CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
the pros and cons of breathing
THE MOMENT HE SPOTTED Professor McGonagall storming towards them, Oliver paled. Sawyer could see the fear flooding his features, cleaving through his chest. While Sawyer didn't have much to lose except lose House points and earn a detention—something she was very accustomed to in her time at this school, and was mostly desensitised to—Oliver had his entire life riding on his golden title as captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. When Professor McGonagall stopped before them, Sawyer instinctively stepped forward, meeting the professor's steel glare head-on.
"This is the sort of behaviour I would expect from first years," Professor McGonagall fumed, pinning Sawyer and Oliver with a glare that could melt bone, steam practically billowing from her ears, "not from two sixth years who know that there's danger eminent within the school. Curfew was established for a reason, and leaving your dorms in the middle of the night endangers not only yourselves but the people who come looking for you. Your actions bear consequences. Mr Wood, as a student in a role of leadership, I expected more from you."
"Hey, back off, lady," Sawyer snapped, the words spilling from her mouth like hot lava. Irritation flashed through her veins, a flare of something held dormant and compliant inside her for too long breaking free of its restraints. Her fingers twitched and for a second she thought: if I punch her hard enough, we'll have time to run. Pure rage crippled McGonagall's face. Oliver turned his head sharply towards her, flashing a warning glare, which she ignored. After all, it was the truth, and if this conversation went too far south, Oliver might lose Quidditch, and Sawyer couldn't let that happen. "It wasn't even his fault—"
"It was my idea, Professor," Oliver cut in, before she could say more. A muscle in his jaw flexed as he stared down McGonagall without wavering. "I blackmailed her into playing with me. If anyone should get into trouble, it's me. I was selfish and angry about the match being cancelled and I wasn't thinking clearly. It was stupid of me, I know. I'm sorry."
Sawyer felt her lips part, but no sound came out. A part of her brain knew what to say, but that part of her brain had run into a blockage because her body had stopped listening. That disconnect had cost her. At the same time, another part of her wanted to stake her fingers into Oliver's shoulders and shake him until some sense was knocked into his head. What did he think he was doing? A third part of her was seething. She'd won this game. She'd gotten the quaffle through the hoop, and Oliver had lost. If he thought stepping in to shoulder the brunt of the avalanche of punishment they were being dished would negate that, he was wrong. She wasn't going to owe him anything.
McGonagall sighed, but the tension in her stern face remained. A shadow passed over her sharp features and for a second, Sawyer glimpsed the wrinkles and weariness in her face.
"Since you confessed, Mr Wood, it'll be a hundred points from Gryffindor. Your detention will be served tomorrow afternoon. Come to my office before your first class and we will sort that out. And for your participation, willing or unwilling, Miss Lee, it'll be fifty points from Hufflepuff." McGonagall levelled the both of them with incendiary glares. "Now, off to bed, the both of you. If you're caught again, the consequences will be even harsher. Don't say I haven't been fair, considering the risk you've both foolishly put yourselves at."
The entire way back, they didn't dare speak—especially with Professor McGonagall marching them both back to their common rooms—but there was a question simmering between them both that neither had the voice to ask or the know-how to answer with. The whole time Sawyer kept her eyes forward, her blood humming, even though she could feel Oliver stealing glances at her each time they turned a corner. When Oliver returned to the portrait of the Fat Lady, all Sawyer could think about was the way he stood so close and how he'd looked at her with that indecipherable expression on his face, and it was that summer day by the creek with her feet in the water all over again—serenity, the small tickle in her heart that some things were worth staying alive for after all. As he disappeared through the little doorway, she watched him go and wondered what it'd feel like to have his mouth on hers.
* * *
THERE WAS NO WAY SAWYER WAS LETTING OLIVER have the upper hand. Her world was one of business transactions. Favours had to be returned. Oliver taking the blame last night wasn't an exception. No matter what had (or might have) transpired between them.
After lunch, after Jeremy and Quinn had proposed a study session—since they all had a free period except Rio, who had Charms—but Sawyer had places to be.
