CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
win some

ON THE DAY OF THE FIRST QUIDDITCH MATCH to officially kick off the season, the November sky looked as lifeless as Sawyer felt when she woke to rain lashing against the window, tiny little claws raking half-heartedly against the glass. Just a light drizzle, but still wet weather nonetheless. Regardless, conditions were cosmically less hostile than the past few days, when she couldn't set foot outside without being immediately drenched. Even though Oliver and Sawyer stopped meeting in the mornings to run because of the weather in the days leading up to this one, Quidditch practice still carried on as per normal for the Gryffindors, though, apparently, because Oliver was both desperate and demented.

Now, though, the sky was a molten grey fissured by bright bolts of mysterious sun, and the professors seemed to think they might as well capitalise on the sudden relent in the weather. Throughout the school day, nobody could sit still. Classes were distracted by the incessant talk of the game this afternoon, bets were placed, spreading like a disease amidst the student body, and flags in either vibrant red or sunny yellow were being passed around. Even the professors had given into the mounting anticipation sparking off their students since they knew there was no taming an entire classroom of excitable students who were potently distracted and whose minds have wandered off elsewhere. School was the last thing on their minds. In Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall had almost docked points because Oliver wouldn't shut up about the upcoming match. He'd caught Sawyer's eye across the classroom, and even though Sawyer didn't think it was a big deal, she couldn't help the indistinguishable expression she made when she met his fiery zeal. Something tugged at the corner of her mouth, and Sawyer wanted to call it scorn, but she wasn't convinced. This was everything to him, and by proxy, it mattered to her, too.

"See you later," Oliver murmured, just low enough for her to hear, pressing a hand against the small of her back as he bypassed her on the way out of their last class of the day before he caught up with Dylan and the rest of his friends in the crowded corridor. In under three hours, they'd be facing off on the Quidditch pitch.

None of the Hufflepuffs expected to win against the Gryffindors, but because they had Cedric now, there was a glimmer of hope. If the rumble of dissent from the sky as the Hufflepuffs strode out as a team with Cedric leading them onto the pitch meant anything, it was presage to exactly how the match was meant to go. As they waited for game time, Cedric led them all with stretches. Sawyer and Violet stuck together for warmups. Before they'd left the wings of the changing rooms, Cedric had given the team some words of encouragement, which Sawyer was surprised wasn't as long-winded as their previous captains' blistering preaching.

"You've trained for this," Cedric had said, a hopeful grin on his face that seemed to soothe even the most anxious of their players. Even Violet looked more enthusiastic than nervous like she usually did. He swept his sparkling gaze over their main lineup. Over their three Chasers, Sanchez, Irene, and Florence. Over their new Keeper, Herbert who was small and compact but rocket-fast. And finally, over Violet, and Sawyer, who flipped her bat over her scarred knuckles. "You've all worked so hard to get to where you are today, and I am incredibly proud of each and every one of your progress. We've always been at the bottom, and I'm not stupid enough to think this match would be easy to win, but we have an amazing, dedicated lineup this year. So we're going to go out there, show them all that we're not going down without a fight, and have our fun."

When the Gryffindors met them in the middle of the pitch, striding out with palpable arrogance, Madam Hooch motioned for both captains to shake hands. Sawyer didn't blame their overconfidence, considering Hufflepuff had always been a sorry state. As Lee Jordan's commentary boomed, firing up the crowd decked out in their house colours, Sawyer tuned it all out as Oliver gripped Cedric's hand firmly, his jaw set in a determined line. Today, her mind was sharp. Sharper than it should've been. Before they parted, Cedric said something nobody else caught that made Oliver grin. Sawyer knew what that grin meant. Collateral damage was eminent. While Madam Hooch began laying out the rules and regulations, Sawyer spotted Harry standing next to Angelina. His eyes were on the blonde girl beside Sawyer. An impish smile tinging her lips, Violet lifted her bat and waved. Harry smirked.

By the time they were on their brooms and climbing in the air to take their positions for first serve, lightning cracked against the sky like a bright whip and the rain only grew heavier with the altitude, cold droplets stinging their skin like icy bullets. The gloom of the afternoon dulled the colours in the stands, made the aggressive crimson of the Gryffindors appear a darker, more muted red, and washed out the sun-bright yellow of the Hufflepuffs into the colour of piss, but their spirits were undaunted. Something about the weakest team going against one of the most powerful teams seemed to rile them up enough to keep the wet mood influenced by the bad weather at bay. Somewhere in the Hufflepuff crowd, Jeremy, Rio, and Marcus had been forced into yellow scarves by Quinn. With that reminder, Sawyer pulled her water-repellent goggles over her eyes. She didn't like them on her face because they felt obstructive, but she didn't have a choice. It was either this, or no visibility. As destructive as she was, she didn't think she appreciated the idea of playing a Quidditch match blind.

