CHAPTER SIXTEEN
draining blood from stones

EVERY DAY FROM THEIR LOSS AGAINST Slytherin, Nia booked the Quidditch pitch for a solid three hours until dinner. Gruelling drills to improve their aiming, their speed, their stamina, their flying strategy consistently burnt through their willpower, built new muscles in place of the holes left in their confidence after their humiliating show of incompetence the previous week.

          Session by session, hour by hour, the tension stretched honey-thick. Sawyer's intolerance of her teammates grew exponentially, not because they were being unpleasant, but because they'd taken on some unbearably pseudo-positive outlook on their chances. The newfound determination to improve and beat the odds at their next match had been borne of a pathetic desperation to prove that they weren't dead last at every probable outcome. What reality looked like to Nia, Sawyer couldn't fathom. Optimistic wasn't the word she'd use to describe the Hufflepuff captain as much as delusional. How she expected Hufflepuff to trounce Gryffindor on Friday remained a mystery Sawyer didn't bother wrapping her mind around. Nia bought every ounce of Sawyer's effort and cooperation with a bottle of butter beer and the absence of Madam Hooch's supervision from their practice scrimmages.

          Still, Nia's organised drills had nothing on Oliver's. In a way, his maniacal, tunnel-vision obsession with Quidditch paid off. While Nia's drills were tiring and persistent, Oliver's could somehow turn even the most placid person in the world both suicidal and homicidal. While Nia shouted encouragement to her players, Oliver pushed and pushed his to their breaking points with cutting critique and acerbic commentary. Despite the ugliness his drills seemed to evoke within every person, the results spoke volumes. Hufflepuff players had nothing on Gryffindor's; especially with Harry Potter as their newest establishment on their team. There was a reason why no one took the yellow-clad team seriously.

           By Friday, when their determination hadn't worn off even with the gradual onset of nerves before each match, Sawyer was forced to question her team's sanity. Were they too caught up in the fabricated illusion that they could beat Gryffindor or were they just pinning all their hopes on the best-case scenario? As she strapped on her Quidditch uniform, straddling the bench in the locker room which buzzed with a palpable excitement the rest of the team seemed to share, Sawyer found she couldn't understand how they could discuss their chances as though they weren't about to be dealt immediate failure by nature.

          "Don't forget," Nia said, warning edging her tone, a knife's edge flashing in her eyes as she regarded Sawyer with pursed lips, "you give us your game, the butter beer in my bag is yours and so is the guarantee of Violet's spot on the team."

            Sawyer flicked her a cool look, but didn't waste her breath on a response and Nia knew better than to demand for an answer. Before Madam Hooch called them all down to the pitch to meet the opposing team, Nia gathered the team at the mouth of the entrance to the pitch. With their hearts in their mouths, they took a minute to soak in the thunderous racket of the crowd out in the stands, the deafening swarm of noise beating in tandem with their heartbeats, the house spirit in splashes of colour, of a thousand feet pounding up a stampede.

             Mouth set in a wide grin as she appraised her team with pride shining in her eyes, Nia began her long spiel, "Alright, team, listen up. Our victory is not guaranteed, but we've trained hard for this moment. Gryffindor is not Slytherin. It seems that they've stepped up their game in the past few years. Their Chasers aren't the strongest we've had this year, but their Beaters are almost deadly. Remember to thank Violet and Sawyer for being crushed in your stead. Their Keeper might seem impossible to score on, but don't get discouraged. Again, we control our point gap, keep your eyes on your marks. Harriet, you take Alicia. I'll take Angelina. Sanchez, you have Katie. Violet, I know you haven't played against the Weasleys yet, but you understand that they're ruthless, so it's natural to feel very overwhelmed. They're nightmares on the pitch, but don't forget, we have a nightmare of our own—" Nia cut Sawyer a small smirk, one not wired by condescension or malice, but one of trust in her team— "so you're more than prepared to take them on."

