CHAPTER SIX
fake it till you make it

THINGS ABSOLUTELY DO NOT get better on Monday. Which is, to the misery of the people, pretty characteristic for any typical Monday. Once the weekend passes, it's as if the universe can't stop flinging chaos curveball after chaos curveball.

           For one, classes were starting again, which meant more homework, and although Sawyer's extant adversity towards putting in any effort into anything at all remained ceaseless, she wasn't above skimming through the bare minimum for the sake of keeping her mother off her back. Even if it meant just barely coasting. For student athletes—most of whom were already taking the bare minimum electives—on top of homework, there was also Quidditch training three times a week which left little time for much else besides living and breathing industrious productivity for the rest of the semester.

           In addition to the standard Hufflepuff team's scheduled practice, Sawyer also had Oliver's insane plan for supplementary training for Harry and Violet, which he'd campaigned for four times a week. For fifth year students like Sawyer, the eminent inevitability of O.W.L.s meant that professors were starting to pile up on paramount revision material, essay after essay after essay, reading after reading after reading. Enough to suffocate any shred of reprieve that could possibly present itself once a task was complete. Don't worry, look to your left, there's another mountain of work left to move.

          In special cases like Sawyer's, only two choices prevailed: drop out ASAP or waste more time trying to learn things she'd be too slow to pick up.

          By the time Sawyer slumped like a murderous sack of stones into her usual seat at the end of the Slytherin table for breakfast, the notion of death by defenestration sounded increasingly appealing.

          Without lifting his eyes from the copy of the Daily Prophet in his hands, Jeremy—always the first to arrive, always the earliest to rise on his own volition—pushed a plate of waffles stacked in a glistering mountain dripping and soaked through with maple syrup (just the way Sawyer liked it) across the table. Behind Jeremy, the Bloody Baron, Slytherin house ghost, glowered at her yolk yellow Hufflepuff tie over his shoulder as he drifted by, chains shackled to his translucent body rattling. Sawyer met his resentful gaze with no shift in her expression besides the ice in her eyes, and stabbed her fork through her waffles with a savage vehemence.

           As the minutes ticked by, the last dregs of students began to trickle through the doors of the Great Hall. Slow chatter filled the bleary-eyed morning, building up a momentum to a riotous background static, punctuated by the rustle of pages as Jeremy flipped through the news, that dug persistently into Sawyer's skull like an ice pick as she fought to stay awake. Professors were already perched like vultures on their raised platform, making small talk and picking at their breakfast spread.

            "Morning, sunshine," Rio said with exaggerated cheer, fingers digging unceremoniously into Sawyer's scalp, yanking strands of hair loose from her ponytail as he sauntered up behind her.

          "Fuck off," Sawyer growled through a mouthful of chewed-up waffles, jabbing her elbow at Rio's ribs. He cackled as he carved out of range.

           "Someone's bitchy this morning," Rio sneered, shoving himself between Jeremy and a scrawny first year without apology, jade Slytherin tie—loose as his morals—knotted haphazardly at his collar swishing in and out of Sawyer's periphery. Sooner or later, someone would reprimand him for his unkempt presentation. Sawyer wondered if they would ever grow tired of policing Rio's dishevelled attire and promptly getting ignored.

          "Fix your tie, you delinquent," Jeremy grunted, nose still buried in the columns. "And do up your top button before McGonagall shanks you."

           "I'd like to see her try."

           "I'd like to see you get turned into a toad, you ugly fuck." Jeremy's nose wrinkled. "Where's Marcus?"

           "Right here," said Marcus, slipping onto the bench next to Sawyer with a grimace in lieu of greeting. "How's everyone this fine morning? Sawyer, make anyone cry yet?"

           Grinning wolfishly, Sawyer shoved another forkful of waffles into her mouth. "It's only seven-twenty."

          Sighing in exasperation, Jeremy waved the Daily Prophet in the air. "Guys! Stop antagonising her!"

           "It's fine, Jere," Sawyer said, all venom and promise. "If they want to get stabbed so badly, let them."

           "There will be no stabbing—"

           "Actually, I haven't done that Transfiguration assignment due today, so if I had a legitimate excuse to get out of McGonagall's class today, I'll take whatever."

           "Oh, now you're definitely going to get turned into a toad," Jeremy snickered.

          "Aw, fuck, we had an assignment?" Marcus groaned, suddenly three shades paler.

