The castle felt emptier than usual that morning.

You stood in the quiet hallway, trunk packed and ready for the early train. The air smelled faintly of parchment and dust, and even the portraits seemed quieter than normal. You had been transferred to a different school, a move that made sense on paper but tore at your chest.

Oliver Wood appeared from around the corner, carrying his bag slung over one shoulder. His Gryffindor robes were wrinkled, sleeves pushed up, and there was a tension in the way he walked toward you, like he was holding something back.

“Y/N,” he said softly, stopping just short of you. His brown eyes, usually so full of teasing and fire, were shadowed with something heavier.

You tried to smile. “Hi… Oliver.”

He didn’t smile back. He shifted his weight, one hand gripping his bag strap so tightly his knuckles went white. Then, for a long, heavy moment, he just looked at you.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked finally, his voice low. “That you were leaving. That… this was happening.”

“I didn’t know how,” you admitted, voice trembling. “I… I couldn’t say it out loud without crying. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re leaving anyway,” he said, almost to himself. “And I… I should’ve been there. I should’ve stopped this from happening.”

You shook your head, tears threatening to spill. “Oliver, it’s not your fault. I don’t want you to blame yourself.”

He stepped closer, too close for you to step back, the heat of his presence making your chest ache. “I’m not blaming myself.” His voice dropped, softer, rougher, almost desperate. “I’m blaming fate. And I’m blaming that I didn’t… tell you how I feel before now.”

Your heart stuttered. “Oliver—”

He cut you off with a movement so sudden and yet so gentle that it stole your breath. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing against your temple. Then, he leaned in, closing the distance, and pressed his lips to yours.

It was brief, tentative at first, almost questioning. But as you melted into it, you felt the weight of everything between you — every unspoken word, every laugh, every late-night practice, every shared secret — and it all poured into that kiss.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and he whispered, “I should’ve done this sooner. I should’ve told you.”