           "We got this!" Kenai, the Hufflepuff Keeper yelled, puffing out his chest and slapping Nia on the back in an act of solidarity as the rest of the team echoed it back.

           Spinning her broom between her hands, Sawyer peered over at Violet, who looked five seconds away from collapsing. Understandably so, though. They'd all seen how the Weasley twins play from previous games, and Violet most likely knew they were being thrown up against some tough competition.

          Sawyer tapped her bat against the top of Violet's head. Near paralysed by terror, Violet let out a ragged exhale, shut her eyes and let the roaring of the crowd wash over her like a tidal wave, inevitable and steadying as a pulse in her temples. Nia cast Violet a concerned look, but turned her head away the moment Sawyer fixed her dangerously blank gaze on her.

            "Don't be so afraid to die," Sawyer said, an edge of sarcasm creeping into her tone. "If you are, then you have no place here."

          "At least I have you with me, right?" Violet said, managing a weak smile with herculean effort.

           Feigning contemplation, Sawyer cocked her head. "Only if you work for it."

          Before Violet got a chance to respond, Madam Hooch called both teams out onto the pitch. As the Hufflepuffs gathered around in the open, the crowd exploded in their barely intelligible chants. Gryffindor colours bled in her periphery, clashing with Hufflepuff's vibrant yellow catching in the sunlight. As the Gryffindor team traipsed over from the other end of the pitch in their blinding cluster of carmine, Sawyer flipped her bat in her right hand, leant against her broom, propped up on her left like a crutch, letting her gaze roam everywhere but one face in particular.

           In her commanding rasp, Madam Hooch laid down the mandatory rules and regulations. At some point, Sawyer caught Harry's eye. He blinked at her, lips twisting awkwardly, as though he were unsure whether to smile or to sneer at her, now that she wasn't playing with him. A bored smile curved her lips, and she tapped two fingers to her temples in a mock salute. Beside him, Oliver's attention was fully fixated on Madam Hooch, refusing to stray even for the slightest moment. But the slight tick of his jaw when Sawyer had greeted Harry seemed to tell otherwise. Nonetheless, he never once cast a single look at her. Not even when Madam Hooch finished reading both teams the consequences to any brash, rule-breaking decisions and called for the captains to shake hands.

            Smiling pleasantly, Nia stepped forward and extended a hand. Oliver mirrored her and clasped it. His smile was more condescending than diplomatic. A wicked spark glinted in his eyes as he stepped away, a promise to crumble whatever pathetic blockades they would put in his way to carving victory.

            Moments later, all players had mounted their brooms. Assembled on their side of the pitch, the Gryffindors hummed with a feral energy, a fire burning through their muscles. On the other side, the Hufflepuffs sized their opponents up, taking inventory. Sawyer and Violet braced themselves by the edge of the scoring area, unable to enter the nuclear playing zone until the clock began its count. Hovering several feet off the ground, the Chasers gathered in a circle at the epicentre of the pitch, where, on the ground, the two bludgers were released. A collective wince swept over the crowd as the Bludgers rocketed into the air, headset on maximum destruction. Tension gripped the air as Madam Hooch blew a warning whistle, holding up the Quaffle. The crowd craned their necks, a hush of bloodthirsty anticipation flooding the stands. With a sharp jerk, Madam Hooch launched the Quaffle into the air. Like hawks, the Chasers dove for it.

           Shooting out of the vicious frenzy, Alicia emerged with the Quaffle in arm and the crowd roared with excitement and hatred. Harriet was hot on her tail. All players broke formation as the announcer's voice boomed with rapid-fire commentary. Flashes of colour moving so quickly the Chasers looked like red and yellow streaks.

             Letting her brain fall into static, Sawyer carved a sharp path into the closest approaching Bludger. It barrelled towards her, a battering ram decimating everything in its path. When it came within range, she swung her bat with everything she had. It connected with a skull-splitting crack, the impact vibrating up her bones, and the Bludger shot off, a blurry comet that slammed into Alicia's arm hard enough to break it.