          "Cross-species switches," Jeremy snorted, pulling his wand out of his pocket. "It's an essay, so, like, good luck rushing that."

           A blizzard of curses spewed from Marcus' mouth at the same time a flurry of messenger owls swarmed in through the windows. Mail began dropping like bombs from overhead as the owls screeched and crashed into each other, shaking out their wings and righting their courses to their respective owners. On tables, in laps, and—less enthusiastically received—in breakfasts. Lip curling in disdain, Rio fished a brown envelope out from his bowl of cereal. With a wave of his wand and a muttered incantation, the package dried off in an instant. He stuffed it into his pocket without reading the address.

            An ugly barn owl landed on Sawyer's half-devoured pile of waffles.

           "Merlin's arse, Hamlet, how many times do I have to tell you to stay out of my food?" Sawyer snarled, snatching the scarlet envelope from Hamlet's beak.

            Cocking its head, Hamlet blinked its beady eyes at Sawyer, ever-so the harbinger of bad news.

             "Stupid fucking owl," Sawyer hissed, as Hamlet pecked spitefully at her fingers. She swiped irritably at Hamlet's beak before flapping away, leaving behind a wreckage on her plate.

             Sawyer glanced down at the envelope in her hands, stinging red and trembling. She turned it over.

              "Who's that from?" Jeremy asked, raising a brow. His hands were empty. No parcels containing exotic souvenirs from another country, not even a letter. Come to think of it, Sawyer didn't think he'd been receiving any correspondence from his parents thus far into the school year, which was odd for the Knoxes, who were a notoriously nosy family. One couldn't be a Knox without knowing another Knox's business, and with a family as big and extensive as theirs, spread across the seas in all corners of the world, there was no shortage of stories to tell and gossip to grind through the grapevine.

            "Mum," Sawyer muttered.

            "A Howler?" Rio arched a brow. "Thought your mum didn't believe in sending these things. What'd you do this time, Lee?"

          Sawyer shrugged, as if she didn't already know what she had done.

           Last night, under duress of the seemingly never-ending pile of homework and multiple ripped-up drafts of a Herbology essay, Sawyer might have scribbled a strongly-worded letter to her mum, pertaining to her decision to throw in the towel on education and drop out of Hogwarts immediately. She hadn't expected a well-received response, but a Howler wasn't entirely what she'd anticipated either.

               The Howler's trembling intensified until her sleeves began to shake. Heat pulsed against Sawyer's fingers. If she didn't open it now, it might blow up in her face.

            "We can move to the bathroom if you want," Jeremy offered, glancing at the Howler, brows drawn together in concern. "More privacy."

           Sawyer didn't answer him. Instead, she ripped off the seal and the letter exploded into motion, unfurling into the shape of a mouth with a rapid ferocity that made Marcus jump.

            "SAWYER LEE!" The Howler bellowed, the unmistakable rage in her mother's high-pitched voice booming against the walls of the Great Hall. Startled, everyone in the hall held their breaths. Sawyer felt their heated gazes. In her head, she ran through the list of possible admonishments she was about to sit through. "YOU ABSOLUTELY DISGUST ME."

             Stings, Sawyer thought, lifting a brow. But not entirely surprising.

               "HOW DARE YOU WRITE TO ME IN SUCH COARSE LANGUAGE? DID I RAISE YOU TO BECOME SUCH A LAZY, UNGRATEFUL BRAT? DID I TEACH YOU TO EXPRESS YOURSELF IN— IN SUCH DISRESPECTFUL TERMS? YOU ARE SUCH AN EMBARRASSMENT."

               Something new. Possibly even something interesting for once.

             "I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE UNINTERESTED IN 'STUPID FUCKING SPELLS AND USELESS MAGIC BULLSHIT'. I DON'T CARE IF YOUR SCHOOLMATES MAKE YOU WANT TO HANG YOURSELF FROM THE WHOMPING WILLOW. YOUR BROTHER GOES THROUGH THE SAME THING AS YOU, AND YET I HEAR NOT ONE WORD OF COMPLAINT FROM HIM."

              There it was.