All six Chasers assembled in a circle at midfield while Sawyer and Violet backed towards the sidelines on their home goal. Both Seekers were small figures in the sky, keeping out of the action. Their job wasn't to fight for the goal, but to secure a win. On the Gryffindor's home goal, one of the Weasley twins pointed his bat at Sawyer, but she ignored it. Ignored all of it. All the noise, the commentary, the racket of the crowd, the dark shapes of the Dementors lurking just on the outskirts of the stands, far from the action but close enough for Sawyer to feel their gutting presence. All around them, the crowd was dead silent, but their anticipation screamed louder than the thunder rolling over their heads.

The Bludgers were released first. Sawyer heard them before she saw them, their sonic roar as they popped out of their container and tore across the pitch with a savage vehemence, circling the players like sharks. Sawyer kept her eye on both of them. The moment Madam Hooch pitched the Quaffle in the air, the Chasers descended like wolves. Irene broke away from the chaos with the quaffle tucked under her arm. The crowd roared, but it was lost to the gathering storm.

Inside the first minute, the match got violent.

Angelina and Katie flanked Irene relentlessly, boxing her in so she could barely manoeuvre. Violet let out a shout as she slammed a Bludger towards Sawyer, who caught it on the rebound with a powerful swing. It caught the tail of Katie's broom and she was sent spiralling out of control. Free of one mark, Irene pitched upwards to shake Angelina off her back. In a fell swoop, another Bludger crushed against Irene as she darted towards the scoring line and she went down. In a flash of red, one of the Gryffindor Chasers snatched the Quaffle and shot off towards the scoring line. Shaking off their outrage, the Hufflepuff Chasers hounded her. Despite the weather hellbent on disorienting Sawyer's senses, her focus was unwavering as she surged after the first Bludger in her line of sight and sent it careening towards Alicia, who was almost all the way across the pitch. It struck her in the shoulder with an audible crack that might've been thunder or the sound of her bones dislocating. Alicia was carried off the pitch instantly, but she grinned at the crowd and threw up a peace sign with her uninjured hand.

"Thanks a lot, asshole," Oliver drawled, a tad derisively, shaking his head at her from the goalpost. Sawyer couldn't decrypt his expression, but she'd drifted far from the home goal enough to be level with the scoring line. Oliver's territory.

"Don't point fingers," Sawyer said, even though he'd just witnessed her near-cripple his teammate, costing them a player on the lineup. "You wanted to see me play."

Then she shot off just as the Hufflepuffs regained possession of the Quaffle.

With one less Chaser to worry about, the Hufflepuffs seemed to have generated enough hope to push forward with an intensity Sawyer hadn't seen from her team before. Still, enraged by the loss of a teammate, the Gryffindors struck back with an intensity that bordered on bloodthirsty. A Bludger nearly singed Irene as she passed off the Quaffle to Florence, who dropped it like a nuclear bomb into Sanchez's waiting hands directly below her when she realised she couldn't get Katie off her in time to make the shot at the goal. Sanchez raced forward, a yellow blur illuminated by the flash of lightning, as she dodged Angelina, who was hot on her tail. As they approached the goal, Sawyer had a clear shot at Angelina. With a violent stroke of her bat, Sawyer sent the Bludger rocketing towards Angelina. Angelina was too distracted trying to catch Sanchez to notice. Seeing what was happening, Violet screamed at Sanchez to roll clear, and she did, just as the Bludger took out the Gryffindor Chaser. With a furious roar, Angelina shook off the impact. Knowing she was in trouble, Sanchez passed off the Quaffle to Florence, who shot into the scoring area.

Oliver blocked the goal before it could get within a foot of the hoop.