           Forced to release the Quaffle, Alicia shrieked with rage as Nia swooped in to steal it. In a flash of red Angelina was already on top of her, clamped to her side shoulder-to-shoulder, preventing any chance of a clean pass. Another Bludger curved through the air towards Nia, and Sawyer cut into its path. She slammed it halfway up the pitch. It missed Angelina by mere inches, but took out the tail of her broom, sending her spiralling out of control. Nia swerved to avoid getting knocked away, and hurled the Quaffle back to Harriet, who'd fought off her mark and was in the open. Too quickly, though, Angelina had checked Harriet up against one of the Slytherin stands with a vengeance, and snatched the Quaffle out of Harriet's startled hands.

          "Sawyer, look out!" Violet yelled as a Bludger shot right towards Sawyer.

          On instinct, Sawyer swung hard, firing the Bludger all the way across the pitch. Angelina barely rolled out of the way to avoid getting a hole blown through her chest, but Katie took the resultant hit, almost getting knocked off her broom.

            "Oh, you're good," one of the Weasley twins snickered as they flew alongside Sawyer, each twin flanked on either side of her.

            "You think so?" The other twin snarked, a devilish grin curling his lips, twirling his bat in his right hand. "It's always fun playing against you, Lee. At least you save your weakling team some face."

            Choosing not to waste her breath, Sawyer ignored them both. From what she remembered of the Gryffindor Beaters in all previous matches, they had a penchant for confusion and chaos. They liked targeting a player's hands, thereby immobilising Chasers and crippling Beaters. Smart move preventing someone from doing their jobs to secure a win, though extremely tricky to pull off. But it was nothing Sawyer hadn't done before. It was just a matter of acting quicker than the twins.

            A roar of fury erupted from the centre of the pitch. Gryffindor had possession of the Quaffle. Sawyer peeled away from the twins and gunned down the nearest Bludger as Katie and Angelina flanked Alicia, squeezing tight to keep their marks from attacking, tearing off towards the scoring area in a smear of ruby. The Hufflepuff Chasers swooped in from every direction, trying to tackle the Quaffle out of their grip, but Alicia held fast and her two guards fended the Hufflepuffs off. Sawyer darted for a Bludger barrelling her way, rolling clear of the Weasley twins, and smashed it up the pitch.

           It was too late, though.

           As the Bludger hurtled towards the group, Alicia had carried the Quaffle past the scoring line. Angelina and Katie balked to a stop just on the edge of the area and split off. The twins were on them in a second, redirecting the Bludger towards Violet, who slammed it back to Katie. Katie pulled her broom up, letting the Bludger pass under her.

             Alicia took a shot. Kenai dove for the Quaffle. It bounced against the top of the third hoop and went through. Ten points to Gryffindor. Banners flared, catching the sunlight as the Gryffindor crowd erupted in a sea of red, roaring with house pride. With a smug ferocity, the Gryffindors pushed against the Hufflepuffs, forcing the Quaffle up the pitch towards their scoring area. Shaking with rage, Harriet seemed to cast off the Hufflepuff dedication to sportsmanship as she rushed towards Katie, who had the Quaffle tucked under her elbow, and threw all her weight into the Gryffindor Chaser. Harriet popped the Quaffle free as Angelina closed in on her. She carried it as far as she could before lobbing it towards the closest yellow-clad Chaser.

             "Sanchez!"