          "THERE WILL BE NO FURTHER DISCUSSION ABOUT DROPPING OUT OF SCHOOL, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME? YOU WILL KEEP GOING TO CLASSES. YOU WILL KEEP ATTENDING YOUR MANDATED QUIDDITCH PRACTICE. AND IF I HEAR FROM YOUR PROFESSORS THAT YOU'RE GETTING INTO MORE TROUBLE, I'LL FLY DOWN TO HOGWARTS AND SCREAM AT YOU MYSELF. DO NOT DISOBEY ME, YOUNG LADY, YOU ARE TREADING ON THIN ICE HERE."

          With one last menacing snarl, the Howler burst into flames. In a blink of an eye, only a pile of ashes remained on the table.

          In the aftermath, the silence screamed.

           Silence so loud she could hear a pin drop from an ocean away, pulsing like a heartbeat in her ears, in her chest, in every inch of her skin. People were staring at her; students from every table, ghosts had halted mid-float, and Professor Flitwick's had fork was poised midway to his mouth. Judging eyes from every direction drilled through her skin, prickling from the tension crackling in the air.

           Holy shit, Marcus mouthed.

           Jeremy's mouth fell open.

            Sawyer's blood turned to slush. Her stomach roiled. Her fingers twitched. Somewhere between getting yelled at by a piece of paper, she'd curled them into tight fists clamped under her thighs, knuckles blanched, untrimmed nails digging so hard into the heel of her palm spikes of pain howled up her forearms. There were many things illuminated by her mother in her screaming tirade, but the most prominent line slammed like a battering ram into the forefront of her skull. A familiar metronome, washed and reused in every argument, in every little thing her mother had to pick on about Sawyer's code of conduct, again and again and again.

            Your brother goes through the same thing as you, and yet I hear not one word of complaint from him.

           Wyatt, Wyatt, Wyatt. It always circled back to Sawyer's brother. Perfect little Wyatt, always the benchmark for model behaviour. Being publicly called an embarrassment, a lazy and ungrateful brat, she could handle. These words that held no meaning to her, she could brush off without batting an eyelash. But she was sick and tired of the constant reminder of her inability to meet any expectations. She was sick and tired of hearing how she should be more like Wyatt. Wyatt, who didn't have Quidditch on his plate while having to balance schoolwork and revision. Plus, this was a matter disclosed only between Sawyer and her mother. What purpose did mentioning Wyatt serve? Why, every instance that her mother got, did she have to keep bringing him up, again and again and again, as if it'd do anything but rile her up?

            It was such a dumb thing to mull over, but she couldn't stop hearing her mother's voice ringing in her head. Your brother goes through the same thing as you, and yet I hear not one word of complaint from him— Your brother goes through the same thing as you— Your brother goes through the same thing— Your brother— Your brother— Your brother.

              Electricity snapped and crackled in her burning veins. Her heartbeat pounded against her flesh with the shards of volcanic anger slicing through her organs. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. FUCK YOU. The temperature in climbed. The walls of the hall were closing in. Her skin felt too tight, too smothering. Inhaling sharply through her nose, Sawyer ground the inside of her cheek between her back teeth, relishing in the screaming agony that tore through the left side of her face, and tasted the metallic tang of blood. When she pulled her fists out from under her thighs and unravels her fingers, her nails came away stained red. A roaring red blacking out her vision as she slammed a hand onto the pile of ash and swept it onto the floor on one jerky motion. It didn't quell the urge to punch something. Or someone.

              Dumbledore's commanding voice thundered as he stood at the podium, directing the attention onto himself, but Sawyer didn't hear a word over the roar of her blood pulsing in her ears, nor did she hear the buzz of whispers, loud as a swarm of locusts migrating beside her head. People were still gaping, shaking off the lingering shock. There were still eyes on her. Eyes like multiple pairs of twin spotlights glaring at the ticking time bomb sitting in their midst. Scathing and cruel and unforgiving. She felt every single one of them. Stripping her of her skin, whittling her down to the bone.

             "You alright?" Marcus asked, planting a comforting hand on her shoulder.

            But Sawyer felt the opposite of comforted. She ripped his hand off her.

           "Just leave it," she hissed, eyes like ice daggers, skin still smarting.

            With a wry grin, Marcus lifted his hands in mock surrender. "Just asking."

           One-by-one, people lost interest. Timid first years turned back to their breakfasts when Rio sent them cutting scowls.

            But Sawyer couldn't shake one particular set of eyes still scorching her skin.

           Forcing her chin up, Sawyer flicked her vacant gaze all the way across the hall, and met Wyatt's concerned stare.

