This may be the last part, cause nothing else has been written yet.
<3 <3 <3
"Harry! Harry!" The annoying petulant voice of Hermione was following him down the corridor. Harry had had enough. He couldn't practise his famous air guitar with Hermione yelling at him.
"What?!" He spun round and yelled. Her face crumpled, before wiping itself clean and returning to a panicked urgent look.
"I think Voldemort is alive!" Hermione cried, her words jumbling all together.
"What?" Harry asked, softer this time, but full of disbelief.
"Harry, I think Voldemort is alive." Hermione stated, drawing herself up into a professional, fearless stance, head held high.
"What makes you say that?"
"Well I was looking in the library and seeing as Madam Pince is dead, I figured that I would go look in the restricted section. There's this really difficult spell where you can see where the trails of someone's soul are. It's kind of like looking to see when someone died, if they left anything behind, just a mystic piece of soul, not a Horcrux. It's very difficult but I figured I would try it." At this, Harry rolled his eyes, starting to get impatient. Still the same old Hermione. "So, I searched for Snape and Scarfy, you know, just to test it out. There's still a bit of Scarfy with Sorty and I'm not that surpri-"
"Hermione, get on with it!" Harry demanded grumpily. He really wanted to get back to his air guitar and if Voldemort was really still out there, it meant there was another war on their hands, which, if it was anything like the last one, was gonna end badly, with minimal chances for totally awesome air guitar shredding with Ron.
"Well, finally I looked for Voldemort, just to see if there's anything left and there is a massive section of his soul still here. With the amount of soul that was there, he has to still be alive and mostly in one piece!" She sounded on the verge of a nervous breakdown at this point, her hands fluttering like restless snitches, bunching up and releasing her hair in rapid, ragged progressions.
"No no no no! He can't be back! Not again!" Harry said, shaking his head and pacing up and down the corridor.
"I'm sorry, Harry, but it's true." Hermione lifted a shaking hand to his shoulder and he pulled her into his arms in a tight hug, for lack of anything better to do. To remind himself that, if there was another war coming, he had people he had to fight for. Even Herman.
"C'mon, we have to go warn the others." He stated as he steeled himself for the doubtlessly rowdy conversation that was about to come. Hermione watched her friend stiffen, becoming Harry Potter, the hero that the whole world revered and adored, as her soft air guitar player, lost boy of a friend was pushed to the back. This was going to be very hard on him, especially if he has to give yet more of his already limited treasures up to save everyone again.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
"This i-is Sarah." Quirrell announced to the room. Tyler stood, a bright grin fixed on his face, holding out a hand to her in greeting. Voldemort didn't move from the couch that he had curled up on defensively when she arrived, and just watched instead, trying to avoid glaring at her, for Quirrell's sake.
Sarah was dressed in a pretty floral dress, hair braided back and Quirrell was dressed in a nice, dark blue shirt and jeans, lent to him, yet again, by Tyler. Quirrell's hand was curled around her waist and the sight made him want to be sick.
"Th-this is Tyler a-and that's Voldemort." The pale wizard forced a smile onto his face, but he didn't get up to greet Sarah. The smile came out more like a grimace, though she didn't seem to be bothered. She sent him a warm, genuine smile before turning it onto Quirrell again. Voldemort looked away and didn't catch the small sad smile that his friend sent his way from over Sarah's shoulder.
"It's lovely to meet you both. Q has told me lots of lovely things about you." Voldemort bristled at her politeness to the two of them, resisting the urge to spit Quirrell's name at her. She couldn't even say it right. It was, frankly, disrespectful.
"Ah, only good things I hope." Tyler's awful attempt at humour didn't make Voldemort feel any better. The sour feeling coiled restlessly in his stomach, like feral animal pushing to be released. He didn't want to know what it was, would rather convince himself that he just wasn't feeling well and that it had nothing to do with Quirrell and his detestably lovely Sarah.
A weight plopped down on the cushion beside him and he turned to see Quirrell sat there nervously clamping his hands between his thighs as he regarded the moody man with a sad half-smile.
"I.....I, er......." Voldemort bit back the retort he had and instead raised an eyebrow. Things between them had been almost unbearably awkward since they went roller skating and they had hardly spoken to each other since. The former Dark Lord wanted things to go back to how they were, but Quirrell seemed more upset, and had mostly avoided him recently, making the interaction unexpected.
