I own nothing.

For the Mirror of Erised Competition – my character was Oliver Wood. My prompt was stubborn.

Summary: "Of course it will be him holding the Quidditch cup aloft. That's got to be his heart's deepest desire… right?" What does Oliver see in the Mirror of Erised? Preslash, sort of.

Many, many thanks go to intrepidfish, for being a fantastic beta for this! She also gets credit for the awesome title. Any mistakes that may remain are, of course, mine.

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"As Soon As Forever is Through, I'll Be Over You"

"Oliver!" Percy yells, rushing after him. "Oliver, would you slow down!"

Oliver whirls around. "Shouldn't you be with Penelope?" he spits out. Percy doesn't even flinch. He's used to the way Oliver gets after losing all chances at the Quidditch cup.

Finally catching up, Percy stops. "She can wait," he says. His eyes say what his voice doesn't; 'The world can wait when it's you.'

Oliver shakes his head at Percy's words, and Percy sighs internally, realizing that Oliver hasn't understood his silent words. "Percy, your girlfriend was just Petrified," Oliver says flatly.

"Precisely. She's petrified. She'll have no idea if I'm there or not." He twists his lips into something resembling a wry smile.

Oliver's eyes widen slightly at the… callousness of Percy's statement. It's not like Percy, Oliver knows, to be so indifferent when his girlfriend is in the Hospital wing. He should be upset, panicking, at her side. Percy just shrugs, though, so Oliver spins around again and stalks off rapidly. Percy's long legs help him keep pace easily.

"Oliver, where are you going?" Percy asks. Oliver's normally a fast walker – he's always full of energy – but this is more rapid, more agitated.

"I don't know."

"Why, then?" Percy knows better than to try to talk to Oliver when he gets like this, but he can't help himself; it's not in his nature to leave things alone.

"I don't know."

"Well, what-"

"Perce, would you please just shut up for a moment!"

Percy snaps his mouth shut, biting off whatever he was planning on saying. He looks slightly hurt, but while Oliver feels bad, he doesn't feel bad enough to apologize. Not yet. His blood is still boiling. Professor McGonagall just doesn't get it. She doesn't seem to understand that you don't just cancel Quidditch, regardless of whether there's a monster loose in the school or not. It seems kind of heartless of him, when he stops to think about it, but Oliver doesn't mean it to be. It's just, canceling Quidditch feels too much like giving up, letting the darkness win. It's like saying that they're just going to lie down and let themselves be trampled on; it's saying that whoever is doing this gets to dictate how they behave.

Abruptly, Oliver turns down a corridor. Percy speaks up timidly. "Um, Ol? We're not supposed to be down here. This is out-of-bounds."

Oliver glowers, and Percy shuts up.

The corridor dead-ends at a door. At this point, Oliver couldn't care less, so he throws open the door recklessly. It's largely anticlimactic. The room is almost empty, save for a tall mirror at the other end – the fancy type, with the gold embellishments around the side.

Oliver grimaces. He was kind of hoping for something dangerous – something he could take his frustration out on.

Percy, though, seems fascinated by the mirror. He walks forward in a state of almost awe.

"No way," he murmurs. "It can't be." He's steps up near the mirror and lifts his hand, tracing the engraving at the top. "Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi," he says softly. Then he traces his hand over it backwards, from the end of the sentence to the beginning. "I show not your face but your heart's desire."

He turns around – Oliver notices that he still hasn't looked in the mirror – and speaks excitedly. "Oliver, do you know what this is?"

"No idea," Oliver drawls, and he doesn't much care. It's just a mirror, and he's not in the mood for a Percy-lecture right now.

"This is the Mirror of Erised!" Percy exclaims. "The Mirror of Desire! It's been missing for ages!"

Oliver gazes at him blankly. "You're aware," he says, "that that means nothing to me?"

Percy isn't remotely phased by this. "The Mirror of Erised reflects the deepest desire of one's heart. It reflects a person the way he or she truly wishes to be." He pauses. "I wonder…" he says without turning around. It's almost like… like he doesn't want to know.

Slowly, Percy turns around to face the mirror. Oliver can't see what Percy sees; standing off to the side as he is, he only sees Percy's reflection. It's clear from Percy's eyes, though, that that's not what Percy is seeing.

His eyes go wide with awe and something like wistful longing. He reaches a hand out as though to touch the image in the mirror, but when his long fingers touch the cool glass, he jerks back as though burned. He can't seem to tear his eyes away.

Abruptly, he blinks and quickly turns back around. "I see how people have gone mad before this mirror," he murmurs softly. "Our desires are dangerous things."

"What'd you see?" Oliver asks, actually mildly intrigued now. The fury that's been slithering underneath his skin since McGonagall's announcement about the Quidditch cup has mellowed into a dull, resigned disappointment. At this point, Oliver figures he really shouldn't be surprised. The world seems out to get him when it comes to Quidditch. In the six years Oliver has been at Hogwarts, by talent alone, Gryffindor should have won every year. Charlie Weasley, after all, was an astoundingly good Seeker, and Harry Potter is even better, yet they still can't seem to win the whole thing.

