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ENOCH HATES CROWDS. Crowds are unfamiliar territory filled with unfamiliar people and unfamiliar emotions. He can't cope with crowds. Crowds make his belly ache with the amount of butterflies– no, dragons rampaging about inside. Crowds make his mouth tingle with the multitude of tastes—ranging from spicy to sweet, bitter to soft—attacking his tongue. His body receives a plethora of temperatures and sensations; his nose is assaulted with a combination of scents. If he spends to long in them, his head soon begins to hurt and he shuts down. He feels like he's already shutting down.
A cool hand slips around his own, bringing a wash of intense emotion: the tranquility of his mother's, Odeda Desrosiers, own herbal tea taste. Dragging his eyes away from the sea of people in front of him, Enoch looks up at his mother, a confident woman who keeps her dark locks tied up in a loose bun and always, when out, has red lipstick painted across her lips (the same brand too, imported from France). These cherry red lips curl into a comforting smile when they make eye contact. He can feel her purposefully sending waves of comfort, which feels like that perfect temperature, towards him. Slowly, his breathing drops to a normal speed—he hadn't even realised he was hyperventilating.
"We don't have to do this, if you don't feel up to it." Enoch shakes his head, determined. If he doesn't do it now, then how will he know he can survive a school full of teens with a hormonally heightened emotional range. He needs to do this, to prove he can—both to himself and his parents who stand on either side of him, protecting him from the onslaught of shoppers going about their business at Diagon Alley, another place Enoch has never been to before. But, he supposes, he hasn't been to many wizarding places.
Enoch was born of a magic mother and a non-magic father... A muggle, he thinks Odeda called them, making him a half-blood. However, even half the percentage of magic in his blood was strong enough to bless (curse?) him with magic abilities that apparently aren't typical for other witches and wizards. For as long as he can remember, Enoch has had the ability to sense others emotions; to him, everyone radiates a combination of sensations that represent how they're feeling. His mother is generally herbal tea, and his father, Alistair Desrosiers, is popping candy. The old man who visited them a few weeks ago, as he and Enoch's parents organised the younger male's late entrance to school, was an odd mixture of musk sticks and the faint smell of vinegar.
In contrast, the sharp smell of vinegar, the smell of fear, permeates strongly from the crowd around him. The brunet assumes You-Know-Who (though he barely does know who) is the cause of this, as his mother had explained his current threat while stressing the importance of staying safe. Most families around him are rushing about, trying to get their tasks down here as quick as efficiently as possible. In comparison, the Desrosiers family seem to be dawdling in comparison, hardly in any rush.
