CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

. . .

CHERS Maman et Papa,

It has been fairly unexciting lately at school, so I don't have a lot to say. Classes have been going fine and I think I'm even improving in Alchemy. Hopefully I'll be good enough to continue next year. Failing is no longer a worry, at least. Draco has been helping me outside of class and explaining things a little better, so I'm getting the hang of it.

Elijah wanted me to thank you for the normal newspaper. He's read it ten times already, I swear. I've never seen anyone so excited to read a paper and look at photos that don't move. I think whenever you're finished with them, you might have to keep sending them to him. Though I'm not sure if I want to feed his obsession...

I'm actually writing to you because I've come across another dilemma. It's similar to the last dilemma but also less of a dilemma. I'm not sure. I think that's the dilemma - I'm confused. You see, I've been spending a lot of time with Draco, both to study but also just to hang out. He's gotten a lot friendlier. Sometimes he'll snap about things, usually at other people, and he really doesn't like anything that reminds him of muggles, but he'll sit in the library without acting like it's torture. He listens to me more these days, isn't judging me constantly. And Howie, my ferret, likes him a lot. That's not my dilemma though. I like that, I'd never have a problem with that.

"Whatcha writing?" Enoch jumps suddenly as the voice of his Gryffindor friend startles him out of his thoughts. He looks up, eyes wide, at Philip and instinctively clutches the letter to his chest. Then he remembers it's written entirely in French, a language Philip doesn't know, and settles just slightly. But the gesture is enough to alight the curiosity in the brunet's eyes as he sits at the desk beside Enoch.

"Just a letter home. Keeping Maman and Papa up to date. Nothing exciting." He can feel the amusement bubbling up inside of Philip and he peers at him suspiciously, wondering what could be so amusing. The Gryffindor's lips are curled into a grin as he shakes his head.

"You're a terrible liar. You've never jumped like that before while writing home." Enoch feels his eyes grow wider against his will, caught. A joking pout breaks the grin, struggling against Philip's need to smile. "I thought we promised no secrets."

"It's really nothing, it's just... I have a problem. I go to Maman and Papa for problems."

"Try me."

Enoch's brow furrows, "What?"

"Try coming to me for your dilemma. If my advice is bollocks, ignore it." As he considers this, not an entirely horrible suggestion if it weren't for the subject matter, the Hufflepuff can't help but shuffle uncomfortably. Opening up to people that aren't his parents is something he's never done before. Well, not before this year; he's had to open up about his empathy, about his secret friendship with Draco. But he's still not comfortable with it. "Here, what if we trade secrets? I'll tell ya my most embarrassing story, then yours'll be nothing in comparison."

"Do you really want to tell me that?" Philip lets out a small snort.

"I'm surprised Gee hasn't already told ya."

"Okay... If it's embarrassing enough, I'll trade." Maybe getting the opinion of someone in school, a friend, might do him some good. Besides, he's curious now.

"So, it was back in first year but it still haunts me. It was dinner and I was sitting in the Gryffindor table, minding my own business. Then, the boy sitting next to me asks me to pass the mashed potato." Despite this apparently being his most embarrassing story, Philip seems quite eager to tell it; amusement laces his tone, wide grin on his lips. "I'm like, sure, no problem and grab the bowl. Except, what I realised too late was that it was Harry Potter asking for the potato. One look at his face and I was absolutely starstruck, shocked. Threw a whole bowl of mashed potato all over him, covered him."

Enoch lets out a small, sympathetic squeak of laughter.

"Y'know, for someone who'd just had potato thrown on him, he was surprisingly calm and nice about it. Some older kid cleaned it up. But I was horrified. I haven't sat at the Gryffindor table since, except for like official things when I have to. I can't look at Harry Potter without being reminded of that."

"That's horrible." Enoch mutters, though a laugh is bubbling behind his words. A hand covers his mouth, desperately trying to hide his smile. But Philip seems fine, chuckling along.

"It was. Gee won't let me forget it either." The amusement hangs in the air for a few seconds, a lightness that eases any tension. Then Philip raps his knuckles rhythmically against the desk, "So, whaddya think? Are we even?"

Enoch nods slowly, hesitantly, "I think we're even." The older male shuffles a little closer, almost conspiratorially so, and watches him intently. "So, you know how I'm friends with..." Enoch just raises his eyebrows, hoping Philip can fill in the name. He does, nodding his head quickly. "I think there might be more to it."

