CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

.  .  .

CATCHING Enoch after Potions, first slipping away from his Slytherin friends, proves to be more of a task than Draco first anticipated. His friends won't be brushed off easily, requiring some sort of explanation from him first—it's nothing, he claims, just some Alchemy work. Then, eager to get to make the most of their time off, most of the students are quickly filing out of the classroom. This first blocks Draco from the oblivious brunet, the second obstacle, but then pushes him further and further away as Enoch tries to get out as well. The blond only just manages to stop him at the door, grabbing his shoulder in an attempt to nonverbally get his attention as casually as he can. Enoch doesn't seem surprised to see him when he turns to meet his gaze, just gives him a pleasant smile. Draco can feel his fingertips warming and withdraws his hand quickly.

"Do you have time to work on our Alchemy project?" Draco asks, small frown on his face as he tried to convey to Enoch to play along. He can see the confusion pass across his face clear as day and only hopes it's not as clear for everyone else.

"Yeah, I was just going study anyway." A little white head pokes out of Enoch's hair, body wrapping around his shoulders under his robes. The ferret blinks sleepily at Draco, before adjusting his position and settling back down. The blond allows himself a small nod before beckoning for Enoch to follow.

Draco waits until they've moved away from the classroom, into another hallway, to explain, "We're not studying. I just wanted to stop the others from following me."

"Oh, good, you had me worried. I thought there was some Alchemy project I'd missed." Enoch chuckles lightly—so lightly it even manages to bring a lightness in the blond. A little bit of tension melts from his jaw, loosening his lips into the smallest smile he can manage. "Where are we going?"

"The room with the fireplace. It's more comfortable than the library floor."

"Oh right, the one you pace around." Draco gives a small nod, not wanting to discuss it further in case someone was the listen in and figure out where they're going. Because of Potter and his little army, the Room of Requirement isn't as secret as it once might have been; but, also because of Potter, Draco now knows of its existence.

"Potions was awful, wasn't it?" The blond comments as silence falls between them, feeling awkward. He absentmindedly brushes away some dust leftover from his failed attempt at a potion. This year has been a terrible year of Potions for him—something he would be ashamed of in any other circumstances. But his task is more important than grades, if he fails they won't matter at all, and he hardly cares for a fool like Slughorn's opinion of him. The old man has already made it clear enough that he no longer cares, with his father in prison. Enoch gives a small shrug, one that threatens to knock the ferret off his shoulders. "Did you see Slughorn? The way he fawned over Potter? I was watching him during the lesson, his technique is dreadful. He wasn't even doing what we were doing."

"Honestly I was barely paying attention to anyone else. I was struggling to get my own right." Draco lets out an airy chuckle once he sees Enoch's amused grin, wanting to encourage that amusement. "Mine smelt awful by the end, burnt my nose worse than anything I've ever smelt. Kinda glad class ended when it did."

"Mine smelt like... I'm not even sure. Crabbe and Goyle were doing something nearby that smelt like stew, that was all I could smell."

"Man, I could go for a stew right now. Like one of Maman's bourgignon. Maman makes the best—maybe only beat by Mamie's." Enoch goes quiet for a second as he seems to ponder this. The blond watched him as a frown furrows over his brow, conflict written across his face. "No, I think Maman's is best. She's an amazing cook, you should come for dinner some time."

For a moment, Draco allows himself to imagine that: dinner with Odeda Desrosiers, her muggle husband, Enoch, eating some kind of French stew, probably cooked the muggle way, talking about normal things. But then he remembers which side he's on, which side Enoch and his family is.

"Did you know, when I went back during the Christmas break, I couldn't even enjoy the food properly? My body physically wouldn't let me enjoy anything that had meat in it." Disappointment drips from Enoch's tone, a soft huff not far from the edge of his voice.

"You might have mentioned it once." Three times. He's mentioned it three times. Once not long after they'd returned, after Draco recovered; again after he ate some of the chicken at dinner, complained about how bad at was compared to home's in class the following day; and now, reminiscing on food he can't eat.

"I really hope dinner is good tonight. I'm already starving." Enoch rubs his stomach with a soft sigh, eyes closed for a second as he frowns. In this time, Draco looks forward to spot a familiar mess of brown hair, glasses, annoying face. Of all the people to pass, Potter is incredibly low on his list; he hardly has the annoyance ready to be bothered dealing with him. But as Enoch continues to ramble about food, clearly as starving as he claims, it becomes clear to Draco that neither brunet is paying enough attention to their surroundings. A collision is imminent and the blond can only assume Potter is an explosion of emotions he doesn't want Enoch dealing with either, not while he's in a good mood.

So, as subtly as he can, he switches places with Enoch. As Potter walks past, just because he can, because someone has to, he lets his shoulder crash into the Gryffindor's. Potter looks up, apologetic expression instantly morphing into a scowl, as Draco spits with as much venom as he can manage, "Watch it, Potter."

He smirks as Potter fumbles, only manages a, "Malfoy," before Draco turns his attention back to Enoch. He barely affords the Gryffindor a second glance until they're at the end of the corridor, when he confirms he isn't snooping. Potter is gone, thank Merlin.

"I get the feeling you don't like him much." Enoch comments as they keep walking, so innocent and unknowing.

