CHAPTER FIFTEEN
point gap
SCHOOL BEGINS AGAIN IN JANUARY and it's like exchanging one set of manacles for another. This time, there's the imminent threat of an execution date looming over Sawyer's head, an unignorable menace in May that thunderstorms in every corner of periphery, choking down her every breath.
Despite Quidditch season kicking into full-throttle once the snow melted and left the pitch in what Jeremy dubbed 'prime conditions' once again, the onslaught of homework only accumulated until the avalanche threatened to bury all the fifth year students. If Sawyer wasn't in class, at Quidditch practice, or in her dorm sleeping, she was in the library with Jeremy, Rio and Marcus, struggling through their mountain of work. Sometimes, she'd sit with Quinn in the back of the library where there would be less students, and they'd listen to music on her Walkman during study breaks. Sometimes, she would catch glimpses of her brother striding past her table with Oliver and the rest of their rowdy Gryffindor entourage in tow.
Neither her nor Oliver acknowledge each other's presence anymore. They've gone full circle now. Everything that's ever been traded between them gone stale. Nothing has always been nothing.
Herbology on Tuesday afternoon reeks of manure and freshly cut plants. A miasma that plugs Sawyer's nostrils, perfumed so thick she almost chokes on it. Rum-coloured sunlight soaks Professor Sprout's well-manicured greenhouse, bright sun ray's burning through the glass, a heat that might've melted her skin off in the summer. An unfathomable menagerie of potted plants of a stifling diversity (both magical and mundane; ugly and beautiful; poisonous and with healing properties) line the walls, sitting in neat rows and racks, gathered on tables dusted with filth and soil and loose pebbles. Gathered around a large table in the middle of the greenhouse, the fifth year Slytherins and Hufflepuffs eye the brown pots of Fanged Germaniums sitting atop their stations with equal parts palpable mistrust and curiosity.
"This," Professor Sprout had introduced, puffing her chest and beaming with pride at the magical flower displaying its impressive, razor-sharp teeth like a peacock with its array of feathers, "is one of the most lethal plants we will be handling for your OWLs. "
"Looks a bit like you, Rio," Marcus snickers, nudging Rio with his elbow.
Rio sends his boyfriend a scathing look. "What does that say about your taste in boys, then?"
Pulling on his gardening gloves, Jeremy laughs, silent and breathy. As Rio and Marcus argue over their pot of Fanged Germanium, Sawyer drums her fingers against the edge of her table, wondering how she was going to pass this class. Professor Sprout was going through the properties of Fanged Germanium, but Sawyer was only half-listening. Half her brain lay in the future, where her darkest monsters lurked. Her mother had always told her that effort would get her somewhere. That with her eidetic memory, she would be able to achieve something. Sawyer would almost believe her mother then. Up until she'd turn on her with accusing eyes and say something along the lines of, if only you were willing to try as hard as Wyatt; if only you weren't so lazy; if only you weren't so caught up fighting everyone around you; why do you have to be so difficult all the time?
Why can't you be more like your brother?
There were days Sawyer laid in bed and wouldn't be able to get up. Even if she was lying awake under the sheets, drifting in and out of consciousness, in the most uncomfortable position, wherein her spine might be twisted too much towards the wrong direction and her arms could be wound painfully around her torso or splayed oddly at the joints, she would have no strength or see no point in doing anything about it. After all, her entire life is just one uncomfortable position after another. So why bother? Not because she didn't want to, but because the act of opening her eyes seemed too much, too exhausting. Put into perspective like that, cleaning her room seemed impossible in comparison. Reading, writing, trying to hold onto words that wouldn't go right—those would've killed her. Laziness looked like that, according to her mother.
There were days she wanted to put her fist through the window while her nerves were on fire and there was only the knife-bright anger slashing up her insides. Once she'd thrown a plate at Wyatt's head when he'd called her out on being rude in an attempt at defending their mother. He'd ducked out of the way in time and the plate missed his head by mere inches, shattering against the wall—along with all chances of her having any sort of relationship with either of them. This, her mother called 'difficult'. Difficult to manage. Difficult to mould into the perfect child. Difficult to care for. Difficult to love.
"So," Marcus started, regarding his boys and Sawyer with a hungry glint in his eyes. His voice broke Sawyer out of her reverie. "Quidditch match tomorrow. Slytherin versus Hufflepuff. How much are we betting?"