With the Quaffle in Gryffindor hands, the Hufflepuffs found a new surge of determination. Angelina and Sanchez were neck-to-neck, and with Sanchez sticking so close, it was impossible to make a pass or take a shot. One of the Weasley twins closed in on Sawyer, but before he could intercept the Bludger she was gunning for, Sawyer shot past him, checking him in the shoulder vehemently before she swung her bat sharply, the Bludger connecting with a loud thunk, before it soared through the air. If Katie hadn't ducked in time, the Bludger would've blown a hole through her head. The crowd let out a collective wince at the close shave.

Adrenaline coursed through Sawyer's veins as she went after the second Bludger that would've definitely killed Irene had Sawyer not intercepted its warpath and sent it on a killer-collision course towards Angelina instead. Terror overcame Angelina's face as she rolled clear. The Chasers were grappling with the Quaffle again, and it was getting harder and harder to keep track of who was in possession of it. As the storm only grew harsher, as the players grew more and more violent with each other, the Gryffindors scored eight times, which put them in the lead against Hufflepuff's pathetic four. Driven by frustration and helplessness, they kept pushing and pushing, drawing vigour from the stampeding crowd. Lurching towards a Bludger, Violet slammed it into one of the twins, who'd started taking her seriously after she'd managed to nearly decapitate Angelina thrice. He veered out of the way, but the Bludger clipped the handle of his broom, sending him spinning out. When he regained control, he rushed at Violet, fury contorting his features, and Sawyer retaliated, swooping in between them. One glimpse at Sawyer's interference had him backing off, hands raised in mock surrender.

As the Gryffindors carried the Quaffle towards the scoring line, Sawyer heard the whistle of an approaching Bludger before she saw it. She didn't have time to lock on a target, so, leaning into the momentum of her flight, she slammed it into the first person in red that was in her line of vision. One of the Weasley twins made a rude gesture, which she ignored. In the midst of her distraction from the match, Angelina had escaped Sanchez and Florence and was taking a shot at goal. The crowd held their breath as she wound her arm back and lobbed the Quaffle into the furthest goalpost. In a flash, Herbert was at the last hoop, diving to save the goal. He caught it just before it could pass through, and a loud cheer erupted from the Hufflepuff stand.

The Hufflepuffs had possession of the Quaffle again, but the Gryffindors made them work to keep it. Oliver blocked the next shot, looking generally unimpressed with the Hufflepuffs' efforts.

Each successive minute tapped deeper into their desperation and grit. The point gap was impossible to close at this point. Even with one Chaser down, the Gryffindors were still superior, but the Hufflepuffs had spent too long with the gravel from rock bottom in their mouths to give up at this point. Losing was not an option. Irene and Sanchez were playing pass between each other, zipping like flies to evade assault from Angelina and Katie while Florence interfered with the Gryffindors. The three Hufflepuff Chasers had faced close calls with the Bludger too many times, but were saved by the skin of their teeth by Violet and Sawyer, who were waging war against the Weasley twins. They seemed less focused on incapacitating the Chasers and had, in a vindictive moment, had turned to attacking the Hufflepuff Beaters instead. Violet's face was scrunched up in concentration. With their track record of collateral, the twins were easily the most nightmarish contenders the Hufflepuff team had ever faced. But, as Nia had said some years ago, the Hufflepuffs had a nightmare of their own.

"Irene, on me!" Sanchez roared, when she found herself stuck between Angelina and a hard place, unable to move the Quaffle. She feigned a pass at Irene, who pitched her broom into a steep dive with Katie dogging mercilessly at her heels, but Florence was waiting below her, unguarded, and the Quaffle dropped into her hands without fuss. They'd conconcted this new passing strategy last week. With the momentary distraction, Florence shot off towards the goal, but Katie was faster. Soon, the Gryffindors had the Quaffle again and the Hufflepuffs were left in the wake of their weak offense.

Thunder growled, and for a second the world flashed brightly, but the crowd's collective gasp had Sawyer looking up at the sky where the Seekers were locked in a dive for the Golden Snitch. A Bludger careened her way, and she heard Violet screaming for Sawyer to duck before she spotted it in periphery. It was too late to move without it catching her broom, so she swung her bat with all the might in her body and it bounded towards the Chasers, who were all locked in a frenzy, trying to knock the Quaffle free from each others' hands. It crashed into Katie, who was blown into Sanchez, taking her down too. But the Quaffle was in Gryffindor possession.