"I can't stand him."

"Why?"

"I offered my friendship back in first year and he was a git back. It just worsened from there." The younger nods softly, surprisingly understanding. At this point, Draco feels like he shouldn't be surprised, but it still gets him every single time.

The silence that follows them isn't quite as uncomfortable and the blond lets it hang between them until they reach the Room of Requirement. Enoch watches as he paces, as always, until the door forms in the wall. Inside is the same room that vaguely resembles one of the sitting rooms back at home, fire still crackling warmly. Draco settles down in the couch closest to the fire, allowing himself a brief moment to relax as Enoch sits beside him.

The silence is still there, now broken only by the quiet crackle of the fire. Resting his head against the back of the couch, Draco stares at a painting resting above the fireplace—a small portrait of a dog panting happily in a grassy field, ball nearby. The dog pounces on the ball, picking it up before running off, leaving only the field.

"Do you hide your emotions from me?"

"Not really. Not intentionally. Why?" Draco turns his head so he's looking at Enoch, who just so happens to be looking at him as well, position mirrored. His eyes are green, Draco realises. Just like Potter's, only far less infuriating to look at. Almost immediately, they crinkle into a smile, creases decorating the corners, when the eye contact is made.

"You just feel... less intense sometimes. Not all the time, sometimes it's pretty bad. But, right now, I can even taste honey over the brine." Enoch pauses to pull a glove off his hand, resting it carefully on his knee, before he holds it out to Draco. Without really thinking, Draco takes the hand and waits expectantly. A few seconds pass and nothing happens; the natural warmth of their hands fill his palms, he feels Enoch's fingers tighten around his knuckles, and that is all. "See, it's bearable. I don't even feel the need to take away anything. I'd like to, but I don't need to."

"Guess you just got a good day." Draco responds, still watching the brunet. Slowly, he turns his head to face the painting again. The dog hasn't returned, grass swaying idly in a painted breeze. The image is peaceful and, oddly enough, the blond feels at ease. Then, slowly, warmth fills Draco's insides. Starting in his stomach, it blossoms up his chest, filling his limbs, his throat. He glances back at Enoch, who's still staring at him. "Did you do that?"

"What?" Enoch blinks slowly as though he hadn't been focusing.

"The warmth." Draco gestures at their hands, still clasped together. The warmth floods from his body suddenly, far faster than it arrived, and he's left feeling cold despite the fire in front of them.

"Yeah, that was, uh... I was practicing." As Enoch pulls his hand away, putting his glove back on, the air hits Draco's palm and it too feels cold. Slowly, he closes his hand into a fist. "I think I'm getting better. Philip let me try on him a few times."

"You should see if you can do it with some negative emotions. You can test that on me, if you want."

Enoch's brow furrows, "Why would I want to do that."

"It's always useful to have some kind of defense." Especially with the war that seems to be coming, he thinks but doesn't say. Instead, he just gives a casual shrug and hopes Enoch doesn't catch any change in emotions. He doesn't want to think about it, nor does he want to talk about it. He just wants to watch the grass that looks as green as Enoch's eyes.

.  .  .

Philip is re-reading Quidditch Through The Ages—his well-loved copy, which has been read to death already—in the Gryffindor common room when someone decides they want to interrupt his quiet time. The clearing of the throat, nearer than he expected, startles the brunet and he almost drops the book on his face. Then he glances over the top of his book, meeting a familiar pair of green eyes behind a pair of glasses, and he really drops the book on his face.

Merlin, it's Harry! As he rubs his tender nose, Philip scrambles up into a better seated position, no longer lounged over the arms.

Act cool, calm, Philip.

"H-Hi, Harry." Philip manages a nervous greeting as he attempts to affect the most casual smile he can manage. None of it feels particular casual and he instantly berates himself internally for still managing to feel so uncomfortable around his fellow Gryffindor.

"Hey. You're friends with the transfer, right?"

"Enoch?" Harry nods quickly, intently. "Yeah, we're close."

"Do you know why he'd be hanging around Malfoy?" Instantly, worry fills Philip. With his promise of keeping their friendship a secret, Philip also made it his business to squash any other rumours that might arise, ensuring that absolutely no one thought Enoch and Draco are anything more than Alchemy partners. But if Harry is asking... Fighting a gossip battle against Harry sounds near impossible to win. His word is gospel amongst the right people.

"To study Alchemy, probably. They're partners, have projects and all that. Don't think either of them are particularly happy about it." Harry doesn't seem particularly convinced, eyes searching Philip's face for something. But the other boy holds his ground, maintaining an straight but pleasant face that he hopes isn't suspicious. Then, the suspicion leaves Harry's face, replaced with a polite smile.

"Thanks. Good book, by the way."

"Yeah, it is." Philip chuckles uncomfortably, hands tightening around the book in his hand. The tension filling his body only leaves once the brunet does, disappearing into the dorms. Philip stares at the empty space before he slowly settles back down, unable to really focus on his book anymore. He makes an internal note to talk to Enoch about watching Harry, and then to tell Gee about that successful interaction with Harry.

( AUTHOR'S NOTE )
Can you believe we're getting close to the end of this year?? Very soon everything's about to go downhill for everyone ):