"Fifty galleons says we shoot down offense in first half," Rio said, glancing at Sawyer to gauge her reaction. "You put up a fight and we'll raise it to a hundred to crumble defense. Make it fun for us, would you? It's so boring when you don't care enough to play properly."
"Don't bother," Sawyer said, seeing the end before it's even begun. "Hufflepuff's offense line is a joke."
"You could try to be more optimistic about your first game of the season," Jeremy offered, lips curling into a small grin. "I'd like to see how our Beaters handle you and that Violet girl. That would be pretty interesting, I feel. Plus, we could always learn something from you. Our defense line definitely needs some work."
"It doesn't matter," Sawyer said, waving a dismissive hand. "Even if I bothered, it wouldn't make a difference. The point gap would still be too out of our control to put up a real fight."
Face twisting in malcontent, Marcus grumbled. "Wish you could play for our team. Our Beaters are good, but they can't aim for shit."
Sawyer figured it'd be a waste of breath to bring up the fact that the Slytherin Beaters put two Ravenclaw Chasers in the infirmary last season. They were benched for foul play for the next two matches. Even though their aiming bottomed out, they were still forces to be reckoned with. Just at the risk of a more personal level.
"Okay, dream Quidditch team line-up," Rio said, smacking his fist into his palm emphatically as he glanced between his friends. "Anybody from any house, including alumni. Go."
"Sawyer and Renee Delaney—that Ravenclaw who graduated last year—as our Beaters," Jeremy said, humming thoughtfully. "Charlie Weasley as our Seeker. You, Marcus and I as Chasers. Oliver for our Keeper."
"I hate that you picked Wood, but I'm going to have to agree with you," Marcus grunted. "Sawyer? Thoughts?"
Sawyer shrugged. Anyone with half a brain could see that fictitious line-up was bulletproof, and Sawyer had nothing to contest it with. After a moment's consideration, Marcus hummed in assent, clearly having interpreted that however he wanted and turned to inspect his Fanged Germanium. Notes were scribbled in the margins of his textbook. Without missing a beat, Jeremy picked up his quill and amended a mistake in Marcus' notes. As the slow chatter of her classmates discussing topics ranging from the task at hand to tomorrow's Quidditch match to someone's girlfriend's cousin's brother filled the room and raked like sandpaper against her nerves, Sawyer glanced back down at her own textbook, filled with half-hearted scribbles she wouldn't be able to make sense of later, when revision was long overdue. Perhaps this was why she preferred silence, violence and isolation—straight-forward things. Words were difficult, dyslexia made them look all shapes wrong—coming from someone else's mouth, words meant nothing. Anger was debilitating, a double-edged sword of its own, but it made its distinctions.
Sawyer supposed that's what it all boiled down to.
* * *
IN THE CHANGING ROOM one minute before game time, Nia snatches Sawyer's sleeve and tugs her roughly to a corner. Instantly, Sawyer's hand clamps around Nia's wrist, digging her fingers into the older girl's flesh in warning, before ripping her hand away from her sleeve with enough vehemence to make the Hufflepuff Quidditch captain wince. Decked in the yellow of their house, all sunny and bright, the team ironed out their nerves with excitable pep talks—strategy, running bets on who's going to score first, more strategy, whatnot—to avoid relapsing into the stress of playing against a team far more superior than theirs. Harriet was busy pacing agitated grooves into the ground while Violet was sitting on the bench, white-lipped and trembling slightly. None of them even so much as glanced towards their captain or their collateral damage, waging their own private war.
"I have a bottle of butter beer in my locker," Nia murmured, rubbing her wrist where a ring of dark bruises had blossomed on tan skin. "It's yours if you give me a miracle today."
"Don't count on such intangible things."
"Play like you've got something to lose, then," Nia said fiercely, a spark of irritation glinting in her dark eyes. "I don't care if we win or lose. We all just want to give it our best go, and we can't do that while our offense line has no support from you. Slytherin would pulverise us before we can gain on the goal. Give us your game today or I'll throw Violet back on the bench. You haven't forgotten the little one, haven't you? You wanted her on your side so badly, surely you'll fight to keep her there?"
Sawyer considers Nia for a deadly silent moment. She was being driven into a corner. Sawyer didn't enjoy being trapped, but Nia seemed hellbent on gaining her cooperation. A smile curls her lips, cold and cruel and slow. "Oh, oh, you might be something interesting after all. Slytherin might be missing a spot. Perhaps you could fill it?"
