It happens on a rainy evening in the Gryffindor common room.

You’re searching for your Charms notes, digging through the pile of parchment you accidentally knocked off the table. Most of it is yours—scribbled homework, doodles, receipts from Honeydukes. But one envelope is different.

Thicker parchment. Neatly folded. Your name written on the front in handwriting you know anywhere.

Oliver Wood’s.

Your breath catches. He hadn’t given you anything. Not recently. Not ever, actually—not something this personal.

Curiosity pulls harder than caution. You open it.

Inside is a letter… and it’s not just any letter.

Your heart begins pounding as you read:

Dear (Y/N), I’m writing this because I can’t say it. Not to your face. Not when you smile at me like I’m someone brave and not a coward who can’t speak his own feelings. Every time I see you on the stands, or in class, or walking down the corridor with that look like you’re carrying a universe in your head—I forget every strategy, every play, every word I planned to say. Maybe this is silly. Maybe this is weak. But I can’t keep it in anymore. I like you. More than I should. More than I can afford to, with the Cup coming up and my head supposed to be focused. But Merlin, every time you laugh, it’s worse. I want to tell you. I want to reach for your hand. I want to ask you to sit with me by the lake again. But I won’t. Because what if it ruins everything? What if you don’t feel the same? What if you walk away? So I’ll keep this letter sealed. And I’ll keep my feelings quiet. As long as you’re in my life—even just as a friend—that’s enough. Yours, unfortunately and completely, Oliver

Your fingers tremble.

Oliver Wood—focused, intense, unbreakable Oliver—wrote this. About you. And hid it.

You swallow hard, clutching the paper against your chest.

“Hey—did you find your notes?”

Your head jerks up. He’s standing in front of you, hair damp from the rain, broom in one hand. He freezes when he sees the open letter.

His expression shatters.

“Oh no.” His voice is barely a whisper. “You weren’t supposed to find that.”

Your throat tightens. “Oliver… why didn’t you tell me?”

He closes his eyes, jaw clenching in that way he does when he’s bracing for impact. “Because I didn’t want to lose you.”