Author: Fleur (spintwin
Disclaimer: Everything you recognise is JK Rowling's.
Summary: Oliver and Percy should have been much more than they were. O/P, of a sort.
They had both always wanted to be the best. To be the most. To be perfect. Anything less would have crushed either of them, because not only did they want to be that -- they expected it of themselves.
"I want to be the most powerful wizard ever," Percy whispered a night they were twelve, and Oliver understood.
"I want to be the best Quidditch player ever," he replied, and there was a pact. They were both to be perfect one day.
And then one of them became Head Boy and the other became the Quidditch captain, and everybody knows that Head Boys don't deign to have friendships with anyone, let alone the captain of the House sports team. And things were more uncomfortable then, and the occasional, "Best of luck for the game, Oliver," and, "Did you have any idea what Snape was on about today?", or, "The twins reckon you have a girlfriend, why didn't you say something?" became the only words they exchanged.
When they left school, they looked at each other and remembered how they had promised to be perfect for each other. To be, perhaps, even though they hadn't realised, perfect with each other. But of course it didn't happen, because Head Boys and Quidditch Captains were not alike and were not friends and certainly, certainly didn't fall in love.
Oliver thought about him, still.
When Oliver let a goal through, right before he smacked himself across the forehead for his lapse in concentration or speed or agility or perfection, he would remember Percy, and something inside himself realised that he wasn't just letting himself down in lack of perfection, he was letting down the memory of an awkward twelve year old boy whose glasses were too big for his face.
Of course, Percy never thought of Oliver. Percy worked and handed reports in a week before they were due and had his coworkers sniggering about him behind his back. Percy didn't think of anyone but his superiors, didn't think of anything but his ambition and his perfection and the way he'd tie his ties when he was named Minister of Magic.
Once, he caught sight of Oliver's name in the Daily Prophet. He hadn't been looking for it, of course, it was simply that he was folding the sports section in order to fan the day's heat away from his neck.
The droplets of sweat were unmoved and he resorted to a simple drying spell.
It was a shame that Percy had forgotten. Because he was perfect for himself, but Oliver was perfect for him.