"I need a yes or no from you."
"If you so much as look at the child, I'll sit out every game for the rest of the season." It wasn't a no, and Nia seemed to understand both the threat and the answer to her demand. Without a glance over her shoulder, Sawyer brushed past Nia, knocking her shoulder against the older girl's so hard Nia stumbled.
When Madam Hooch called for them to standby at the doors to the pitch, the team gathered their gear and their brooms and converged at the entrance, where they could hear the roaring crowd on the elevated stands thundering our chants and cheers. The air rumbled with hundreds of stomping feet, ear-piercing whistles cut through the air. The restless explosion of sound roiled over the Hufflepuff team. Sawyer placed a hand at Violet's back and gave her a firm push when the girl started tripping over on her own feet.
"Okay, team," Nia had to shout over the crowd's noise, a bright grin painted on her lips. "Today, we play because we love what we do. Failure, we can come back from, so don't get too disheartened if we lose. Our aim this match is to control the point gap, make it as small as possible so Cedric can play catch up. Chasers, find your marks early and shadow them every step of the way. Harriet, you have Flint. I'll take Knox. Sanchez—" Nia grimaced, and Sanchez blanched— "good luck with Alvarez. Watch his elbows. He's six feet and he likes to play rough. You're our fastest flier, so I would hope you have a better shot at handling him than any of us. You'll also have our Beaters—Violet and Sawyer—tying up our defense. Bludgers have to hit anyone in green who's within close enough range to score. Do not let the Bludgers touch our Chasers.
"I know we've had a difficult past few weeks," Nia said, pinning each and every one of them with a heavy look, "but I know we have a decent shot at meeting our aim. But if any of you so much as spit insults or fight dirty with your marks, I'll cut you from the line. Follow the rules, please. Sportsmanship is just as important as scoring. We're all here to play and have our fun at the end of the day."
Harriet let out an earnest whoop, and the rest of the team fell in with her enthusiastic cheer.
Sawyer tapped her bat against the back of Violet's head. "Stop thinking so hard."
"How do I turn off my head?" Violet asked, worry creasing her brows. "I'm a little nervous, sorry."
"You can't," Sawyer said. "Look at me. Hey. Stop that. In seconds, we will be out there and there will be distractions all around you. Remember why you wanted to play. Remember that if you could prove yourself on-par with Oliver Wood's maniacal standards, you can handle a few Slytherins. No one's expecting you to be perfect."
Nodding slowly, Violet let out a shuddering breath.
Madam Hooch's shrill whistle brought them back into reality. At the referee's signal, the team traipsed out from under the shade and into the open. The glare of the sun bore down on them, blinding and oppressive, an eye of judgement harsh as purgatory. In the stands, the crowd exploded into cheers. From across the pitch, Sawyer spotted the Slytherin team, swathed in their jade-green robes and condescending sneers approaching.
Spearheading their formation, Marcus Flint caught her eye and threw her a devilish wink. Rio and Jeremy weren't too far behind. Rio with his incendiary glower and Jeremy with his enthusiastic grin bearing the sharpest spark of challenge. They'd left their friendship at the door. Now, it didn't matter how much history they shared from first year. All their matches went like this. Injuries were fair game, something that happened in the moment and counted towards their loyalties towards their teams, something that they could laugh about and make fun of later, once the match was over and Madam Pomfrey had fixed them up at the infirmary.
When Madam Hooch called for both captains to shake hands before reading out the rules and regulations of Quidditch, Nia stepped forward with a polite smile to meet Marcus' crushing handshake. Sawyer flipped her bat languidly with one hand, pinning Rio with a blank look. Rio smirked back. Someone on either side was getting hurt today.
Someone in the stands had begun commentating on the line-up on both teams in a booming voice, revving up the crowd, but Sawyer had conditioned herself to tune it out. Somewhere in the Hufflepuff section, Quinn would be watching. She'd told Sawyer that she'd make an appearance today and for their game against Gryffindor next week just to support a friend. The statement had thrown Sawyer off for a disorienting minute, but Quinn had already disappeared into the library by the time Sawyer could ask her about her change of heart about her apparent aversion to rowdy crowds.
"Players, mount your brooms," Madam Hooch commanded.