"Like, he might be using you for something?"

Enoch quickly shakes his heads, "No, nothing bad! I mean, I hope not. It's... I think, uhh, my feelings are more than friendly."

"For him?" The brunet's voice raises in disbelief as his eyes grow wide, eyebrows raise. As the younger nods his head, Philip's mouth rests ajar in a surprised expression. "But... it's him. How?"

"I just... I don't know. Yesterday, we were being followed by Potter– Harry–"

"Oh, yeah, he was asking about you. Was going to say."

"Yeah, well, he followed us and Draco thought it would be a good idea to run away from him. And he was just so happy and I just– I don't know, I realised he makes me feel warm."

"But he has a reputation for a reason. Are you sure... him?"

"I'm sure. He's not so bad once you crack through the shell. I think a lot of it is just a front. At least, he's gotten nicer to me. His muggle issues are still... well, an issue." The brunet's brow furrows into a confused frown, soft sigh escaping his lips. "I don't know how to work out any of this though. The only experience with this kind of thing I have is my long time crush on Leonardo DiCaprio."

Philip stares at him blankly, "Who's that?"

"He's a muggle actor. Celebrity crush."

"That is a dilemma..."

"What's a dilemma?" Someone asks behind Enoch, causing the brunet to jump. He tastes oranges and smells expensive cologne so he immediately knows it's Gee and Elijah. This is only confirmed when the pair move into his line of vision. Philip gives him a questioning look, asking for permission. Feeling it's only fair they know too, he gives a small nod. The Gryffindor gestures for them to get closer.

"Enoch here has a crush on the ferret." He informs them in a hushed voice, careful to avoid others overhearing.

"On Howie?" Elijah asks with a frown, quickly getting a laugh from Philip. He quickly shakes his head before Elijah gets too many ideas.

"The other one. Slytherin." Enoch is soon faced with another two disbelieving faces staring at him. He shifts uncomfortably under their gaze, feeling judged even though he can't sense anything like that from them.

"But... it's him!" Elijah comments a little too loudly for Enoch's own comfort. He immediately hushes, adding, "What could you possibly like about him?"

"He's nice, I swear! It's just not immediately obvious..."

"I think it's cute." Gee smiles warmly at Enoch, bringing a wash of fresh oranges. "I absolutely don't trust him further than I can throw him but... I trust you and your judgement." As she talks, Gee grabs a chair and pulls it around for Elijah to sit on. With none free, she forces Philip to move over and share. They look oddly uncomfortably comfortable. "But what about the crush is the dilemma?"

"He also loves Leonardo DiCaprio." Philip's comment is met with confused chuckles, a small shake of the head from Enoch.

"I don't have any experience with this kind of thing, except a celebrity crush on him."

"Once, I had a crush on one of the Ravenclaw girls. I did absolutely nothing about it." Elijah pipes up, surprisingly happy for what he's saying. "But I regretted that for months after so I don't recommend it."

"But also don't do anything that might embarrass yourself in front of him, or you won't be able to even look him in the eye let alone act on your feelings." Philip continues, getting eager nods from Elijah. "You have to act cool."

"Lip, only you have to act cool. Enoch's already cool." Gee laughs, shoving her Gryffindor friend. "Honestly, Enoch, each person and situation is different. With him, I'd probably take the more careful route. Make sure you're certain and it's not something he can use against you. And if he does, make sure you let us know."

"We're gonna have to have a word with him if anything happens, aren't we?" Philip asks, getting nods from the other two. Enoch feels safe amongst them, smiling softly, but also no less confused. His parents are still going to have to receive a letter—maybe they'll have better advice, something he can actually do. Though he does appreciate his friends' attempts.

.  .  .

Draco should be plotting. He should be plotting, planning, scheming—everything Potter always rightly accuses him of. He should be finding a way to kill Dumbledore, one that will actually succeed. Everyone—even Crabbe and Goyle—are getting sick of waiting. The year is ticking on. All he hears is how it's taking too long. Any longer, he might really be killed for it.

But he's unable to focus. No matter how hard he tries, sitting with his friends as he pretends to study, he can't focus on finding a solution. His mind is elsewhere, on more trivial matters.

"Do you think he knows?" Draco asks, unable to stand sitting in silence much longer. His own brain has failed him, time to consult the other much more reliable Slytherin ones. But all he gets is a frown from Theodore Nott, looking up from his parchment to really make sure his confusion is clear.