Granted, it didn't matter who scored the goal. When Cedric caught the snitch, the Hufflepuffs won by a landslide, and the uproar of the Hufflepuff crowd almost blew the stands apart. This win had secured them an ascension in the ranks that they could only have dreamed of before. But one moment the crowd was watching the Seekers in awe, the next, their roar of triumph or disappointment had turned into screams of horror. Everyone on the pitch stopped what they were doing, even the twins, who were still hellbent on pulverising Violet and Sawyer, had paused their vengeance to watch the sky. Through the rain hammering down on them like tiny knives slashing her skin, Sawyer squinted until she saw what everyone was gaping at:

Harry, unconscious and dropping from the sky like a stone, Dementors descending on him like vultures.

Pale with fear, Violet let out a blood-curdling scream. She was the first to react. As the professors scrambled to cast spells to slow Harry's fall, Violet dove to catch him. But she was too far, and too late.

* * *

BEFORE HIS TEAMMATES COULD GET TO HIM, Harry had been carted off to the infirmary, his head lolling on the stretcher, his body so limp they all thought for a horrifying minute that he was dead, until Madam Hooch felt for a pulse that'd been so faint she'd near missed it. When they all landed on solid ground, Madam Hooch instructed them all to hit the showers immediately. Despite Hufflepuff's victory, the team hadn't been in the mood to celebrate after what they'd just witnessed. The Gryffindors looked shaken, and Sawyer noticed Oliver giving his team half-hearted hugs, though his expression was borderline shattered. Sawyer overheard Cedric talking about a rematch, but didn't linger long enough to hear the reply. Even Violet had gone up to Oliver, arms outstretched like a child, and he'd pulled her in for a tight embrace. He didn't speak, but nodded as Violet spoke. Sawyer wasn't near enough to catch what she was saying, but when Violet was eventually released and trudged up to Sawyer, sniffling, it was clear that she was crying.

The entire time in the changing room, Violet was trembling and though her fingers were blue from the cold, they could tell she wasn't that affected by the weather. After they showered, dried off and were changed into clean clothes, the Hufflepuff Chasers enveloped Violet in a massive hug. They didn't expect Sawyer to join, but they didn't expect her to console Violet either.

As Sawyer towel-dried her hair off, having already swapped her wet Quidditch uniform for a faded sweatshirt with ratty strings and a pair of sweatpants, she looked to Violet, who was sitting on the bench, twiddling her thumbs, a guilty expression on her face.

"It's not your fault that you couldn't catch him," Sawyer said, and the sound of her voice permeating the silence caused Violet to blink up at her, brows furrowed, mouth drawn into a frown. Sawyer shoved her towel into her bag. "Don't be so hard on yourself, it's bad for your health."

"Are you going to visit Harry later?" Violet asked, her voice small as she watched Sawyer pick her gear off the bench and sling her duffel bag over her shoulder. Her wet hair hung in honey-blonde ringlets past her shoulders, soaking into the purple sweatshirt she'd changed into. Her eyes were red-rimmed but she'd stopped weeping as the Chasers left the locker room in a group. "Do you want to come with me?"

"Sure," Sawyer said, pausing in her tracks to face Violet. "I'll meet you at the infirmary. His team's probably going to swarm him the moment he's awake, anyway, so we'll have a better chance of talking to him when they're gone. In the meantime, I'm going to see if Oliver's dead in the showers."

Arching a brow, Violet wiped her nose with the back of her hand. Her features morphing into a deceitfully innocent look. "Are you guys back together yet?"

Sawyer flicked her an impassive look. "No."

"Dammit," Violet said, pouting a little bit in disappointment. "Now I owe Harry ten galleons."

Sawyer blinked, but she chose not to ask about it. She didn't think she wanted to know, anyway. With a promise to meet up with Violet later, Sawyer left the girl's changing room and headed for the boy's. There were two sets of locker rooms built into the wings under the stands. Apparently, the people who built the pitch didn't think it was a good idea to put the two teams together before and after a Quidditch match just incase things got ugly between them. Best to keep them as separate as possible, so both set of locker rooms had been established on either ends of the pitch. Along the way, she bypassed the two Weasley twins, who cast her wary looks.

"If you're looking for Wood, he's still in there," one of them said.

"Yeah, he's grieving," the other scoffed, shaking his head, but his tone was light. "Be gentle, would you? We sort of need him."