            She pulled her lips into a vicious, hateful smile. Blood glistened like rubies staining her teeth. All the better to hate you with.

* * *

AS IF BY SOME SCRAP OF MERCY FROM a sympathetic higher power, nobody tried to approach her throughout first and second period. Nobody even had the balls to look at her, as if accidental eye contact in there hallways might be enough to trigger something much uglier. A fist to the face, maybe. But Sawyer wasn't looking for a fight. Though, if the opportunity presented itself, she wasn't sure she would walk away.

           With no one to take it out on, the anger sat like an ulcer in her gut throughout the day as her mother's words pounded in the back of her head. A dark energy rotting her intestines, dormant but inwardly corrosive. She breezed through her classes with half her head out the window and the other half smouldering in anger. So, nothing new, really, as information came and went and revision material accumulated in her book bag, a deadweight that took every inch of restraint not to punt into the Great Lake out of spite.

           Quidditch training after the day's classes had let out was filled with an excruciating tension. But Sawyer felt not one bit of it. Once Nia finished her rallying speech detailing the day's program, she pulled Sawyer to the side. Sawyer steeled herself for whatever speech their captain had prepared specifically for her.

           "So," Nia said, hands propped against her hips. "You and Oliver Wood, hm? How'd that happen?"

           The question caught Sawyer off-guard. So Nia had caught wind of Pansy's twisted rumour. Did she expect Sawyer to spill the details? Sawyer didn't care much for what Nia thought, but Nia's expression contained no indication of judgement or disbelief or displeasure despite the tense curl to her lip. Finally, Sawyer understood.

           "Does it matter?"

             "It matters while you're playing for this team and he's captaining the opposition," Nia said, pointedly.

            "I do my job," Sawyer said. "Sabotage isn't really my style."

           "It better not be."

            "Is that a threat?"

            Nia's grin was wry. "Call it an institution of faith."

           As the Hufflepuff team rose into the air on their brooms, she'd caught some wary glances askance, but paid them no mind. Even Violet didn't dare meet her eyes. Not even when Sawyer pointed out mistake after mistake in her swing and showed her how to make the appropriate amends. Nia set up drills that were both familiar and new, both equally challenging. To Sawyer, none of it mattered. All her teammates were sweating profusely an hour into the exercises, determination faltering every now and then, but Sawyer was still going, powering through each station with a reinvigorated aggression. Running on the residual fumes of her agitation.

            Even as Nia relegated sides for a practice match after a short, fifteen minute break in the last half an hour of practice, Sawyer was still riding on the coat tails of her irritation. If anyone noticed her playing with a revitalised vengeance that wouldn't have seen the light of day if not for that Howler, they didn't comment.

          They were too busy barely dodging her bludgers. Too busy trying to stay alive.

            There were the occasional enraged outcries as bludgers skimmed heads, just inches shy of proving deadly, but all protests fell on deaf ears as Sawyer launched assault after assault, swinging with lethal precision. Swinging and colliding. Swinging and colliding. She wasn't aiming for the head so much as slamming the animated projectiles at anything that moved with Wyatt's face in mind. The brute force of cracking her bat against a bludger barrelling straight into her path with bestial vehemence extinguished some of the glowering embers of anger inside. Adrenaline coursed through her bloodstream, blotting out the pain throbbing plaintively on the inside of her cheek from when she'd chomped down on it during breakfast.

            The only saving grace was that Nia had put Violet on Sawyer's team as if to say, your choice of candidate, your responsibility. At least Violet wasn't in the immediate line of fire. Instead, the two reserve Beaters on the Hufflepuff team were subject to Sawyer's merciless wrath.

           Since Saturday's gruelling private training session, Violet's flying form had improved. The slight adjustment didn't mean Violet was anywhere near competition ready, but it boosted her confidence on swinging at the bludgers. The other players continued bypassing her, not once perceiving the tiny blonde girl as a threat or a crucial part of their defence line, and Violet still hadn't stopped flinching and swerving out of survivor's instinct every time one closed in a little too close for comfort, but she'd managed to redirect enough bludgers in Sawyer's general direction that it could be considered progress.

             One of her bludgers nailed Cedric Diggory in the stomach, knocking him clean off his broom. He crashed into a Chaser, catching the tail end of his broom, sending him spiralling out of control.

              Sawyer's arms were aching by the time Nia called for a break as the two players were carted off to the infirmary.