In seconds, the Hufflepuff and Slytherin teams were in the air, assembling themselves before their respective goals. Nia led Harriet and Sanchez to the edge of their half of the pitch. Violet followed Sawyer to space out in their places behind them, eyes trained on the Bludgers. Cedric took to the air, circling above them like a hawk, isolated from the scrimmage. Daniel was the last to join them as he stationed himself in front of the goalposts. From the centre of the pitch, Madam Hooch released the Bludgers, which shot into the air the second the box opened. Anticipation gripped the players and the crowd in its icy hand as Madam Hooch held up the Quaffle. With a sharp toss, she sent the Quaffle soaring straight up into the air. Both teams broke formation.
A flash of green and yellow. The commentator's voice just barely carried over the crowd's racket, but Sawyer caught onto the action. Jeremy had caught the Quaffle, signifying the official beginning of the match. Slytherin spectators roared with approval as Slytherin gained miles of a headstart on Hufflepuff. But Sawyer's eyes closed in on an incoming Bludger.
With a sharp swing of her bat, the Bludger connected with a sickening crack, and was sent careening into Marcus, who barely rolled out of the way, essentially missing the Quaffle that Jeremy passed on to him. Harriet swooped in and caught it before Rio could dive for it and carried it halfway into Slytherin territory before passing it off to Nia. The match exploded into a rough frenzy from that point as Rio and Marcus fought off their marks and closed on either side of Nia, forcing the Quaffle out of her possession. Harriet was shouting commands from across the pitch. One of the Slytherin Beaters shot a Bludger towards Sanchez, who was flying below Nia, ready to catch the Quaffle from Nia's downward pass. Sawyer shot towards it, and slammed her bat against the Bludger, sending it on a devastating warpath towards Rio, who'd broken off just in time to intercept the Quaffle.
Rio swore viciously as the Bludger crushed into his ribs. The Quaffle popped out of his grip and Sanchez snatched it out of mid-air before Marcus could. She passed it onto Nia. Harriet tore away from Marcus' shadowing, and aligned herself on Nia's left while Sanchez flanked Nia's right. In their tight formation, they fended off the Slytherin Chasers, rushing the Quaffle towards the goal. They managed inches before the scoring line before a Bludger shot towards Sanchez. A flash of yellow in periphery had Sawyer's attention. Violet slammed her bat against the Bludger and sent it rocketing towards Jeremy. It caught the tail of his broom, sending him spiralling out of control. Only one Chaser was allowed within the scoring area, so Harriet and Sanchez flanked Nia as far as they could until they balked to a halt abruptly on the edge.
Nia flung the Quaffle at the last goalpost.
The Slytherin Keeper intercepted at the last minute, hurling the Quaffle across the pitch with all her might.
Sawyer raked her gaze over the pitch, past Nia struggling against Jeremy for the Quaffle, clashing over and over again in a blur of green and yellow, pulling unorthodox manoeuvres to prevent the other from gaining possession. Marcus and Rio were pushing the Hufflepuffs into uncomfortable territory. Zipping around the Chasers like houseflies, the Slytherin Beaters were fending off Violet's shots. A renegade Bludger was careening Sawyer's way, a missile with no firer. Seizing the opportunity, Sawyer slammed the Bludger into Marcus, knocking him clean off his broom. A skull-splitting roar from the Hufflepuff crowd shook the ground as Sanchez wrangled the Quaffle from Jeremy.
"Thanks a lot for breaking half the bones in my body, friend," Rio said as he flew past Sawyer, a low growl rumbling his voice.
Sawyer flicked him a cool look, but didn't grant him a response. Lip curling into a smile, he shot off towards his mark. Sanchez drove the Quaffle all the way towards the Slytherin goal with Nia and Harriet running blockade against the Slytherin Chasers. Until Rio shot upwards on his broom, and then arced down in a diving swoop, checking Sanchez on the way down, and knocking the Quaffle out of her grip. He lobbed the Quaffle towards Jeremy, who passed it off to Marcus. A loose Bludger shot towards him, but he curved away just in time for Nia to take the hit instead. Sawyer charged after the next Bludger and struck it with her bat so savagely it rocketed all the way up the pitch diagonally, drawing an awed gasp from the crowd for the distance it covered. None of the Beaters wanted to intercept it, for fear of getting a hole blown through their bodies. It struck Marcus in the arm, ramming him off-course. With an agonised roar, he dropped the Quaffle. At Nia's warning shout, Sanchez caught it on the edge of the scoring line and hurled it at the goal.
The Slytherin Keeper dove for the Quaffle, but missed it by mere inches as it struck the rim of the ring and bounced through, earning Hufflepuff ten points.