              Sanchez didn't answer, but she heard. Like lightning, Sanchez followed the arc of Harriet's throw and dove for the Quaffle when she realised the pass was meant for her. Seconds before Angelina could seize the Quaffle, Sanchez plucked it out of mid-air. Sawyer fired a Bludger towards Katie, who was a shade away from crashing into Sanchez. The Bludger bulldozed Katie out of the way in the nick of time. A Bludger shot back to Sanchez on a rebound, but Violet intercepted and struck so hard with her bat she almost fell off her own broom. Sawyer caught the deflection and smashed it towards Angelina, who'd stopped shadowing Nia to go after Sanchez. The Bludger caught Alicia in the shoulder and sent her spinning off-course.

             With a path cleared for her, Sanchez flashed across the pitch at break-neck speed, the fastest of the bunch, curving neatly away from the Gryffindor Chasers as they made to tackle her off her broom. Angelina was gaining on her. But before Sawyer could take her out of the equation, a renegade Bludger collided with Sanchez' hands, knocking the Quaffle out of her grip. Angelina let out a triumphant whoop as she caught the Quaffle. In the next three minutes of a scrimmage, Gryffindor scored again. On the outskirts of the scoring system, Sawyer could only watch as the Gryffindor team steamrolled hers.

              With a newfound surge of determination, the Hufflepuffs shook off the loss and pushed back. Alicia was already racing towards the goal with the Quaffle in hand, but Nia and Harriet were quick to close in on either side of her, shoving and checking until there was no room between them. A Bludger hurtled towards Harriet, but Violet beat it off-course. Sawyer followed its new course and slammed it diagonally downwards, where the twins were chasing after the other Bludger. It collided with one of them, instantly breaking his right wrist.

              The snap of bone was lost through the enraged riot of the crowd, but Sawyer knew a broken limb when she saw one. Livid, the remaining twin flipped Sawyer off while his brother was carted off the pitch by a crew of professors, a grimace hidden behind a shaky grin as he cradled his limp right hand in his lap. Losing his batting hand meant he was useless to the team. The sole Gryffindor Beater would have to hold down his fort alone.

           While Sawyer's attention had been taken off the Chasers, Alicia had somehow out-gunned the Hufflepuffs and made an impossible pass to her teammate, who carried it back to the Hufflepuff goal and scored. Kenai threw his hands up in frustration.

          Twenty minutes in and Gryffindor scored five times in a chaotic rush of red and flickers of yellow. Not even halfway through the match and there was an undertone of vengeance driving the Gryffindors. Nia was crushed out of the playing zone when a Bludger rammed into her from the side. Unguarded, Angelina tore towards the scoring area. Sanchez and Harriet dove for her, closing in on either side of Angelina before she could weave an erratic flying pattern to throw them off. Sanchez zipped overhead, effortlessly shaking Katie off her tail. When she overtook the three Chasers, she pivoted at a steep angle and charged at Angelina. Spurred on by the point gap, the Hufflepuffs cornered her, driving her skywards vertically. A Bludger cleared a warpath in a sharp arc towards Sawyer, but there was no way to take Angelina out from her angle. Sawyer scanned the pitch until she found Violet.

          "Violet!" Sawyer barked, raising her bat, preparing to take a swing as the Bludger closed in. "This one's for you!"

          When the Bludger zeroed in on Sawyer, she slammed it up the pitch. Violet was already moving, throwing herself into its path. In a clean strike, she sent it shooting towards the trio of Chasers fighting for the Quaffle.

          "Bludger!" Violet yelled.

          Instinctively, Nia and Sanchez broke away from Angelina. Harriet wasn't so lucky. As the Bludger plowed into Angelina, it took Harriet with her, and they both went spiralling out of the sky. Another Bludger rocketed towards the Hufflepuff Chasers, and she slammed it back to the remaining twin. Sanchez snatched the Quaffle before it fell into Katie's hands, and pushed it up the pitch to the goals. Alicia tore after her, checking Sanchez with a savage vehemence. But Sanchez held fast to the Quaffle.

          When she reached the scoring line, she pulled short of the edge and made a short pass to Nia, who was already waiting in the scoring area.

          Oliver's eyes were fixed keenly on Nia.