"I know th-that things between us have b-been......off, but could you at least t-try and be n-nice?" Quirrell asked, nervousness rolling off him in waves.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Voldemort stated monotonously, looking straight ahead to avoid falling into those eyes again.
"You do. Please." The older wizard looked back briefly, and saw the silent pleading in the soft brown eyes. He couldn't say no to Quirrell. He doubted he ever would be able to again. That thought did not scare him as much as it should've, instead causing the awful feeling in his stomach to ease up a little.
"Okay." He stated and watched as a small smile burst open on Quirrell's mouth, instantly lighting up his face.
"Thank you." He whispered, leaning in close. The words swept warmly against his cheek and Voldemort had to fight to suppress the shiver they brought. No, he couldn't do this now. He had to be a good friend, regardless of his own position on the matter. Quirrell leapt up to join Sarah, where she was conversing with Tyler, happily intertwining his fingers with hers as he took his place by her side again.
Voldemort sighed resignedly before pushing himself up, plastering an actual smile on his face and going over to greet their guest.
As the hours passed, it became easier and easier to fall back into the comfortable friendship he had with Quirrell and so long as he didn't focus too closely on interactions between his friend and Sarah, he found that she was actually a rather nice person. The kind of person he would have once upon a time killed out of annoyance, but now, he rather liked her. That thought did scare him, much more than it should have. All this time surrounded by muggles had made him soft.
Tyler was bringing out snack after snack to eat, even as they complained they were getting full and the sun was starting to set, leaving a patchwork of colours spilling through the window onto the rug, making the light a little dimmer, a little more intimate. Tyler had also brought out some wine at some point in the evening, and slowly the group were becoming happier and more giggly as their inhibitions lowered. Laughter filled the room and the new lighting was setting a soft glow. Voldemort honestly could say that he was enjoying himself and it surprised him, his stomach not bothering him anymore, unless he looked at his friend and Sarah's loosely connected fingers. Tyler and Sarah got on really well, bonding over silly Muggle things as they spoke and everyone was laughing and chatting, but all of it was nothing in comparison to the small happy smiles that Quirrell sent him every now and then. It made his heart leap in happiness.
"Time for music!" A slightly tipsy Tyler yelled, practically throwing himself at the stereo. With a bit of fiddling, he managed to get an unfamiliar happy tune to play out. Voldemort could feel the music start to flow through his veins and his foot started involuntarily tapping along to the beat. A giggle was heard right by his ear and he turned to see Quirrell leaning over the back of the sofa, and looking down at his foot with an amused glint in his eye. His wine-scented breath was puffing down Voldemort's neck, bringing a light blush to his pale cheeks, as he noted the complete lack of distance between their two faces. With a happy exhale, Voldemort stood up from the seat, and turned to face the equally as drunk man, an offer clear on his face.
"Care to dance?" He asked, the alcohol having loosened his tongue, and muddled his brain. Quirrell, moving to be beside him on the rug, smiled and extended a hand. He looked beautiful, Voldemort thought. The happy grin spreading, bright and wide, across his face, cheeks tinged with pink and eyes gazing happily into his.
Voldemort grinned and took his hand, spinning Quirrell into a relaxed, comfortable dance. They swayed and twirled across the floor, everything else forgotten. Voldemort could feel his heart soar and pulled his friend even closer to him, hands intertwined. Feeling the pull of the music within him, he got more and more into it, pulling Quirrell with him and watched the giggles erupt freely from his friend's chest. It was beautiful and fun and Voldemort could not have been happier. The music faded, and switched to something slow, making him instinctively pull Quirrell to his chest, slowing his dancing down to match the music. Quirrell wrapped his arms comfortably around Voldemort's neck, laying his head on his chest, hearing the heartbeat under the skin, and the older man buried his head into the crook of his friend's neck. They slowly swayed side-to-side, no space between them. Voldemort could smell the fragrance of flowers and a sort of natural sweetness that he couldn't place. He could smell Quirrell and was happy plastered this close to him. It was as if no one else existed but him and Quirrell in their own little bubble away from anyone or anything. Safe and happy and dancing.
Then the moment ended.
The music suddenly stopped and it was as if a spell was broken; they both realised where they were and what they were doing. Quirrell pulled back away from him a little, enough that his arms were still wrapped around Voldemort's neck but there was enough distance that he could look into Voldemort's eyes. One of the top buttons of Quirrell's borrowed blue shirt had fallen open during the moment they had shared, exposing a small strip of flesh, through which a couple of silvery scars had passed, but neither reached to fix it, choosing instead to look at each other in fondness, and disbelief.