Yellow confetti burst in an explosive shower from the Hufflepuff stands as their cheers erupted into cheers. Angered by the advantage, Slytherins retaliated with enraged curses.
From that point, Slytherin struck back with a renewed ferocity the Hufflepuffs weren't prepared for. Shaking off their sustained injuries, Jeremy, Rio and Marcus chased the Quaffle up the pitch as a tight trio with the Hufflepuffs dogging at their heels, dive-bombing them from every angle possible and attempting to crush the Quaffle out of their grip. Sawyer fired every single Bludger their way, and Violet did her best to redirect incoming Bludgers from the Slytherin Beaters. Still, the Slytherin Chasers never broke formation until they reached the scoring line. Jeremy and Marcus peeled away from Rio as he shot within the tight scoring area and scored.
Another disorienting roar from the Slytherin crowd dulled Sawyer's eardrums.
Within the first half an hour, the Slytherins scored another nine times with an alarming aggression and synchrony the Hufflepuffs couldn't hope to keep up with. On the other end, the Hufflepuffs only managed another useless ten points against the opposition's secure hundred. It didn't matter how unified the Hufflepuffs were this round. The Slytherins were miles better in terms of speed and strategy. Irritation blazed through Sawyer's veins when Rio checked Sanchez out of the way. An approaching Bludger drove towards Sawyer, and she slammed it up the pitch. Instead of aiming for the Chasers, however, the Bludger was locked in on a lethal course towards one of the Slytherin Beaters. It struck him in the side of the face with a blow that might've taken out his brains had his skull been a millimetre thinner. The crunch of breaking bones reverberated through the air. The crowd winced in sympathy.
Sawyer allowed a small smirk to ghost her lips as the unconscious Beater dropped out of the sky.
"What the hell are you doing?" Harriet shrieked at her. "You could've killed him!"
Feigning innocence, Sawyer brought a finger up to her lips. "Accidents happen, Harriet," she drawled, even though they both knew it wasn't true. They were on a losing streak anyway. All hope they had of winning now rode on Cedric catching the Snitch before the point gap became impossible to close. And since no substitute players were allowed on the pitch throughout the match, the Slytherins had to push on with one Beater short. Already, three Professors were carrying the fallen Beater out of the pitch on a stretcher. Blood stained the sand in shapeless red spots like poppies in season where he'd struck the ground, deadweight and barely hanging on.
A Bludger shot towards Harriet from the other end. Sawyer let Violet handle Harriet's fate as she intercepted another Bludger and smashed it up the pitch, where it collided with Rio with a blood-curdling crack, showering splinters where it'd broken off the front of his broom, knocking him into a fatal spinning dive to the ground.
In the stands, the crowd screamed. Something small and gold flashed in the sunlight. Sawyer saw it unfold in periphery.
Cedric was the first to see the Snitch. A beat later, the Slytherin Seeker took off after him.
"Close the gap!" Nia shouted across the pitch. Harriet and Sanchez caught onto the meaning behind her words. Now that everyone was distracted by the enigmatic Snitch seemingly materialising out of nowhere, they had to seize the advantage where they could. With the Quaffle in arm, Nia tore towards the scoring area. Marcus gained on her in seconds, but Sawyer's bludger cut him off mid-chase. Just as Nia touched the scoring line, Jeremy curved ahead of her. Nia passed off the Quaffle to Harriet while Sanchez ran a blockade as Marcus and Rio attempted to charge her. Harriet passed it back to Nia, who'd flown within the scoring area. Nia fired the Quaffle at an impossible angle. It shot clean through the centre of the fourth goalpost from the left. Ten points to Hufflepuff. A wave of yellow rolled over the stands as banners flew up and the crowd cheered.
They scored again when Jeremy took a soul-crushing hit from Violet's Bludger.
Unfortunately, their attempts at closing the point gap were futile. The Slytherin Seeker seized the Snitch when a Bludger from the remaining Slytherin Beater caught Cedric by the shoulder and sent him crashing into Harriet.
"—AND SLYTHERIN WINS WITH TWO HUNDRED AND NINETY POINTS! CONGRATULATIONS."
Slytherins exploded in a deafening roar. Green confetti spilled out in an emerald shower as banners and signs caught the wind, billowing in the air. The Slytherin team flew a celebratory round around the pitch, waving to people in the stands, triumphant grins slashed across their lips. The Hufflepuffs landed while the Slytherins were basking in their glory. Sawyer pulled her hair tie out and shook her sweat-soaked hair loose.