            Without wasting a moment, Nia launched the Quaffle at the furthest goal. Oliver shot after it at an impressive speed. But he'd just missed it. The Quaffle cleared the top half pop the goal and the Hufflepuffs in the stands went wild. Ten points was nothing compared to the fifty that Gryffindor had already accumulated, but it felt like a breath of relief to the Hufflepuffs. Even if the point gap was impossible to close, it wasn't a dead zero.

           Hufflepuff regained possession of the Quaffle. With a reinvigorated vehemence, the Hufflepuff Chasers locked in on a tight formation with Sanchez carrying the Quaffle between Harriet and Nia. Gritting her teeth in concentration, Violet gave every drop of energy she had to deflect all the Bludgers headed towards them, and Sawyer circled back to slam them into the Gryffindor Chasers. Baring her teeth, Katie ducked around one of Sawyer's Bludgers and rushed at Sanchez.

             With no Bludgers approaching in time, Violet cut into Katie's path, effectively putting up a blockade. By the time Katie managed to wrangle her way around Violet, who mirrored all her movements, miraculously anticipating each feigned manoeuvre, Sanchez was in the scoring area. Sanchez flung the Quaffle into the furthest goal. But Oliver was already moving, and inches before the goal was cleared, he knocked it away.

              With Gryffindor gaining the advantage once more, the Hufflepuffs were growing more frustrated by the second. The next few minutes of the match was an unfathomable maelstrom of rapid-fire passing and brutal body-checking as Chasers grappled for the Quaffle. Sawyer lurked on the edge of the pitch, firing Bludgers into the disarray of red and yellow streaks diving and rushing at each other like a cluster of flies. The Quaffle exchanged between hands so many times Sawyer couldn't be bothered to keep track anymore. Finally, Alicia let out a war cry tinged with raw fury and crashed into Harriet, forcing her to release the Quaffle. Angelina caught it, and hurled it to the other end of the pitch.

            Without hesitation, Katie gave chase, but Sanchez was faster. She seized the Quaffle and curved around the edges of the pitch with practically Alicia breathing down her neck.

           "Get her off me!" Sanchez roared.

           Sawyer lined up for another swing at an incoming Bludger. With a powerful stroke, Sawyer sent the Bludger rocketing halfway down the pitch before it collided with Alicia. Sanchez pulled short just inches shy of Alicia's broom as it spun out of control. Nia and Harriet flanked Sanchez the rest of the way to goal, carving away on the edge of the scoring area, letting Sanchez fire another shot at the goal. Sawyer lurked on the edge of the scoring line, flipping her bat between her hands, bored. Even if they secured this goal, there would be no point in trying anymore. They were going to lose either way. No matter how delusional her team members were, surely they could see the truth of the matter.

             A beat before the Quaffle could leave Sanchez's hands, a Bludger charged in from the left corner of the scoring line, knocking her off her broom. The Gryffindor Beater let out a triumphant yell as he shot past them, pursuing the other Bludger. Angelina stole the Quaffle and pushed it up the pitch.

            "Where the hell were you?" Nia seethed at Sawyer when she flew by, pausing her pursuit of the Quaffle as she let Harriet go after it instead. "You were supposed to guard her while she was taking her shot! That means watching for all the Bludgers and that Beater! Don't make me revoke Violet's position on our line-up."

             Unapologetic, Sawyer flicked her a dead smile. There's no more point in trying, she wanted to tell Nia. Save yourself the crushing aftermath of false hope, accept the failure and go. Hatred flickered deep in her gut, a knife-sharp stroke of malevolent vindication boiled her blood. In periphery, Sawyer spotted a flicker of motion. She shot Nia a wicked grin. "Good luck," Sawyer drawled, drawing a look of confusion and fury from Nia. Sawyer rolled clear as a Bludger slammed into Nia's side. Satisfaction curled in her chest as Nia took a moment to recover before cutting Sawyer a nasty scowl.

