Potter is faster and attacks Draco with a spell he hasn't heard before. He shouts something before pain spreads across Draco's body, knocking him to the ground. Slivers of pain spread across his body, so numerous they start to burn into one large body of pain. His body is cold, water seeping into his clothes and skin, and hot. The blond can't help but whimper and choke, once again feeling like he can't breathe. He grabs helplessly at his wet shirt, as if that might somehow fix the pain. Somewhere in the corner of his vision, he can see Potter crouching over him. The pain must be making him delirious because he could almost swear the boy is panicking—sobbing, even. Surely not. Someone is screaming—not Potter, someone else. Draco doesn't think it's him, even though he certainly feels like screaming. He doesn't have the energy for that.

There's a loud noise, then the footsteps of someone storming into the room. Another face looms above him, pushing Potter out of the way. Snape. The pain starts to ease as he mutters something. It's not enough for a full recovery, but he no longer feels like he's dying. The older man has to help him to his feet, supporting him almost entirely. It's now Draco realises there's blood on his shirt, his hands, in the water, on Potter. Snape is talking to him. Something about scarring. Draco has enough of those.

Snape takes Draco to the Hospital Wing but most of it passes by in a blur, reality losing its focus. Words are spoken, few by the blond, and he's directed to a bed and treated. Eventually, exhaustion takes him—or maybe Madam Pomfrey slipped him something—and he falls into a dreamless sleep.