           "What's going on with you?" Nia asked as they dismounted, annoyance tinging her tone. "You played really well today, so, good job, I wish you'd put in as much effort into regular practice, but what the fuck was that?"

           Sawyer shrugged nonchalantly. She didn't need to explain herself.

           "Look, I get it. Everyone has bad days, but will you stop cutting your own teammates off at the knees? They could've gotten seriously hurt. Inter-house matches are closing on us, we can't afford to lose Chasers. Or Diggory."

           Over Nia's shoulder, Sawyer spotted the Gryffindor Quidditch team splayed out in the stands. Silhouetted by the late afternoon sun, they looked like ravens, awaiting death, spectating their yellow-clad peers make an organised mess of themselves. Somewhere amidst the shadowy figures, Oliver and Harry stood amongst them. Without a doubt, they'd spectated the entire ordeal. They'd seen how Sawyer played. They'd seen two of Hufflepuff's best players pitch right out the sky. But they'd seen Sawyer's raw strength. The sort of unbridled strength she reserved for legitimate matches.

           "Not my problem," Sawyer said, keeping her eyes locked on them.

           Nia tipped her head back in frustration, and Sawyer didn't stick around enough to find out what other sportsmanship issues Nia wanted to pick at. The moment the Gryffindor team realised the Hufflepuffs were calling it a day, they made their touchdown on the pitch. Red-faced and soaked to the bone in sweat, Violet jogged to catch up with Sawyer as she made a beeline towards the changing rooms.

           "Did Nia say anything—"

           "No," Sawyer said, her tone was sharp, but not cutting. "It's not your job to care about what our captain thinks of you."

           A third set of footsteps crunching against the grass joined theirs.

            "Nice playing," Oliver mused, falling into step with the pair of Hufflepuff Beaters. He kept up with Sawyer's quick strides without a hitch in his breath, effectively sandwiching Violet between them. Smart move using a small twelve-year-old as a human shield.

            "I am not obligated to talk to you right now," Sawyer said, flicking her fingers at him in dismissal, "run along back to your posse. And don't you dare demoralise the child, she did perfectly fine today."

            "I wasn't talking to you," Oliver scoffed, snidely. He glanced down at Violet. His lips were flat, not quite satisfied, yet his expression contained none of his default condescension. Violet met Oliver's gaze, eyes widened in surprise. He held out a fist. "We'll work on building your technique tomorrow."

           Unable to contain her vibrant grin, Violet bumped her fist against Oliver's. "Thank you," she said, voice soft with awe.

           "Go hit the showers, kid," Oliver said, jerking his head in the direction of the changing rooms. He put out a hand and tapped Sawyer on the elbow, stopping her in her tracks, knowing better than to touch her for any longer.

           Giddy from the compliment, Violet loped ahead, a little spring to her step. Sawyer watched her go, watched the sunshine pouring from her effervescent features, the flushed pride in her rosy cheeks.

            "Did Nia..." Oliver trailed off, looking vaguely uncomfortable as he gestured between the two of them.

          "She thinks I might sabotage our team for you," Sawyer sneered.

            Amusement lit up Oliver's features. He shook his head at the sheer notion. His eyes flickered up to meet her gaze, feigning hopefulness. "But since you're my girlfriend, could you maybe—"

           "And deny myself the entertainment of watching you get knocked out of the sky with a bludger?" Sawyer's smile was saccharine, dripping poison and shark teeth. This was a waste of time. She didn't bother looking over her shoulder to know the other players—both yellow and scarlet clad—were watching the exchange. Out of interest or suspicion, it wasn't within Sawyer's disposition to care. "I think not."

           Oliver shrugged. "Was worth a shot."

           Sawyer scoffed. "Get out of my sight."

            "Don't forget," Oliver said, glancing at his team askance. He tucked a lock of hair behind Sawyer's ear and she fought down the urge to rip his entire arm off its hinges. Oliver's smile was thin, but from afar and out of hearing range, it substituted sufficiently for adoration. "We have practice tomorrow morning. 5AM sharp. Don't be late."

           Sawyer clamped her hand over Oliver's wrist in a vice-like grip. Not tight enough to sustain any visible injuries, but enough for him to feel the pressure of her fingers digging warning into his skin. She bared her teeth at him, eyes flashing. "Don't fucking touch me."

AUTHOR'S NOTE.
:) and wE'RE BACK!!!!