*disclaimer: i just wanna reiterate that i condone none of sawyer's behaviour in this chapter and any of the previous (and ensuing) chapters that contain violence. but, like, this one especially.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN life and no escape
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OLIVER WOOD CLOSED A FIST around his Hogwarts supply list, buried in the pocket of his grey hoodie as he shouldered his way through the bustling crowd in Diagon Alley. Even though it was only the beginning of August, people were already shopping for school supplies, worried that stock might run low and they'd have to wait eons before new shipment arrived, and by then, they'd have to play catch-up in school after missing out so much content. Earlier, he'd smiled and greeted a few familiar faces, but stopped to engage in conversation with none. None who were worth his time yet, anyhow. He gripped his list tighter, patted his pocket to check for his wallet, and squeezed past the relentless tide.
Pain spiked through his body as stray elbows caught on his ribs and unforgiving shoulders collided with his, but it dulled in comparison to the injuries he'd sustained in the name of Quidditch. At least he wasn't being suffocated by the unceasing press of bodies and some blood-curdling smells that clung to them. Oliver was tall enough to be able to look over the heads of a good portion of the sea of people, and years of Quidditch practice and running had built him up with a more broad-shouldered, sinewy physique than most. Getting past this crowd wouldn't be a problem. He wondered how Sawyer—in all her five-foot-flat glory—was faring in a crowd like this. Amusement ghosted a smug grin across his lips. Until he remembered that it wouldn't be fun for other people around her either, having to be crowded in with a girl who was all rough edges and indifferent to those who cut themselves open on them.
Turning a corner into a less-populated cobble-stoned alley of shops, Oliver chanced upon the lapse in chaos to pull the list out of his pocket. It'd come in the mail a couple weeks after his OWLs results had been delivered to his door, and the immense relief doubled when he realised that he would be starting his first NEWTs year at Hogwarts instead of fated to be a homeless failure forever. Smoothing out the creases on the page, he scanned the items required for sixth year. Books for his NEWTs classes were printed in neat, cursive on the piece of parchment paper, but his eyes caught more fervently on the words he'd penciled in himself and circled twice emphatically in red marker underneath all the mandatory supplies.
New Quidditch equipment.
A warm glow sparks in his chest. Not many things have the ability to incite a feeling this visceral, but Quidditch makes up about ninety-five percent of those things. After obtaining his school books for the year, he'll be dragging Wyatt to Quality Quidditch Supplies.
Shoving the list back into his pocket, Oliver glowered bemusedly at the swarming crowd, before diving back in and elbowing his way through.
