Oliver Wood

The little boy's reputation became impeccable; he was noble and pure. There weren't many Olivers in a sligo.

His life went on, and on each birthday there were two or three more people until there wasn't enough room in the dining room, so he used to celebrate his birthdays in the back garden. There was Donnie, the little son of the Wood couple, the noble and sweet boy, although shy at times.

And that shyness stemmed from her roots.

He remembers that afternoon perfectly. He used to read comics about wizards and witches, and even though he knew it was metafiction and that something like magic wasn't logical, he decided to try flying. He grabbed a broomstick and walked to his balcony. A breath of cold air filled him, and he flew out without thinking. Fortunately, there were no broken bones, no injuries, and no tears, but there was euphoria. He flew calmly around his garden, and once his thoughts had calmed down, he felt fear. He ran to his parents. Yes, he cried, he cried because he was afraid of not being normal. And even though flying was incredibly cool, something inside him kept telling him that it wasn't normal...

And a year later, his letter to Hogwarts was among his gifts, and with it, the opportunity to make friends in a place where everyone was like him.

They were fully aware of the responsibility they were undertaking; it wasn't just an act of compassion, but a complete change in their lives. Edinburgh, with its accumulated past and weakened ties, no longer made sense as a place to begin this new chapter. Therefore, shortly afterward, they decided to leave.

They packed what they needed and traveled to Ireland, settling in Sligo. It was a quieter area, with fewer connections to their previous life. For Linden, it represented a return to her roots; for Snow, an opportunity to build something different from scratch.

The environment was cold, but less hostile, more open, more suitable for raising a child away from immediate questions. There, in that secluded village, in that warm house with that perfect backyard for running around.

Oliver grew up with an abundance of love, patience, and respect. His early years were peaceful; he wasn't a baby who cried much, he slept plenty, and sometimes he received more attention than he asked for. He didn't experience an unstable childhood like many others; in fact, he had a remarkably normal life.

But as soon as he entered preschool, he realized something: he was a complete stranger.

In Sligo, families had been in those lands for centuries; that is to say, there weren't many new faces. Most of the population were retirees looking for a quiet place to spend their later years. This affected Oliver. The locals were somewhat wary of foreigners, most of them holding misconceptions or beliefs passed down through generations.

Even so, little Wood worked twice as hard, creating beautiful projects. From a young age, he excelled in the arts, particularly in his drawings and paintings. His social skills were well-known; he helped those in need, defended those suffering at the hands of others, and even offered advice to the elderly, innocent but well-intentioned.

Both were nearing fifty, and although they didn't say so openly, weariness was beginning to show in the way they lived their days. That December 24th passed without incident. They were in the living room, sharing a bottle of wine, conversing peacefully. The atmosphere was intimate, restrained, with no expectations beyond simply getting through the night.

That's when they heard knocking at the door; it wasn't violent, but it was urgent. When they opened it, they found a young woman, visibly affected by the cold. Her condition left no room for doubt: she needed immediate help.

In her arms she carried a baby wrapped in blankets that no longer seemed sufficient; they asked no questions at that moment. They let her in. Linden went to the kitchen to prepare something hot, while Snow took care of getting the guest room ready. The woman didn't speak much. She moved with a mixture of haste and exhaustion, as if she were completing one last task.

At some point, she left the baby on an armchair, in a place where the warmth of the house still lingered. Next to him, she placed a short note. When the child's cry broke the silence, the situation became clear: the woman was gone.

There was no discussion between Linden and Snow; they both understood what was happening and what it implied: the baby, approximately seven months old, had been left in their care with no guarantee that anyone would return for him.

The note contained an apology, nothing more; it offered no explanations, no direction, no instructions. From that moment on, they made a decision that did not respond to logic or prior planning, but which turned out to be definitive: they took charge of him.

They named him Oliver Donovan Wood. The name “Oliver” was chosen by them; “Donovan” came from the note, one of the few clues the woman left behind. They didn't understand what it really meant in the baby's life, but they decided to keep it.

“merry christmas, please don't call”…

Oliver “Donnie” Donovan was born in late February in Edinburgh, Scotland, or at least that's what his birth certificate said. For years, that information was enough, or at least that's what he tried to convince himself of. However, there was something persistent in the back of his mind, a hard-to-name unease that didn't fade with time. It wasn't a clear doubt, but a constant feeling that the story wasn't complete.