Sawyer didn't answer. Instead, she shoved past them, and when she finally reached the boy's changing rooms where the Gryffindors were set up, she leant against the wall at the mouth of the doorway, and when nobody emerged in the next fifteen minutes, she walked in, not caring if anyone saw. Inside the boy's locker room, the floor was wet and slightly grimy, but it didn't smell as bad as she'd initially anticipated. Just the faint must of sweat and deodorant. Sawyer set her bag on one of the benches, careful to keep the strap from dragging on the dirty floor. She'd spotted Oliver's black duffel bag on the bench opposite hers, his things still laid out on top of it. One of the showers was still running towards the back of the chamber, and Sawyer supposed everyone else had vacated, leaving Oliver alone, pity-party of one.

Settling down on the bench, Sawyer kicked the gaping door of a locker shut, and the metallic clang echoed.

"George, I told you, I'm fine— oh," Oliver said, emerging from the showers with a towel thrown over his shoulders and a pair of grey sweatpants slung low around his hips. Surprise flickered over his features for a second when he spotted her straddling the bench before his expression lapsed into an indecipherable mask. He narrowed his eyes at her a little, gauging her intentions, and Sawyer kept her gaze trained on his face, pointedly ignoring everything from the neck-down with great effort. "It's you. Came to gloat?"

"I heard you were grieving," Sawyer mused, lifting one leg up onto the bench. She picked a leaf off the toe of her black Converse. "If its any consolation, we didn't do much celebrating either. They all thought it would be pretty tone-deaf, but I figured you'd accept Cedric's offer for a rematch."

"I didn't," Oliver said, pulling his shirt on.

"Why not?"

"You won," Oliver said, stiffly, chucking his towel into his bag with more force than required, "fair and square."

Frustration was a steely line working his jaw. Sawyer didn't think he was angry at Harry—every time they lost, Oliver never pointed fingers at anyone else but himself—as much as he was furious with the Dementors. Even though Sawyer knew Oliver probably wanted nothing more than to lock himself in his dorm to study more Quidditch plays and draft more diagrams for the next match, he wrapped a hand around her ankle to lift her leg off the bench before settling down in front of her, and rested her leg on his knee. He levelled her with a searching look.

"Don't look at me like that," Sawyer said.

Oliver frowned. "You didn't take your meds today?"

Sawyer shrugged. How he could tell was beyond her. Earlier this morning, when Marcus had watched her take her pills, she'd tongued them until he looked away, and then she'd spat them out into her palm and pocketed them before anyone could catch her in the act. She'd missed her noon dosage the same way. Without the Valium piped through her veins to keep her subdued in a haze, the world had become sharper, and she saw everything the way she used to. Felt all its edges. Even though she knew she shouldn't have missed her dosage—more so because the Dementors could've landed her in the same fate as Harry—she'd done it for her team. She'd done it to win. Without the medication dulling her into nothing but numbness, Sawyer played with the savage ferocity she used to before she'd been diagnosed. All those times prior, they'd lost to the other teams, but with Cedric, they seemed to see hope—real hope, glistening like mirage in the desert—and as though that dangerous mentality had spread via osmosis into Sawyer's head, for the first time since she'd joined the team, she'd wanted it, too. Wanted to win. Same as them.

"I thought the team could use my help," Sawyer said. "We've been steamrolled by you too many times. And y'know, you said you wanted me to play."

Oliver rolled his eyes. "Look, I am happy for you—"

"You're a terrible liar."

"I'm not lying," Oliver said, toying with the laces of her shoe. Sawyer wasn't convinced. Oliver let out a huff. "Fine, maybe I'm a little bit bitter, but it doesn't take away from the fact that you did really well out there."

"I thought you'd like the challenge."

"You stooped that low for me?" Oliver cocked his head. "Did you have fun?"

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Sawyer drawled, scooting closer to him and folding her leg under her so she could be level with him. Touching her fingers to his jaw, she pressed her forehead against his, and felt his breath rush out of him. "Tell me to go."

The tension in his shoulders didn't leave, but Oliver's eyes darkened, and his voice was a whisper as he cupped the back of her neck. "Stay."

And then she kissed him like she wanted to bruise his lips, until the frustration turned into something more, until time ceased to exist.

AUTHOR'S NOTE.
i wanna change the layout of this story but i'm also Lazy with a capital L. like i don't have a problem with this one it's just that i've come up with a much more aesthetically pleasing one like in my outer banks fic but like whatever.

also can we all just.... collectively roast kira bIoodbender for calling harry HAZZA. fuckin aussie....

pictured: kira on the left, me on the right