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ONE OF THESE DAYS, the Hufflepuff team was going to form a mutiny. It was already edging into the first week of October, Quidditch season was fast approaching on a collision course, and Nia had no reserves about working her players down to the bone, pushing and pushing to their limits without mercy. Determined as they were, the Hufflepuffs were slowly losing steam with each gruelling drill, even as they fought tooth and nail to keep up, to keep going, to keep their enthusiastic front up. At one point, Sawyer even overheard one of the Chasers contemplate under her breath the pros and cons of flying in a straight line from the pitch until the Whomping Willow took her out.
By now, Violet was at the ides of her three weeks to prove her position on the team. Time was running out, and while her learning curve wasn't a horizontal line, any improvement that'd shown itself from the first week had slowed its pace. That wasn't the most concerning issue, however. Day-by-day, the tiny pixie of a girl—who'd already been physically weaker than the rest to begin with—was starting to wear a little thinner, and her face was visibly less coloured in with life than when Sawyer has first met her. Something was off. But each time Sawyer asked Violet about her gradual yet noticeable change in appearance, Violet would plaster on a bright grin, muster as much conviction as possible in her already diminished state, as though she weren't on the verge of collapsing into dust there and then, and say, "I'm fine, Sawyer, don't worry about me."
The same mantra over and over again. Sometimes, Sawyer couldn't tell if Violet was trying to convince herself or Sawyer.
Albeit, Sawyer didn't buy an inch of Violet's lies. She knew there would be no point trying to force the truth out of Violet, hence, she'd resolved to keeping an eye on Violet.
This afternoon's training was graced by the absence of the sun, which came as a welcome change. With the elimination of the natural heat, came a surplus of motivation to keep fighting against the lethargy that ate away at their muscles and aching joints. Nia had organised a mock Quidditch match in the last hour of practice, including the reserve players. Three Chasers, two Beaters, one Keeper, and one Seeker on each side. When Nia allocated Sawyer to one team and Violet on the other, Sawyer fully expected Nia to crucify Violet while Sawyer wasn't there to clean up the jagged edges.
But between screaming instructions, there were the moments Nia showed her approval. And Sawyer played, half-hearted, with none of her head in the game, but watching Violet every step of the way, from the second they kicked off into the air and the scrimmage flipped on its head from competitive to aggressive.
"You're not marking the offensive close enough, Fletcher!"
"Heads-up, Harriet!"
"Bludger!"
A bludger shot past Sawyer, only missing one of the Chasers on her team by mere centimetres. Shaken, the Chaser righted herself before pursuing the Quaffle, now in the possession of the opposing team. Another bludger came hurtling towards a nearby Chaser in the back quarter of the home goal. Sawyer stared after it with cool eyes and no intentions of playing catch-up. The reserve Beater on her team would clean up after her anyway.