             Behind them, Oliver pounded his fist against one of the goalposts. The sound made Nia flinch. When he caught Sawyer's eye, he made an exasperated gesture with his arms.

             "Are you playing or not?" He shouted over the escalating roar of the crowd, eyes flashing to Sawyer with an incendiary agitation. "Quick dicking around and save this shit-show. Will you or won't you?"

             Blood rushed past Sawyer's temples, but she clamped the agitation down, forced it into the seismic energy charging up an electric tempo in her muscles. You. Not Nia, not anyone else. You. Bemused, Sawyer glanced at Nia, who'd clearly heard him and shot Sawyer a funny look.

            An incoming Bludger closed in on them and Sawyer spotted it out of the corner of her eyes. With her heartbeat in her temples and something—something unknowable, this unfamiliar weight she didn't know what to make of other than the fact that she didn't like one bit of it—pooling in her chest, her vision turning dark at the edges, Sawyer lunged, moving before she even realised what she was doing.

          It came to her in fragments.

          One moment she was facing off Nia and Oliver, the next her bat was swinging in a clean arc. The resounding crack of her bat slamming against the Bludger. The crowd wincing collectively. The vibrations scorching up her arm from the sheer vehemence. And the Bludger shot off like a comet on a warpath across the pitch and struck Angelina so hard she slumped forward, losing her grip on the Quaffle as she blacked out and slipped off her broom into a dead drop to the ground. On the bottom of the pitch, the professors were already casting spells to catch Angelina before she broke her neck. In the stands, the crowd shook with a volcanic wrath.

             "You asked for it," Sawyer shrugged, cutting Oliver an unapologetic glance.

           Instead of countering her casual indifference with the same outrage quaking the crowd, he smiled.

          Nia glanced between the both of them, an indecipherable expression crossing her features. But there was no time for an interrogation. Deciding against wasting precious seconds, Nia chased after Harriet, who'd gained possession of the Quaffle.

              The next Bludger that came Sawyer's way, she deflected with a ferocity that claimed another Gryffindor casualty. Katie barely recovered before Sawyer body-checked her on the way past, shoulders colliding, sending her off-kilter again. The Gryffindor Beater slammed another Bludger Sawyer's way, realising that she was the real menace on the pitch. But Violet returned fire. Sawyer shot her a smirk and slapped her on the back as she pursued the other Bludger.

            In the next five minutes, Nia scored, earning them another approving roar from the crowd.

             The Hufflepuffs didn't score again, nor did Cedric catch the Snitch. Even with their humiliating loss of three hundred points to thirty in favour of the Gryffindors, they walked off the court with an unshakeable energy that nobody quite knew what to make of.

            Once the Hufflepuffs had retired to their locker room to shower and change out of their gear, the tension dissipated, and they were back to square one—a mutual tolerance sustained only by the bare thread of professionalism. Which meant that nobody talked to each other throughout their cleaning up routine. They each stuck to their own benches in their own secluded corners, sore and exhausted and mildly irritated by the reality of their situation: they'd never make it anywhere together. Towelling her hair dry, Sawyer was the first out of the shower. Ignoring each and every protesting joint, she tugged a pair of grey sweatpants on over her underwear. She didn't pause to rest, even as her fingers shook with effort as she tied the strings. Despite every defiant ache of her muscles, she took the time to stretch out after pulling a loose hoodie over her head.

              It was when she was shoving her sweat-soaked Quidditch uniform in her duffel bag that Nia materialised from the shower stalls, already dressed and casting a silent charm to dry her hair instantly. Eyes hardened, mistrust wicking off her shoulders, Nia stopped by her own duffel bag, but her gaze was trained on Sawyer. The others were occupied with their own business, collecting themselves quietly, their upbeat mood from the beginning of the day now vanquished by the loss.

