CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

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THE carpeted floor of the library is uncomfortable underneath Draco but Enoch still insists here is better than any of the available desks. And there's plenty of desks available—Draco walked past all of them on his search for the brunet, hidden away in the secluded corner. The Slytherin boy wonders if Enoch chooses this spot for his benefit, hiding their meetings away from any potential passersby, so that Draco has to worry less. The sentiment is nice but, as he sits here, backside aching, he can't help but wish they just sat at a desk instead.

The blond is drawn out of his thoughts as the white ferret moves from Enoch's lap, climbing onto Draco's own before he settles down and rolls over to bare his stomach. Draco pauses for a moment, staring at the animal in surprise, before he hesitantly begins patting it. The resentment towards Moody—well, Barty Crouch Junior—still sits there, quietly bubbling away as he's reminded of his brief transformation.

"Why are you so grumpy?" Enoch asks, a faint grimace beginning to form on his face as he looks at Draco. Long, curly strands fall over his face as he does so, quickly pushed out of his eyesight with a sharp flick of his head. His hair is starting to get quite long. Not that it was ever particularly short. Draco doesn't really mind.

"I'm not grumpy." Draco responds quickly, maybe too quickly. This only gets a soft chuckle from the younger male, a shake of the head that sends those strands rolling across his face again. Draco's fingers itch to just push them out of the way, tame the untameable just a little. He's worse than Potter, and that's saying something. Draco had thought no one could possibly be worse than Potter's presentation, and then he met Enoch with his shaggy hair, muggle clothes.

"Did you forget I can sense your emotions? Is alchemy making you that miserable?"

A soft snort leaves Draco and he shakes his head, "I was just thinking about when I was a ferret."

"Oh, yeah, I've heard about that." Of course he has; even the oblivious transfer knows about his time as a ferret. If it's a moment of Draco's misery, of course the whole school knows. "What was that like?"

"Terrifying. One second, Potter and I are having a discussion about his chances in the tournament and he goes and insults my father; the next second, Moody has his wand out and I'm a tiny ferret." He pats the ferret absentmindedly, briefly wondering what it's like to be pat. The ferret seems to enjoy it. "He didn't even stop there—he was throwing me about like a rag. The world was spinning around and all I could hear was him and Potter laughing at me. It was like flying on an out of control broom. Honestly, it's a miracle I didn't throw up."

"Was it painful?"

"Was it painful?" Draco repeats incredulously. "Of course it was, he was throwing me around in the air while I was as small as this little guy. I think I even hit the ground at one point. I almost could have died again. All because of Potter." The blond shakes his head, letting out a soft sigh. "Be glad you missed that year, he was a terrible teacher."

"You've almost died before?" For a moment, Draco allows himself to revel in the astonishment dripping from Enoch's tone, the shock written across his face. It's been a while since someone's been so receptive, not immediately dismissed his recounts.

"In my third year, Hagrid decided he'd bring in a hippogriff for Magical Beasts. Stupid oaf, bringing in a dangerous creature like that. The beast charged at me, for no reason! Luckily, it only managed to scratch my arm but even that... Any closer and I would have lost my arm, it left a scar as it is. The scar is pretty cool, though."

"Can I see?" Enoch is absolutely enrapt, Draco doesn't even know why. With a little smirk, as much as he'll allow, the blond goes to unbutton his sleeve, to show it off. But then he pauses, looking at his sleeved arm, and remembers. His fingers pause around the button, pressing a little too tightly.

"Maybe some other time. The sleeve is hard to pull up." The brunet nods softly, disappointed but understanding. Sobered, Draco wraps his hand protectively around his forearm, unfortunately pulled back to reality. He clenches, then unclenches, then clenches again, before he lets his hand drop back onto the ferret. Draco Junior nudges his hand comfortingly, warm breath blowing against his skin. The Slytherin pats him softly, glad of the distraction.

"Once, I was climbing up a tree and I slipped, fell all the way to the ground and sprained my ankle. It hurt a heap and it had to heal the normal– the muggle way."

"What's the muggle way?"