"Does who know what?"

"Do you think Enoch knows about..." Rather than verbalise it, not wanting to risk anyone over hearing, Draco just places his hand over his left forearm. Theodore's gaze drops down to follow the movement, a flash of comprehension behind his eyes, and he gives a careless shrug.

"Probably not. Not unless you've said something." Theodore twirls his quill between his fingers as he gazes down at his parchment, lips pursed thoughtfully. He quickly writes a few more lines on his essay under Draco's distracted eye. Draco can't remember the last time he took an essay seriously. Ah, actually, the last essay he took seriously was Enoch's; they'd spent far too long making sure the Alchemy essay was finished, and that the Hufflepuff understood what he was writing. But his own? Draco doesn't think he's written one properly since last year.

"But what about Lupin?"

"What could he possibly connect between you two? Oh, you both have a scar on your cheek. I have a scar on my hand, I'm sure Lupin was covered head to toe in scars. Doesn't make me a... well, you know." Draco realises now that keeping his friends in the dark about Enoch's empathy abilities does make conversations like this difficult; he can't exactly point out that they both share the same petrichor scent, something apparently uncommon for Enoch. So he just nods slowly in resignation, hardly comforted by this.

"Do you think it's fair, if he doesn't know?"

"What does it matter if it's fair or not?" Draco pauses, thinking. Theodore pauses too, glancing up at the blond.

"I don't know."

"You know, the last time you were concerned about things that didn't matter like this was when you were trying to ask Pansy to the Ball." There's a small, smothered grin resting against Theodore's lips as though he doesn't want to let Draco know he's enjoying this. To hide it, he shakes his head and starts writing again.

"This is different though."

"How?"

"Well, I'm not exactly asking Enoch out to any Ball, am I?" Now the smothered smirk bursts out as a snigger and the brunet shakes his head.

"No, you're talking about something far more serious." Writing one final line, presumably his conclusion, Theodore sits back in his chair with a soft groan. Stretching, he watches Draco with a curious expression on his face. Draco has seen this expression before; the other Slytherin is right, it was back when he was worrying about the Ball. "Tell him if you feel you need to. I doubt he'll tell anyone—he is a Hufflepuff."

"I think I should. It's only fair." Draco nods to himself, more trying to convince himself than anything. "Thanks."

"I'll have an essay done for you when you get back. Just let me rest my eyes for a bit."

"Get back?"

"Get back from telling him, obviously. I can't concentrate with you sitting there, being all antsy." Draco doesn't even realise he's almost out of his chair until he really is sitting on the edge of it, legs tensed, ready to jump up the second he's able. "Tell me how it goes when you get back."

"Thanks." Theodore gives him a tired smile, still sprinkled with amusement, and shakes his head again. With that done, Draco gets up to begin his search for Enoch.

Draco finds Jones before he finds Enoch. The Hufflepuff girl is wandering down the hall, gives him an odd smile when he approaches her. He's never given her any reason to smile at him, so the gesture immediately takes him aback. For a second, he forgets what he was trying to do, too confused. Her smile only grows wider at this, backed with a small chuckle.

"Enoch's just gone back to the dorms to drop off Howie. He'll be headed towards the library on the way back." She informs him before he even has a chance to say anything. His mouth hasn't even opened. "He won't be long, so I'd probably hurry if you want to catch him."

"Thanks." Thanking her feels wrong; not thanking her also feels wrong. Draco doesn't give too much thought to it as he nods his head at her, running off to try and intersect Enoch somewhere. Nerves bubble away in his stomach and he knows he has to do something soon or he'll chicken out.

Enoch, understandably, seems surprised to see him when the brunet reaches the library. After not finding him anywhere along the way, Draco had decided to wait at the library doors instead, glowering at any students that decided to look at him funny. He feels that glare melt from his face the second he notices Enoch, easing the tension in his forehead. But the nerves grow stronger as well, roaring in the pit of his stomach. As a result, once again, he just nods his head and beckons. Thank Merlin Enoch gets the message, following closely on the way to the Room of Requirement.

It's only once they're safe within the walls of the magic room does Draco feel remotely comfortable. The fire crackles quietly, room familiar and warm. And then he looks at Enoch, remembers what he came to do, and all that comfort leaves.