It's immensely frustrating, and Oliver's well aware that, after this year's fiasco, he only has one more shot.

Snapping back to the present, Oliver sees Percy shake his head. This is mildly surprising – Percy and Oliver have been best friends since their first year, even if it wasn't immediate. Still, by the end of that year, they'd grown to respect each other, and, given they were the only two Gryffindor boys in their year, it seemed only natural that respect grew into close friendship.

As far as Oliver knows, Percy has never kept secrets from him. And Oliver has never kept secrets from Percy. Well, except for- But Oliver doesn't want to think about that.

"C'mon, Perce, what'd you see?"

Percy meets Oliver's eyes, and there's something unrecognizable glimmering in Percy's blue eyes. "I'd rather not say."

Oliver, who knows very well how stubborn Percy can be, knows that it's a lost cause. Still, he mutters, "It's not like it could be anything bad, right?"

Percy closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "Please, Oliver," he says without opening his eyes. "Drop it."

Oliver nods, which Percy somehow seems to sense, because he opens his eyes and they're grateful now. "Thank you."

Oliver shrugs, and Percy moves from his position in front of the mirror. "Go on, then. Have a look."

Silently, Oliver shakes his head.

He's not sure he even needs to look to know – of course it will be him holding the Quidditch cup aloft. Of course it will. That's been his dream for years. That's got to be his heart's deepest desire… right?

Percy frowns a bit at Oliver's refusal. "Why not?"

The thought that goes through Oliver's mind, though he doesn't say it aloud, is that he doesn't really want to know. He's sure of what it will be… but what if it isn't? What if it's something he's better off not seeing? It seems a bit irrational, given that the mirror shows a person's deepest desire. What can be so bad?

That remains the crux of it though; he's not sure he wants to know.

Percy's eyebrows furrow at Oliver's lack of response. Suddenly, he smirks slightly, an expression that has always looked all wrong on Percy's face. "I won't let you waste away chasing a dream, if that's what you're scared of."

Affronted, Oliver crosses his arms. "It's not, thank you. I'm not scared."

Percy arches an eyebrow. "Oh?" He sounds skeptical. Oliver knows what he's doing – he's trying to goad Oliver into it. Still, despite Oliver knowing Percy's trick, it still works. Oliver turns towards the mirror.

Still, there's a slight hesitation in his step. It's not without trepidation that he centers himself in front of the mirror and gazes into its depths.

No trophy gleams back at him.

"Da." Oliver can't stop the word from escaping his mouth. He's just shocked that his father is standing in the mirror. Oliver blinks to make sure he's seeing correctly – his father is smiling at him gently, in approval.

Oliver shuts eyes tightly, telling himself over and over that it's not real. He doesn't want false hope. He's not coming back, Oliver tells himself firmly. He's not coming back.

Oliver remembers how hard it was, at the beginning of the summer. He remembers trying to explain that there was a reason Oliver had never brought home a girlfriend, and it likely wasn't going to happen because he just wasn't into girls that way. He remembers his father yelling, and Oliver yelling back. He remembers screaming, "I didn't choose this, okay!" and then stomping off to his room.

He remembers staring at the ceiling, listening to his parents screaming at each other loudly. He remembers everything going silent at around three a.m. He remembers giving up on any possibility of sleep at around six and shuffling into the kitchen for a cup of tea.

He remembers still waiting for his father to come home the next day. And the next day. And the next day.

He remembers realizing that his father wasn't coming home.

Eventually he opens his eyes again, and this time he surveys the whole scene in the mirror. It's not just him and his father; Mirror-Oliver stands with his arm around Percy, and his mother stands smiling at his shoulder. Mirror-Oliver looks a bit miffed that Percy is taller than him – the look on his face conveys that he'd have his arm around Mirror-Percy's shoulders if he could. Still, even the playful irritation on his face doesn't spoil the scene – it only serves to make it feel more realistic.

Oliver's gaze slides sideway, glancing at the tangible version of Percy standing off to the side, leaning against the wall, trying to look relaxed and failing – his muscles are taut even as he reclines, and he looks like his barely keeping himself from asking the same question Oliver did. A red curl tumbles artlessly from the rest, falling across Percy's forehead. Oliver's hand flinches involuntarily, wanting to brush it back but knowing that he can't – or at least shouldn't.

The smile that spreads across Oliver's face as he turns his gaze back to the mirror feels tainted and bittersweet. He doesn't want to want this scene, he doesn't want to hope for it, but he does. He can't help himself; he aches for it. But he knows in his heart that it will never happen. His father isn't coming back, and there's no way on Earth he's risking his friendship with Percy, so it's just not going to happen.

But even cool logic can't numb the ache.