"I need to see McGonagall," Sawyer said, the lie rolling off her tongue easily. She hadn't told either of her friends about last night's fiasco. In fact, anything to do with Oliver Wood, Sawyer never really divulged. As far as they knew, her investment in him only went so far as the end of fifth year, when they'd been "together". Telling them the truth would have to wait. Sawyer didn't think it'd be a big deal, anyway. They'd understand. And Rio's track record of lies outweighed her predicament.
"Will you come meet us later?" Quinn asked, hopefully, hovering next to Jeremy, who was carrying her books. "I think I need a second opinion on my Astronomy essay."
Sawyer shrugged. "Maybe."
"I still need to help you with that essay," Jeremy pointed out, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He'd forgotten to take them off after class, and it'd been funny when he tried to eat his soup and the glass kept fogging up.
"Ah, shit," Marcus grumbled, smacking his forehead. "I completely forgot I had Herbology homework due next period."
Quinn patted Marcus on the arm in sympathy. "We should probably get started then."
"Yeah," Jeremy said, frowning. He turned to Sawyer to flash her a bright grin. "We'll see you later, yeah?"
Sawyer waved them off.
As soon as the rounded the corner, she turned in the opposite direction and began walking away from the Transfiguration classrooms.
As she cut through the courtyard, Sawyer found her brother and his friends sprawling out on the grass in the sun, chewing on cherry suckers and guzzling down packets of exploding sugar rocks in their usual spot under an oak tree. She could hear the candy fizzing and popping on their tongues over their boisterous laughter. Oliver wasn't among them. None of them had noticed her as she headed straight for them. She caught the tail end of their conversation.
"—so she's, like, just waiting to know what he wants to say to her, then this complete idiot just freezes up and puts the potion down his—"
"Shut up! It's not like you haven't done anything totally embarrassing to get a girl's attention. Remember third year—"
"Hey, who's telling the story here, huh?" Jun cut in, smacking Ashton so hard on the back Sawyer felt the impact reverberate in her own spine.
"Oh, Ash." Wyatt shook his head. "For someone who brags big game about his dick and all the action it gets, it sure sounds like you're either losing your touch or you're making all that shit up."
"How bout we talk about your lack of action, then—"
"Hello, boys," Sawyer interrupted before Wyatt could defend himself, crossing her arms over her chest.
If there was any way to find out where Oliver was serving detention, Sawyer's first choice wouldn't have been getting the information out of his friends. Unfortunately, Sawyer didn't have another option that wasn't totally time-consuming and a waste of her effort. During Transfiguration, McGonagall had separated Oliver to one corner of the room while Sawyer remained in her original seat, and even after class, she didn't have the chance to catch him alone. In DADA earlier, she had no such luck either. Oliver was always surrounded by his friends.
"Huh? Wha—" Dylan, one of the boys in Wyatt and Oliver's tight circle of friends, twisted round, a cherry sucker dangling from between his teeth, blinked rapidly at her, until he realised who he was looking at, and then his eyes went wide. "Oh, shit."
"Sawyer," Wyatt breathed, disbelief colouring his expression. "Hi."
Jun and Ashton exchanged a knowing look. Sawyer was certain Wyatt's friends were very aware of her eon-long feud with her twin. With the exception of one time, Sawyer saw no reason to associate herself with her brother's friends. Now, though, they were the only ones who knew where Oliver was.
"You need something?" Jun asked, eyes gleaming.
"Actually, I do," Sawyer said, avoiding Wyatt's gaze, as if he was never there anyway. "Tell me where Oliver is."
"Looking for our boy, eh?" Jun smirked. "I thought you guys were done?"
Sawyer ignored him.
"He got his ass handed to him by McGonagall, apparently. Didn't tell us why, but the fucker landed himself in detention again," Ashton said. Sawyer was a little surprised that Oliver hadn't told his friends about last night either. Maybe he didn't know how to explain it. "He's down in the dungeons playing Cinderella."
Sawyer nodded stiffly.
Before anyone could follow up with a question about it, she turned on her heel and strode off.
Here's the thing: Sawyer Lee had a predilection for getting into all sorts of bloody-knuckled trouble. All Hogwarts students, at least once in their lives, have seen her being dragged away from another student, teeth bared in a wolfish grin, and whisked straight to the Headmaster's office. Detention might as well be a second home. Sawyer thought she'd spent more time succumbing to her impulses, resulting in a week's worth of manually scrubbing down and rearranging the locker rooms, than in her own dorm.