Disappointed, but not unhappy, the Hufflepuffs converged in a group hug. Violet looked almost on the verge of tears.
"Good work, team," Nia said, an exhausted smile on her lips. "We couldn't control the point gap, but we put up a good fight. You should be proud of yourselves. Before, we never would've been able to manage to score on Slytherin. But today, we managed to do it three times."
"We lost," Violet said, softly, a miserable smile wavering across her lips. "I'm sorry, I should've—"
"Quiet," Sawyer said, cutting her off abruptly. Startled, Violet blinked up at her, mouth parted in bewilderment. Sawyer clapped a hand over her shoulder. "We were no match against the Slytherins, anyway. You did perfect. If your asshole father isn't proud, he's delusional. If you still don't believe me, you can talk to Oliver."
Violet hid her face in her hands.
When the Slytherins touched down, Madam Hooch lined all the players on both teams up. Sawyer stood with Violet at the furthest end of the Hufflepuff line. The winning team went down the row of Hufflepuffs. Condescending sneer etched on his lips, Marcus strode past them, barely touching the Hufflepuff's outstretched hands, even as each yellow-clad player brightly offered their congratulations and thanked them for a good game. Rio wasn't any better. He walked past the Hufflepuff team as though they weren't there. On the contrary, Jeremy clasped each and every Hufflepuff player's hands in a warm handshake, flashing them warm, genuine smiles and reciprocated their gratitude. "Good game, guys," Jeremy said amiably, and Harriet blushed. When Marcus reached Sawyer, he socked her in the shoulder.
"You actually made this match fun," Marcus said, snickering. "Cheers, mate."
"For the record, this means we owe you fifty galleons," Rio grunted, clasping Sawyer's hand and pulling her in for a brief, one-armed hug. "We crushed offense, but your defense line didn't totally suck."
Stepping out of his grip, Sawyer rolled her eyes.
"Are you kidding me?" Jeremy said, beaming at them, "that was probably the most difficult defense line to break down. I swear almost died eight times. Oh, hey, Violet, right? Congrats on surviving your first match. You did great!"
Violet looked five seconds from swooning before the golden boy-god as he raked a hand through his honey-blond hair.
Sawyer fixed her friends with a deadpan glower. "Get out of my face, you grimy assholes. Jeremy, don't be gross. Stop hitting on Violet. She's twelve."
"Going on thirteen next month," Violet murmured.
Grinning, Jeremy thumped Sawyer on the head. "I was not hitting on her. I was just being nice, dammit."
"Go."
* * *
LAST NIGHT'S THUNDERSTORM left a starling lying in the mud, right next to Hagrid's hut. Sawyer knows it's dead because the sickening crunch of its bones when she accidentally stepped on it rang hollow in her ears. She pulls her shoe out of the mud and the flattened cadaver scorns her from its uncovered grave. She wonders what its final thoughts were in its last moments. Flailing against the relentless torrential downpour lashing across its back like a whip bearing down again and again on a circus animal, begging for mercy and receiving none. A creature of the sky drowning in filth as it frantically beats its wings against imminent death's vice-grip only for the ground to hold fast to its feathers until each desperate flex of its wings anchors it firmer to the soil. There's no escaping. Something that was meant to be free dying in captivity seemed like a cruel way to go.
But Sawyer knows better than to curse the world for not being fair.
Stupid bird. Didn't even realise it was too late. Sometimes nobody saves you. Sometimes you beat yourself to death until you drown. Sometimes it's nobody's fault but your own for getting caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. But this blame sits on your head, a crown of thorns two sizes too big, a mark of shame. She's never worn it proudly.
"Oh, that is so gross," Quinn says, making a disgusted sound in the back of her throat as she balked to a stop beside Sawyer. Despite her express distaste, she brushed a curly lock of hair behind her ear, clutched her stack of library books tighter to her chest, and bent over to inspect the dead and flattened bird-corpse. "Merlin, you didn't kill it did you?"
Sawyer sent Quinn a withering look.
This evening's detention was being served for failing to submit her Transfiguration homework thrice in a row, and for punching a girl in the throat for backhanding Rio across the face yesterday. It didn't matter that technically Rio had instigated it by insulting her boyfriend. Sawyer knew where she'd drawn her lines in the sand, and the validity of anyone's reasons behind hurting her family were nullified by default. If nobody knew how to respect those lines, a broken larynx was letting them off too easy.
