AN: Written for PrimroseAmelia's Those Voices Challenge.

So maybe I wasn't Hogwarts' most experienced drinker. And maybe I didn't go to these parties very much, which really means that I never go to these parties. I know that I shouldn't have come; it was obvious from the beginning that he had just invited me to embarrass me, in front of her. I had to come though, for her. Merlin, I am such a masochist. But even in my not-so-sober mind I had enough sense to leave. I didn't want to end up confessing my undying love to some random person (though in my case I doubt it would be anyone but her I confessed to) like Edward McMillan last month.

So here I was, stumbling through the halls after I had managed to get out of the dungeons in a strange drunken haze. I would never be able to get back to the Ravenclaw common room in this state, let alone be able to answer the question. I didn't even know what floor I was on! I'm going to be found tomorrow, collapsed in some random hallway. That was the thought that made my decision. I did not want to suffer further embarrassment. So instead of continuing on my search I stumbled over to the closest door and entered what seemed to be an abandoned classroom. All of the desks had been pushed to one side of the wall and they had a thick layer of dust covering them. On the other side of the room was a large objects covered by a sheet.

Let me say that I have a curious nature. Not curious as in weird (though I am that too) but curious as in I have to know what everything is. So usually I would have peaked under the sheet to see what was hidden under there. But, as I have pointed out I am hammered because of the large amounts of firewhiskey I have drunk tonight. So instead of peeking under it I took a large fistful of the fabric and pulled. The sheet made a strong whoosh as it moved through the air before it pooled at my feet. I paid no attention to that; my gaze was glued to my reflection.

There I stood in the mirror, gazing back at me smiling. Though his eyes were less buggy and he was older than my sixteen years it was obvious that he was me. But there was another staring back at me from the mirror, smiling. I glanced quickly to the right, making sure I was alone in the room (I was) before turning back to the mirror. There I stood my arm wrapped around her waist as if it belonged and her hand resting on my chest (which seemed much more defined in the mirror) as if this was the only place she wanted to be in the world. The golden rings that glinted from both of their fingers were unmistakable. They were married.

Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru out on woshi, I show not your face but your heart's desire. Well that made sense; I had thought I was going mad for a moment. More mad than usual anyway. I stroked her face for a moment, only feeling cool glass under my fingertips. She was there, just underneath my fingertips. I smiled sadly at the false reflection. I pondered the idea of staying here, admiring this reality, until I was hungry enough to dine with the devil himself (and by devil I mean him) but that idea was shot down immediately shot down. It was simply irrational.

The mirror's image was not real, it couldn't be. Minerva McGonagall would never be married to me. She has him. He is going to be great (the greatest wizard the world had ever seen). Why would she want me, odd and curious Stephen Ollivander, when she could have the greatness of Albus Dumbledore?