She blamed it on her anger issues, or whatever Dr Josten, her psychiatrist, had called it—manic depression. Her mother once blamed it on her lack of control. Playing therapist, Dumbledore had tried not to pin the blame on anything, but Sawyer knew that the Headmaster thought she was a loose canon, just like everyone else thought she's some kind of rotten sociopath, a ticking time bomb to walk the halls, keeping her friends within arm's reach with some sort of wicked hold over them to keep them from straying too far. In fact, it came as a surprise to them knowing she even had friends. Four friends, to be precise, and no more, but still people who genuinely enjoy her volatile company nonetheless. To everyone else, it seemed like an unfathomable feat that they were actually decent people and not napalm bomb misfits or posturing violent assholes like Sawyer.
Although, the way she saw it was this: if you get hurt, it's not my fault. I warned you.
Detention doesn't come as a surprise to Sawyer.
Unless it's spent with Oliver Wood.
Furthermore, it was born from non-violent charges. More proof that there was something fundamentally wrong with her. Perhaps she wasn't herself these days. Perhaps the old her would've walked away and let him take full responsibility for something that was her idea.
But she was on medication today and this was a stain weighting on her, like everyone was waiting for her to spit out something holy. With a fist twisted in her pocket, fingers grasping the keys so tight they dug into her flesh like brass teeth, Sawyer gave into the pressure.
On her way to the Potions dungeons, Sawyer plucked a pack of gum clean from the hands of a first year leant against the wall, talking to her friend and chewed a stick until all the strawberry flavouring bled into the gaps between her teeth and then she spat it out and stuck it on the nose of a painted man, who screamed after her, two-dimensional fists raised in indignation and no way to make good on his promise to see to her end. She pushed past people and knocked a pile of books out of a passing Ravenclaw's hands without so much as a glance over her shoulder, no apologies offered. Each bad thing she did earned her dirty looks and heated glares and all that manifested resentment made her feel a little more opaque. By the time she arrived before the classroom Oliver was supposed to be in this afternoon her shadow was an oil stain on the floor and all the light from the torches mounted on the wall couldn't pass right through her.
When she pushed open the door, Oliver poked his head out from under a desk, a spatula in one hand and a bucket in another.
Sawyer lifted a brow. "Hey there, Cinderella. Is everything spotless, yet?"
Oliver rolled his eyes and popped back down to the ground, sliding under the desk. Sawyer heard the scraping of the spatula against the wooden underside of the desk.
Amusement tugged a small smirk on her face. Sawyer picked up a bucket and a spatula set on the desk closest to the exit as she crossed over to him and perched herself on the edge of the desk he was scraping gum off. Since he hadn't responded to her greeting, she kicked him in the arm.
"Dammit, what?" Oliver hissed. He let out a year-long sigh before sliding out from under the desk again. "What are you doing here?" His voice was flat, like she was the last person he wanted to see.
Ouch, Sawyer thought, ignoring the small pinch in her chest. She lifted up the bucket and spatula.
"According to the school, I've got a violence problem."
Oliver's deadpan look cut through flesh. "You think?"
Sawyer's smile was chilling.
Oliver sighed again. "What are you really doing here?"
She slid off the desk and crouched down so they were level. She began picking at a stubborn piece of gum flattened against the underside of the desk. It must've been glued there for years, since it was completely solid and covered in dust and grime. Classic Filch punishment, forcing the detentionees to do maintenance work.
"We're even now," Sawyer said, simply, as she stabbed at the piece of gum with her spatula, making the desk tremble.
Nonplussed, Oliver was silent for a moment, before he snapped out of his reverie. He shot her an irritated look, sounding almost offended. "I didn't take the blame just so I can have something to hold over you. I'm not that kind of person."
"Isn't that how the world works?"
A beat passed.
Oliver blinked. When Sawyer didn't stop trying to shatter the stubborn piece of gum in an attempt to get it off the desk, Oliver tugged at her sleeve with enough force to pry her away from it. He held his spatula like a dagger and jammed it in the space between the piece of gum and the table. With a tiny crack, the piece of gum dislodged from the wood, taking some of the paint with it, and dropped into his bucket. Sawyer studied the easy lines of his face, like she'd done so subconsciously a hundred times. He didn't look angry with her. How could he take this when the one who should have taken the punishment was sitting right in front of him?