"I walked around on crutches for a little bit, had to tape up the ankle. The pain didn't really go away for a while either." Draco can't help but shudder, once again grateful for the blessing of magic. A sprained ankle would likely be an easy fix for Madam Pomfrey, having to deal with it for longer than a day sounds like torture. "I could barely walk on the crutches too. I think they were a size too big or something."

Draco lets out a snicker, "Or you're just uncoordinated."

"No, it was definitely the crutches."

"I've seen the way you've tripped on air when walking to our desk, Enoch."

Somewhere, someone yells and Draco is reminded of his surroundings. The shushing of a librarian quickly follows, but it's enough for the blond. He can't see any students completely, only brief glimpses of uniforms through the gaps in the bookshelves, but he knows they're there. Maybe they know he's here too.

"Can I try something?" Enoch asks as he closes his book--a sign Draco has started to recognise as a loss of concentration. Once the book is shut, no more study will be coaxed from the Hufflepuff.

"Maybe."

"Give me your hand." This bring Draco any consolation. If anything, it makes him more confused.

"I know for a fact neither of us studying Divination. Why do you want my hand?" Despite his questions, Enoch's wide, begging eyes convince Draco to hold his hand out. Without providing any explanation, the brunet turns the older boy's hand over so his palm is facing up, and then pressing his own hand against it. Their hands are almost the same size, though Draco feels some triumphant over the few extra millimetres his fingers have.

"I want to test something." Enoch explains but Draco doesn't think it's a very good explanation. He sits there expectantly, waiting for something that might clear everything up. The Hufflepuff stares intently at their hands, frown forming on his brow. The pressure on Draco's hand increases as Enoch presses down, until his hand is pushed down onto his knee. Just as quickly, Enoch's fingers slip around the blond's hand and he squeezes tightly. The contact is continued, Enoch still frowns, and Draco is no less confused.

Then, ever so slightly, warmth begins to spread through Draco's fingertips. It's barely anything, enough to be brushed off as body heat. But Enoch's hands aren't that warm, enough to spread through Draco's veins. It's not body heat, it's not natural; from the look on the brunet's face, Draco can only assume he's the cause. Or his empath powers are.

"Is it doing anything?" Enoch asks, sounding surprisingly tired.

"It's a little warmer. Are you doing that?" The brunet gives a small nod, still frowning at their hands. The warmth does little more, just continues to spread up his arm. The heat has almost reached his elbow and starts to feel as though he's submerged his forearm in warm water.

Somewhere behind the bookshelves, someone laughs. It's loud, happy, and has absolutely no malicious sound to it. And yet Draco's head instantly shoots up, searching for someone that might be watching them. He suddenly becomes uncomfortably aware of the fact that, to anyone else, it'd look a lot like they're holding hands. Maybe that laughter was directed at them—someone laughing at how a Slytherin, Draco no less, is holding hands with the transfer student.

Without really meaning to, he pulls his hand away sharply, like he'd just touched a hot flame. It's only when Enoch frowns at him that he realises what's he's done. Guilt fills him almost immediately, worried he might have insulted the younger.

"Don't exhaust yourself or make yourself sick. You almost got it up my entire arm." The blond wrings his hands together before they drop to the ferret once more, desperate for something to do that might get rid of the tingles left by the brunet's touch. He assumes it must be the remnants of his powers, clinging to Draco's hand like a parasite. Though it's far more pleasant than a parasite.

"It's fine. I just wanted to see if I could do something when I'm less concerned, more in control."

"You definitely made my arm warmer." This seems to please Enoch, bringing a wide smile to his lips, and all seems to be forgiven. But, since the laughter, Draco can't quite get comfortable again. Not that he was ever physically comfortable, not while they sit on the floor, but he had felt more at ease. Now his eyes keep darting around, waiting for someone—anyone—to walk through and catch them, to make some unwanted comment.

In reality, a Slytherin and a Hufflepuff studying together should be no big deal. Plenty of Slytherins are friends with Hufflepuffs. But plenty of Slytherins aren't Draco, or Enoch, and the blond feels like that makes a significant difference. Too much for him to settle back down

( AUTHOR'S NOTE )
Ayy I'm back! Gonna be honest, for a second I forgot how to write Draco, but hopefully that's all fixed. I call this chapter "Draco complains a lot but they bond over it" & I hope it makes up for the wait