Mr. Snow and Mrs. Linden Wood were a stable couple, the kind who, from the outside, seemed to have settled down with discretion and order. They had a well-maintained house, sufficient income, routines that worked, and a relationship based on affection and respect. But within that equilibrium, there was an absence they were never able to fill: they couldn't have children.

At first they took it calmly, convinced it was just a matter of time. Then came the failed attempts, the medical consultations, the inconclusive diagnoses, and the repeated recommendations. The years began to accumulate without results, and what had initially been hope eventually faded away. As time passed, they stopped talking about it as often, until eventually they stopped talking about it altogether.

There wasn't an exact moment when they gave up on the idea, but there was a stage when they began to live without it.

That winter, as in previous years, they decided to spend Christmas at Snow's parents' old house in Edinburgh. It was a large property, laden with family memories that had grown quiet over time. The gatherings that once filled the place had vanished, and what remained was a kind of refuge they returned to more out of habit than necessity.

Oliver is neither indifferent nor calculating. He is someone who feels deeply, but who has learned to survive by keeping his feelings to himself. And in his relationships, this duality—between what he wants and what he allows himself to do—is what defines him most.

The problem isn't what he feels, but what he does with it. If the person he's with fits within what's considered "acceptable," there's no visible conflict: he can be open, even proud of the relationship. In those cases, he seems secure, present, almost effortless. But when the relationship involves risk—stares, rumors, rejection, anything that threatens his place within what he's built—something in him changes. He doesn't stop feeling, but he begins to divide himself. He keeps the relationship private, reduces public displays of affection, chooses his words carefully, and avoids situations that could expose them. He doesn't do this out of contempt, but out of fear. Fear of losing stability, of being singled out, of shattering the image he's worked so hard to maintain.

At times like these, Oliver can become contradictory: intimately close, yet outwardly distant. This creates constant tension. On one hand, he wants to protect the person he cares about; on the other, he tries to protect himself. And in this attempt to balance both, he sometimes ends up hurting others unintentionally. Not because he doesn't care, but because he doesn't know how to fully exist without feeling like he's risking everything.

Emotionally, he tends to keep his feelings to himself, especially when he knows that expressing them could complicate things. He prefers silence to conflict, the implicit to the direct. This can make him seem cold or inconsistent, when in reality he is grappling with a deep insecurity about his place in the world and how much he can allow himself to be without consequences.

Even so, when he feels safe, when he senses he doesn't need to hide, Oliver changes. He becomes more present, more honest, warmer. In those moments, his way of loving is genuine, caring, and deeply loyal. He's not someone who plays with other people's feelings, but he is someone who sometimes loses himself trying not to lose everything.

Oliver's personality is complex, but not in an obvious way, rather in the small gestures that are repeated until they become a pattern.

He is a calm, proper person, easy to like from the outside, with a presence that is not intrusive and a measured, almost careful way of speaking. However, that gentleness is not entirely spontaneous: it is built on years of observing, adapting, and understanding which version of himself works best in each environment.
He grew up being "the good boy," and that ended up shaping him more than he'd like to admit.

Oliver knows how to behave, how to fit in, how to avoid unnecessary tension. He doesn't try to manipulate anyone, but he does avoid exposing himself more than necessary. He has a constant need for balance, to not shatter the image others already have of him, even when that image doesn't entirely match what he feels.

He is empathetic, attentive, the kind of person who perceives even the slightest changes in his surroundings. He is usually looking out for others, offering support without being asked, reading silences, understanding discomfort. But that same sensitivity makes him especially aware of social judgment, of what is considered acceptable and what is not.

This becomes more evident in their relationships.
Oliver doesn't love lightly. When he connects with someone, he does it for real, with an intensity he doesn't always know how to handle.

✦ Age:

• eighteen
  ✦ house:
  — Gryffindor
  ✦ Status:
• pure
  ✦ amortentia:
  — wet earth, rain and tea
  ✦ Patronus:
  — golden retriever dog
  ✦ interests:
  — Quidditch, drawing and film