"We're friends, aren't we?" He asks as a way of starting the conversation, of finally saying something to the undoubtedly confused brunet. Enoch just nods, continuing to follow Draco to the couch. "Close friends, even. Closer than I ever anticipated, at least."

"I think so." Enoch responds quietly, matching the Slytherin boy's tone.

"And you always try and deny whenever I say I'm... not good."

"Because you are good. I can feel it."

"Well, I think you need to know something. It might change that opinion of yours." Draco feels his mouth go dry, so dry talking feels impossible. For a moment, his voice catches in his throat. His heart beats painfully in his chest. Is he really going to do this? But then he looks at Enoch, feels the warmth the brunet radiates even with his gloves. It's only right. He deserves to know. "Firstly, I need you to know this is a secret. Not even Densmore can know. No one. If anyone were to find out..."

"I won't tell a soul."

"I trust you. Thank you." Wiping his palms nervously down his hands, Draco takes the leap. Time to say goodbye to his friendship. "You see... I really am a monster. Honestly. The type we learnt about in Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"I'm not following." With a heavy sigh, Draco unbuttons his left sleeve. He rolls it up slowly with trembling fingers, hesitance drenching every tiny action. As the sleeve goes higher, the scars that mar his skin are revealed: deep teeth marks, clawed scratches, all an angry red against his porcelain skin. He feels his eyes grow hot staring at them, unsure whether it was fear or disgust causing that. Despite his hatred of them, he can't bear to look away—to look up at Enoch, at the horror that could already paint his face. His imagination is torment enough.

But instead, as he fixates on his bare arm, a gloved hand tentatively reaches out. Fingers ghost across some of the deeper lines. At this, Draco risks a glance upwards.

There isn't any horror on Enoch's face, nor is there any disgust. There's no fear, hatred, or anger. It's not patronising pity that's etched across his face, but it does look like sympathy. His fingers no longer trace the scars as his hand wraps around the blond's thin wrist, thumb grazing the bottom of his palm. Green eyes meet grey.

"You're not a monster." Enoch assures him earnestly. His words do something strange to the nerves rolling around in Draco's stomach but the blond can't bring himself to accept them.

"But I am. I'm a werewolf." Something clicks in Enoch's mind and his eyes grow wide.

"Petrichor!" He gasps under his breath. Then as his realisation passes, his expression grows somber. "I don't think being a werewolf automatically makes you a monster. Have you ever hurt someone, intentionally, using your being a werewolf?"

"No." He doesn't need to be a werewolf to do that.

"And you've never turned anyone, against their will?"

"No." Enoch gives Draco a smile far too warm for the situation. The blond doesn't think he deserves it.

"Then you're going to have to try harder to convince me you're a monster." If Draco was much of a crier, he thinks he'd probably burst into tears right now. There's certainly something bursting in his chest, flooding his body with a strange warmth that he doesn't think belongs to Enoch. There's something happening, at an unconscious level, that's making the brunet's hand holding his wrist mean so much more. "While you've got your sleeve up, can I see the scar the hippogriff gave you?"

Draco lets out a small laugh, tension leaving his body. While reluctant to give Enoch any reason to let go, he nods softly and rolls his arm over so he can look at the back where Buckbeak's clawed scars still remain. Once again, Enoch traces them with his finger, moving closer. He smells like some unidentifiable citrus, something Draco has never noticed before. He suddenly wonders why; it feels like something that should have been noticed earlier. Instinctively, he breathes in a little deeper. He really doesn't know what it is, but he likes it.

"You were right, it did leave a cool scar." Enoch gives him a grin and Draco can't help but smile back. Relief has left him feeling giddy. His smile stays on his lips longer than he'd intended.

The ghost of it is still resting against his lips and in his aching cheeks when he returns to Theodore, still resting his eyes. However, the brunet does stop to pay attention to Draco's recount, that knowing grin not far from his lips. As he talks, the blond can't help but wonder what his friend keeps laughing at, what he knows that the other doesn't. It's infuriating, really.

( AUTHOR'S NOTE )
Everyone who says they love Enoch & Draco, I love you

But boy I'm tired. I stayed up just to write this, so hopefully that didn't effect it too badly. Especially given it's an important chapter I've been sitting on for a while. Glad to have explicitly stated "Draco is a werewolf" (which is based off a theory that was debunked by Rowling but still, I liked it)

I do worry that now we've gone over the top of the hill, things are going to start rolling too speedily. We are about to start going through the crucial points, so that's a warning I guess