SOME KIND OF DISASTER ─ oliver wood

[ 030 ] paper planes

CHAPTER THIRTY
paper planes

"I THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO DIE," Quinn said, her voice weak as Sawyer forcibly spoon-fed her mouthfuls of porridge that had the colour and consistency of sludge in mechanical motions. She was still in her grey sweatshirt and sweatpants from her morning run, having not bothered to change once someone sent word that Quinn was awake.

Oliver was at her shoulder, arms crossed over his chest. While they were stretching out, Sawyer filled him in with what happened to Quinn last night. Without hesitating, he'd offered to accompany her to the infirmary to visit Quinn, didn't listen when Sawyer shook her head at him, and came anyway. They both skipped breakfast in the Great Hall, and, instead, grabbed slices of toast from the kitchen directly before heading towards the infirmary. The others were still in their first class of the day. Conveniently, both Oliver and Sawyer had free periods. Even if she didn't, Sawyer would've come anyway. Quinn was her girl, after all. Who was Sawyer if not the sole protector of her little tribe?

"You had a diva moment," Sawyer said, and scooped up a little spilled residue from the corner of Quinn's mouth with the tip of the spoon.

"So this is why you didn't show to Astronomy last night," Oliver said, picking up a little cup of pills on the bedside table. A mix of vitamins and medicine Quinn had been instructed to take once she finished her meal.

Quinn grimaces. Medication is a very private, very tender matter to the ill. "Not to be rude, but why are you here again? Didn't you two—"

Sawyer shoved another spoonful of porridge into Quinn's mouth. "You fainted because you've been picking at your food like a child. Don't fight me on this, you won't win," she said, when Quinn let out a shrill sound in protest.

"We're friends," Oliver said, simply. They were a little more than that, a little way past friends, but the finer details didn't matter and Quinn took the explanation without pressing further anyway.

"It's the Dementors, I'm telling you," Quinn said. "I read about them. They literally feed off our emotions. Every good feeling goes away. That's why we've been spiralling." Quinn touches a finger to Sawyer's bandaged hand. The cuts still stung, but Sawyer couldn't stop making fists just to see the blood break out of the scabs. Already, they were healing up, but Sawyer wanted to hold onto the pain a little longer. Call it sentiment. Sawyer tugged her hand away and dug her elbow into Quinn's thigh in warning. Quinn winced, jerking violently.

"Spiralling?" Oliver's brows furrowed, and his gaze flicked to Sawyer's bandaged hand. He took a seat on one of the chairs Madam Pomfrey had offered them by Quinn's bedside and reclined, shoving his hands into the pocket of his red Puddlemere United sweatshirt. Earlier, Oliver had asked about her hand, but Sawyer had given him one of her usual non-answers. Oliver didn't push the subject either, probably figuring that she'd tell him in her own time if she wanted to. Judging by the troubled look in his riven-granite eyes, Sawyer had a feeling he was going to breach it again.

Quinn nodded, eyes shifting in discomfort. "I've been on my meds for a long time, and they've been working really well. But suddenly the Dementors are here and it's like... I can't stop feeling anxious about everything. It's like an assault on the senses. I had to leave in the middle of Herbology because two of them passed by the greenhouse. I didn't come out of the bathroom for the next three classes because I was just a mess."

"You should go to Dumbledore with this," Oliver said. "He could sort something out."

"Already have," Madam Pomfrey huffed, her features pinched as she pushed a cart filled with medicine bottles quaking, and it sounds like a thousand rattlesnakes. "Day in, day out, I have students coming in because they're depressed, because they tried to cut themselves, because they hurt—" her eyes met Sawyer's and something dark and meaningful transmuted the angered spark in them— "and I'm sick of it! What they do to you, to all you poor babies..."