            "So," Nia began, folding her towel neatly. She plucked at the corners, dissatisfaction curling her lips when it didn't align properly. "You and Oliver, huh."

           With no intent to respond to Nia's probing statement, Sawyer sat down on the bench to tie her shoe laces. Met with her wall of silence, Nia's glare sharpened. The others glanced between each other uneasily, but didn't intervene. Whatever transpired between Sawyer and Nia wasn't their business. That seemed to be the common consensus amongst them.

           "I thought you guys broke up," Nia said, lifting a brow as she tucked a renegade lock of hair behind her ear. "That's what everyone says, anyway. How come you're still talking?"

            Silence. Sawyer didn't even bother gracing Nia with a bemused look. That seemed to only aggravate Nia further. As Sawyer straightened up to leave, a dispassionate expression shrouding her features, the dam holding Nia's anger at bay cracked. Like a tidal wave, fury thundered over her features and Nia lunged at Sawyer, catching her by the shoulders and shoving her against the lockers.

              "I'm fucking talking to you!"

              Alarmed, Harriet shouted a warning at Nia, but it was lost in the clamour of a body crashing into metal. The impact knocked some of the wind out of Sawyer's lungs, but the adrenaline rush, the malefic rage that clawed at her veins, burning bright and sharp at her core, dulled the pain and sent a shock of energy through her battered body. Red slashed across her vision as a shudder of revulsion racked down her spine from the feeling of Nia's unwarranted hands clamped over her shoulders. Sawyer reacted instinctively. In a flash, she shoved Nia off her and slammed her elbow into Nia's chin. Disoriented, Nia stumbled. Sawyer seized her arm and twisted it viciously behind her back. Reversing their positions, Sawyer threw Nia up against the lockers face-first. Nia let out a shriek of white-hot rage, ripped apart at the edges by agony.

             Tightening her grip on Nia's arm, Sawyer gave it a warning tug. Whimpering, Nia spasmed in pain, face paling as her arm came close to a brutal dislocation.

            "Knock it off, Sawyer," Harriet demanded, herding Violet and Sanchez behind her.

           But Sawyer was done listening. And no one dared to stop her.

            Sawyer laughed, all vacant cheer and dead eyes. "Oh, Nia, Nia, Nia, dim as always. Asking too many questions and never picking up on the simplest rules. Hey, hey, haven't I been clear enough? Don't ever fucking touch me again."

             "Why?" Nia growls, black anger crackling from her menacing tone. "Why would you play when he asks you to, but never when I ask? It took me four years to get to you. Four years to make you cooperate."

             Sick amusement flashed across Sawyer's face. Finally, after years of pushing and pushing at a team so seemingly perfect in every way, a team so impossible to upset, she'd found the breaking point. Nia had snapped. And Sawyer was savouring every bit of it. She crushed Nia up against the lockers with more force, adding more of her weight as Nia trembled—both in rage and in pain.

             "Don't flatter yourself. You could never put me on a leash," Sawyer said, coolly.

              "I had to bribe you. I had to threaten you. I had to force your hand—you think I liked doing all that? You think I enjoy cornering you like some wild animal? Merlin, Sawyer, I hated every inch of myself because of that, did you know? All I ever wanted was for you to play for our team," Nia roared. "Getting any scrap of effort from you is like draining blood from stones. But the second he so much as asks you to make the game interesting, you give it to him. Why?"

             Sawyer's smile was cold and cruel.

             "Because it's fun to tell you 'no'."

            A million emotions flashed across Nia's face. 

          With one last warning push, Sawyer released Nia, let her crumple to the ground. Static ringing in her ears, she picked up her duffel bag, slung it over her shoulder, ignoring Harriet's scornful glares, Sanchez's stunned expression, and the terror on Violet's face as she stared after Sawyer, like she couldn't recognise this violent monstrosity and correlate it to the figure of protection and shelter who'd guided her to this spot on the team and fought for her when no one else did. Like the moment after a guillotine fell, the dead silence that'd lapsed over the group was jarring. Without so much as a backward glance, Sawyer left.