"In your world, maybe," Oliver said, letting go of her. He wasn't looking at her as he spoke, and his tone was matter-of-fact. "But I did it because I wanted to. And I know your mum. She won't give you a break if she knew you were off your meds last night."
A cold feeling shot down her spine and punched out through her gut. Sawyer tensed.
"You knew?"
She had missed her second dosage on purpose. As a result, she could've hurt Oliver. A fall like that could've injured him. But they were lucky. Years of experience falling off brooms in the midst of a violent scrimmage taught one how to minimise the damage. Still, how could he have known?
Oliver's grin was wry and sardonic.
"It's not that hard to tell if you open your eyes."
Sawyer blinked. All the words seemed to dry off her tongue.
"Don't give me that," Oliver said, knocking her in the forehead with the handle of his spatula. "I may not notice much outside of my shiny little Quidditch bubble, but this... you're easy to notice. To me, at least."
Those words felt more like a confession than a comment.
"You could've lost your captaincy," Sawyer said, still trying to make sense of his motives.
"No," Oliver mused, scraping another piece of gum off the desk, "McGonagall's a hard-ass but she would never do that to me. The team needs me too much."
Sawyer wanted to make a stab at his self-assurance, but it made sense. What didn't, was the question everyone asked themselves at least once in their lives: why me?
"I don't get it," Sawyer said, frowning. "You should be mad at me. You're scraping gum off the table because of me. How are you so calm about this?"
Oliver shrugged. "Like you said last night. I'm not allowed to be mad at you for any trouble we got into."
You are an idiot, Sawyer wanted to scream at him. You are an idiot and I don't know why but you're making it so hard to quit feeling anything for you.
Oliver must've sensed her internal screaming since he paused his cleaning to flick her a questioning look. Sawyer didn't know what her expression looked like. It felt like she was glaring. One moment she wanted to slap the stupid spatula out of his hands and the next she wanted to kiss him. It was tearing her apart inside because she wasn't supposed to feel this way. But he was looking at her like she'd grown two heads. And Sawyer wasn't going to succumb to her impulses. They were friends. If anything, this solidified their friendship. She wasn't supposed to feel anything for him. All those years, Sawyer had cultivated and perfected the art of not caring. Of truly severing herself from emotion that wasn't anger because anger was easy to place. Anger was familiar.
"Are you... okay?" Oliver asked, tentatively, confusion tinging his tone.
"No," Sawyer said, her voice dead, her throat swelling with all the things she wanted to say, but didn't know how. "Merlin, you are such a fucking moron."
Stunned and perplexed, Oliver blinked, scrunching up his face. "I was kind of expecting a thank you, but—"
"Shut up," Sawyer snapped, going back to a small patch she was certain wasn't actually gum but a giant wad of boogers plastered to the underside of the desk, with every jerking movement of her spatula against it, it wouldn't budge, clinging to the wooden surface for dear life. "Just shut up."
"Is this about last night?"
Sawyer let out an aggravated groan. "Look, we can just—"
"If you say you want to forget about it, if you say it's nothing, I'll put all the contents of this bucket into your mouth," Oliver snapped, the threat hanging between them like a noose. He shot Sawyer a heated look. "I'm not asking you to talk about it, but I won't pretend it didn't happen."
"Pretend what?" Sawyer asked, not because she wanted to instigate a fight, but because there was a dark forest of fear twisting inside her, and for the first time in an eternity Sawyer didn't want to brush this off like she thought Oliver might have. And because she wanted to know if he saw what she saw too.
Annoyance flashed in Oliver's dark eyes, but the line of his mouth softened, and his voice was quiet. "I just need you to know that it wasn't nothing to me."
Sawyer tracked the tension in his body. He wasn't hiding. Neither was she.
Heart pounding against every inch of her skin, Sawyer put the spatula down, pushed the bucket out of the way, and leaned over his lap, her face hovering just shy of an inch before his.
"Tell me no," she said, her voice rough. "Tell me no, and I'll go."
