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. . .
THE first night back, at dinner, is the first time Enoch sees Draco. The blond is, naturally, sitting over at the Slytherin table, staring vacantly into space as those around him chatter and eat their meals. It's hard to properly see him over the sea of moving heads but, every glimpse Enoch gets, he's just sitting there. He looks detached from those around him, detached from everything. He looks tired, which seems to be a fairly common state for the boy (and for most students, really).
But that's the last Enoch sees of him all week. After that, he seems to disappear without any kind of trace. He doesn't appear in classes, in the hallway; even Philip doesn't hear anything about him. It's almost like he never existed.
. . .
Relief floods through the Hufflepuff when he spots a familiar blond head, hair tousled like barely any effort has been put into maintaining the usual style. It's neat, though barely. Everything about him looks minimal: his robes are full of creases, tie uneven, doesn't even have any school supplies on him. Up close, he looks gaunt, as tired as ever. But, mostly, Enoch is just happy to see him. It's been a week of complete silence. He'd started getting into the habit to stare at the door of any of their shared classes hopefully, until he wasn't able to stare any longer, waiting for the boy. He'd been starting to lose hope, giving up quicker, spending the rest of the lessons concerned. But now he's here.
Draco all but falls into his seat. Up close, Enoch can see the light scratches healing on his face and hands, the bandage poking beneath his robes.
"Hi," The blond says when he meets the brunet's gaze. The greeting feels so casual for someone who's been missing for a week. It's said like he saw him yesterday, and they're just catching up now.
"Hi," Where Draco's is casual, Enoch's is awkward, a clearly forced attempt to mirror the same nonchalant attitude. The short greeting betrays that, behind it, the brunet's mind is running a million thoughts a second, betrays all the worry that's still barely been resolved. So he tries to smile, hoping that might cover it. Surprisingly, the Slytherin boy smiles back. It isn't much, just a small curve of the lips, but it's still something. Just that tiny gesture does wonders for him, brightening the otherwise sullen face.
There isn't any opportunity for further conversation, as Professor Moro calls for quiet and begins the lecture. As though she wants to keep the boy from catching up, today is only theoretical. Enoch is forced to sit quietly, thoughts buzzing with questions he wants to ask Draco.
At the end of the class, Enoch lingers. He packs up his things slowly, gaze flicking over to Draco almost every second. The other boy has barely moved, like he has for the entire class, staring at his desk. There's a deep frown on his face, like he's trying to solve the world's most difficult problem. He's distant again, off in a world of his thoughts. Enoch isn't even sure he's noticed that class has ended and almost everyone's left.