Regardless, Sawyer hadn't expected company with her until she'd reached Hagrid's hut, where the Headmaster had deemed them fit to assist the enormous gamekeeper with whatever needed to be straightened out on his property, but Quinn had caught Sawyer leaving the library after a study session with Jeremy, and offered to walk with her to detention since she had nothing better to do. When they joined the mixed group of students lingering outside Hagrid's hut, awaiting their due punishment, Sawyer thought Quinn would've left immediately, not wanting to be seen with the other troublemakers. Instead, Quinn waved off Sawyer's silent question and stayed.
An impish grin curved Quinn's lips as she held her hands up in mock surrender. "Just checking. Psychopaths always start with animals before moving onto humans."
"Did you just call my sister a psychopath?" A voice at Sawyer's elbow asked incredulously.
Startled, Quinn spun round to face Wyatt, who only lifted a brow in bewilderment at either of two things: Quinn's proximity to Sawyer, or the fact that she risked calling Sawyer a psychopath without fear of having her skull broken. At Wyatt's side, Oliver stood with his arms crossed over his chest. Every bone in his body postured boredom, except for the intrigued glimmer in his eyes as he assessed the situation. Sawyer, not standing alone for once. Quinn, openly joking around with Sawyer without a crushed head. For a brief moment, a stroke of irritation boiled the blood in her veins at the thought of having to be stuck with a visible view and within the same region of her brother for a handful of hours in detention.
"Yeah?" Quinn said, furrowing her brows. She gave Wyatt a critical once-over. Head-to-toe, then back up again. "And what about it?"
"Get out of my face," Sawyer said, frostily regarding her twin brother, planting one foot in front of Quinn.
"He was just worried for your friend's wellbeing," Oliver drawled, fixing Sawyer with an unimpressed look. Cold fire burned in his eyes as his lip curled. "Back off."
Sawyer ignored him.
"I didn't know you'd acquired another friend," Wyatt said, voice soft. A convoluted mix of emotions flickered over his features. Hurt warred with an inexplicable sadness, drowned out by the dark glint of jealousy, quickly displaced by a shadow of anger. As he stared Quinn down, Wyatt's hands curled into tight, white-knuckled fists at his sides. But that all vanished the moment he averted his eyes elsewhere. "Sorry."
"It's all good, man," Quinn said, waving a flippant hand. Then she turned to Sawyer, eyes widened, a taut smile on her lips as she murmured fervently in Sawyer's ear, "I didn't know you had a brother. Why didn't you tell me he was cute? Bloody hell."
Sawyer rolled her eyes again. "I will not discuss this with you."
"Alright, alright, fair enough."
Oliver glanced between the two Hufflepuff girls before his shifting gaze settled on Sawyer once more. "Violet didn't seem to handle the pressure as badly as I thought she would've last week," he admitted hesitantly. "She still has too much room for improvement, but your defense line was pretty solid for a first-timer to be a part of. I suppose I'll be looking forward to facing you both on the pitch this Friday."
Tight-lipped with a bitter taste in her mouth, Sawyer appraised Oliver for a moment. Friday was a mere four days away, and she'd caught Violet stress-eating in the kitchen a few too many times over the weekend. Though, she said nothing to Oliver. Sawyer cocked her head—the only indication that she was paying any attention to his words at all.
"I thought my brother didn't get detentions." Perfect little Wyatt who could never hurt a fly. Perfect little Wyatt and his perfect grades and his perfect temperament.
"He didn't," Oliver said, without missing a beat. He shifts his weight on both feet, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I did. He's just accompanying me here."
Surprise cut through her veins, though she kept her expression blank with disinterest. But before Sawyer could say anything, before she could press the burning question as to what sort of infraction Oliver Wood could've pulled to earn himself a detention, thus actively risking his status as captain of a Quidditch team, Hagrid burst out of the door to his hut in his giant, hairy glory and greeted his group of detention servants with a disgruntled, "Ah, good evening, you delinquents. Shall we look at something mind-numbingly disgusting today? You're guaranteed to love it."
AUTHOR'S NOTE.
listen.... this was originally supposed to include the gryffindor vs. hufflepuff match too but it was like 12k words long by the time i was done so i had to split it. you'll get that chapter in a few days' time. lots of shut goes down. be Excited.