Something melted in Oliver's eyes, like the world had gone clear for a moment. She felt his warm breath fanning against her chin, felt his stare pressing against her skin, peeling back the layers she'd worked so hard to put in place.
Oliver's voice was a whisper. "Stay."
"Moron," Sawyer grunted, and then she caught Oliver's face between her hands and leaned in.
It wasn't like Sawyer hadn't kissed anyone before. But out of all the boys and girls she'd kissed, there were none she cared about. All of them were adrenaline-induced and she wasn't thinking about anything else but chasing a cheap thrill, a high that she only wanted to prolong. This kiss was nothing like that. And from the way he reacted, like every inch of him was coming alive under her touch, from the way his hands snuck through her hair and pulled her closer like this was where she was meant to be, it looked like Oliver knew what he was doing, too. And for once she didn't mind that he was touching her.
All she heard was the roaring of her own heartbeat in her ears. For a moment, the world fell away and Sawyer only knew heat, every single resolve crumbling between their searing skin, her hands tangled in his hair, his fingers bruising against her waist. Only knew the callouses on his hands. Sawyer's heart stuttered and stopped as the press of Oliver's lips against hers made the eminence of their surroundings evaporate, like there wasn't gum stuck to the underside of the desk above their heads, like there wasn't a door that any member of staff could walk through at any given moment. Sawyer caught hold of the knot of his tie and knotted her fingers in the silk. There were no sparks, no fireworks, just a want that couldn't be satisfied. A fire in her blood that kept climbing up her veins. As she splayed her fingers against his firm chest, she feels his heart thundering against her palm.
She pulled away, breathless. Her eyes snapped open and he was looking at her with a cloudy expression, his eyes unfocused, roaming over her face like he wasn't sure what just happened, but he wanted to commit all of it to memory.
"There," Sawyer said, gesturing between them with a finger. "You got it out of your system. Now, tell me this isn't worth it."
Oliver's jaw flexed. "I can't."
Sawyer jerked away from him like his touch burned. He stayed in place, watching as she picked up the discarded spatula and began chipping away at another piece of flattened gum.
"You tell me if this is worth it," Oliver said, clearing his throat, and his eyes were sharp, invisible pins tracking the violence in her short movements, trying to make sense of her abrupt retreat and the new tension in her body. "It's fine if you hate me. Whatever. Because I'm not going to tell you no."
Sawyer flicked him a cool look. Part of her wanted. Part of her would always want things she couldn't have. Logically, boys like Oliver should never be with girls like her. Gold things were never displayed next to damaged things. Their time together had an expiry date. Sooner or later, he would grow tired. Everybody grew tired of her. Just because they kissed and he cared now didn't guarantee that he wouldn't walk out the way he came in some time down the road. As long as this was purely physical, this wasn't a threat, and Sawyer didn't have a problem with experimenting.
"We are nothing," Sawyer said, her words clipped, "and this will never work."
"I thought we banned that word," Oliver drawled, irritated.
"It's the truth," Sawyer said, nonchalantly.
"You're not answering my question."
Sawyer let out a sharp exhale through her nose.
"I'm saying that we can never be anything," Sawyer said. And then she leant forward and pressed her mouth to his, and Oliver chased it as she pulled back. "But I can live with this."
AUTHOR'S NOTE.
🥺 ok so it's not the relationship we were hoping for bc there are still a lot of issues Sawyer needs to sort through herself. butttttt we have PROGRESS!!!!!! MOMENTUM!!!!!!!!!!!
on another note: there is a very eminent problem with migrant workers living in cramped quarters without the proper care provided by their shitty employers. their unideal living conditions have caused a serious spread of covid-19 amidst them (with no immediate treatment). because of the current situation, some workers are being sacked from their jobs but have no way home because they can't afford the flight tickets and have no money to send back to their families, who are depending on them as a main source of income. they are paying out of their own pockets for treatments of their injuries. some of them are neck-deep in debt and can't leave. our government (as well as their shitty employers who think these migrant workers are disposable) isn't doing anything to help them. if you can donate (and are in the position to do so) it would be v appreciated!
here are the three i've donated to so far
if you are singaporean please consider donating!!!!! the links are in these pictures. no pressure, but if you can, it wouldn't hurt to help: