Before the war, before the darkness, before the mark burned into your skin… there was only Oliver.

You and Oliver Wood had grown up together inside the walls of Hogwarts. First year hand-holding through moving staircases. Second year sneaking into the kitchens together. By third year, he was already Keeper—and you were already the one he looked for in the stands after every save.

By fourth year, everyone knew. By fifth year, you were inseparable. By sixth year… you were in love.

He loved loudly. Recklessly. Completely. He kissed you without shame in empty corridors. He bragged about you without even realizing it. He planned a future like the war didn’t exist.

And you let yourself believe him.

Until Voldemort decided blood could be used as a weapon.

You were taken in the middle of the night. No explanations. No mercy. You weren’t asked—you were punished. Marked not for loyalty… but for leverage. Your dad was once a bad guy and well someone has to be punished

And Voldemort’s final cruelty was not making you a Death Eater. It was giving you a single command afterward:

“Kill the one you love.”

Fire ripped through the sky. Hogwarts screamed.

You stood among the Death Eaters, mask hiding your face, wand shaking in your hand. You had already disobeyed dozens of orders—but this one stood in front of you now, alive, breathing, fighting.

Oliver Wood.

He turned a corner in the ruined corridor and froze when he saw you. A Death Eater. Wand raised. Waiting.

Fear flashed across his face. Real, raw fear.

“Please,” he said quietly, lifting his wand with shaking hands. “I don’t want to fight you.”

Your chest collapsed inward.

You raised your wand. Your arm trembled violently. Every muscle locked.

You tried. You truly tried.

And you couldn’t do it.

Your breathing shattered behind the mask. Your vision blurred with tears you weren’t allowed to shed.

Oliver stared. Your hesitation was wrong. Your shaking was wrong. Your silence was wrong.

Then your eyes met through the mask’s hollow stare.

And his world broke.

“…Y/N?” he whispered.