* * *

MONTHS FLASHED BY, and all that was left in Sawyer's mind one day before her first OWL paper was this: I should be dead by now.

           In the half-light as the moonbeams cut into her dorm room through the window, Sawyer stared down at the parchment with the words, Dear Dad, scrawled in her haphazard handwriting printed on the top, and for the first time in ages, she had all the words in her head, ready to be translated to ink and paper.

            All of this semester, she'd maybe written one letter to her father to ask him some questions from her Astronomy class. She'd almost laughed when he sent her a tape recording of his ramblings about planets and orbit and cosmic whatnot, and spent three whole nights listening to the tape on repeat. The first night was to commit his words to memory. The second night, she couldn't figure out why she went back for another listen. The words were already in her head, etched in the back of her mind. Realisation dawned on her on the third night. She just wanted to hear her father's voice. Now that OWLs were creeping on the horizon by the hour, Sawyer thought about everything she had to say to her father, and all of the glass-shard silence she had for her mother.

           Finally, she exhaled the tension from her shoulders, stole a redundant glance at Quinn's bed, where the girl slept, a shapeless lump under the thick quilts, and put her quill to the paper.

* * *

DEAR DAD,

             Do you think I'm a failure? I know as a parent you're not supposed to admit this kind of stuff to your kid, but I understand if you do. I know how hard it is living with me. I know you can't stand it. I can't either. Even though I've been told that just because I have dyslexia and a temper problem doesn't mean I'm destined to be a failure all my life, I still find it hard to believe.

             But it's hours away from OWLs and even though Jeremy, Rio, Marcus and I have been studying almost every second of our time after classes and between sleep and Quidditch practice, I still feel like the world's biggest disappointment. No matter how hard I try, I'm not going to make it. I just know it. I'm going to fail and I'm going to get booted out of Hogwarts forever.

            Dumbledore thinks he has a solution for me and a few other students who suffer from the same condition. Last week, he gathered us in his office to lay down our options. Surprisingly, Quinn, my roommate, was there. She told me afterwards that she doesn't have dyslexia, but she's got this condition called ADHD, which makes her life difficult too. But she's been training herself to focus. Her mum sends her to muggle therapy over the holidays, and she's taking medication for it. She says she's been getting better, even though it still bothers her sometimes.

             Anyway, the solution is this:

              They'll put us in an isolated classroom with a silencing charm to minimise external distractions. They'll give us these Charmed spectacles that work in tandem with our brains and unscramble the words for us. We also have the option of a time extension.

            Or, if we really insisted, we could sit with everyone else in the examination hall and take our papers with the rest of the school.

             I chose the first option. I don't know why, really. It's not like it'll help me any. I'm not smart like Jeremy. I'm not even good at bullshitting like Rio or Marcus.

            Maybe I just wanted to give myself a shred of hope that I could be something. It's stupid. I know. It's not going to go anywhere. I'm so stuck in the concrete and everyone else keeps passing by so fast they can't hear me screaming.

            Sorry to bother you. Thanks for the tape recording.

      — Sawyer.

* * *

WHEN SUNRISE paints the sky a saffron robed, rosy-fingered dawn, Sawyer chooses silence. Chooses invulnerability. Chooses dead eyes and impenetrable masks and hollow shells of girls who'd been shattered on the ground, left behind on bathroom tiles in broken pieces for people to slice their hands on if they got too close.

          She leaves the ripped up fragments of the letter in the fireplace where the flames incinerate all the words in her head to ashes.

          (Part of her wishes she could burn with them too.)

AUTHOR'S NOTE.
look this quidditch match scene was a fucking nightmare to write and it turned out... meh. the previous match was written way better but i really couldnt care less anymore.

welcome to the end of part one. we made it through the year in one piece!!!!