The taller wizard looked into the chocolate brown orbs, which were still soft, caught up in the moment, though they were slowly hardening as reality dawned upon them both. He knew something was going on, but could not decipher the feelings held within them, the only thing he knew was that he had just screwed everything up. It was up to him now. Voldemort extracted himself from Quirrell's arms and looked around the room. The happy trance he was in now broken. Tyler stood by the stereo, having stopped the music and Sarah was stood staring at them from the corner of the room, a faint movement twitching about her tight lips, as she respectfully averted her eyes, choosing instead to gather together her things. He choked on his words, trying to explain himself.
"I'm sorry, I'm... not feeling well." Apologising, he rushed to his room and shut the door, falling onto his bed, pressing his eyes together to halt the furious tears that threatened to spill. He had screwed up. Again. Taking a deep breath, he curled up into his bed and tried to push the memories of Quirrell holding him close from his mind, sure that there couldn't be anything there.
Quirrell stood in the middle of the apartment, staring at the space that Voldemort had just left. He couldn't believe it. Dancing with him had been magical. It felt like floating and safe and he.....he had loved it. He loved having Voldemort twirl him round the room, a bright smile on his face, eyes soft and trained on his. He loved dancing to the music and forgetting about everything else. He loved being pulled flush against Voldemort and holding on to him tightly as they gently swayed. He loved Voldemort being with him. He loved Voldemort.
There was no denying it anymore. Somehow, on the path to friendship and forgiveness, he had managed to skip ahead and fall for his friend. Of course, Quirrell could never do things properly or the right way and now.....
He turned and saw Sarah, looking at him, a small, indecipherable look in her eye, a light summer coat over her arm. He took a step towards her, his hand out towards her.
"I think I should go." She muttered, picking up her bag from the floor.
"N-no, you-"
"No, I should." She interrupted, sure of herself. "Will you walk me to the door?"
Quirrell nodded, feeling the tension thickening between them. He had screwed up massively. Sarah was here for a date with him and he had blown her off to dance with Voldemort....in that almost intimate way. He had done it right in front of her, shamelessly. No doubt, he had screwed up bad. Tyler tried to send him a warning glance, a minute head shake, but Quirrell couldn't look at him, so full of his own alarm bells. Instead he walked dejectedly with Sarah to the door, stepping out with her, and then shut it behind them. Footsteps could be heard pretty quickly after the door clicked into place, heading across the floor towards the bedrooms.
"I..I don't know what to say. I'm sorry." Quirrell sighed, the second the door was shut, head bowed in shame.
"No, it's totally fine." she assured, smiling a tiny amount as he scoffed in disbelief. "Trust me, it's okay." Sarah said, reaching for one of his hands, which he was subconsciously balling up as he beat himself up on the inside. He angled his body towards the wall as she moved, so she couldn't reach him, and rubbed the burgeoning tears from his cheeks with the long sleeve of his shirt.
"No, it's n-not. I t-tried s-so hard for y-you tonight, and th-then I m-messed it all up. A-and I think I m-might have c-caused another i-issue inside..." he looked down at this confession, studying his socked feet instead, unable to believe how the night had ended, as the muffled sounds of raised voices reached him through the thin wall.
"Q?" She muttered, softly and he lifted his head to meet her gaze reluctantly, barely able to bear the sight of Sarah's pitiful face. It was soft and whilst there was a tinge of sadness, there was also a small supportive smile on her lips. He was deeply confused by her reaction. "I knew."
"W-what?" The bottom seemed to drop out of his stomach as he stumbled over his words in an attempt to understand.
"Voldemort. You like him, don't you? As more than a friend?" Quirrell's tongue stuck to the roof of his suddenly dry mouth. He didn't know what to say. He wasn't sure he knew the answer anymore.
"It's okay. I guessed as much and well, you two dancing tonight pretty much confirmed it. I hope you two do get together though, he seems really good for you and you are definitely the best thing for him. Your talk earlier, when he was.. whatever that was... didn't escape my notice. But, don't worry, you didn't mess anything up, it wasn't really working the way I think we both needed. But, as long as you promise not to run away with all my flowers, I want us to still be friends. Is that okay, Q?"
Quirrell nodded, a weak smile pushing through his still teary face at the joke, and Sarah smiled properly at him, before pulling him into a tight, floral-scented hug. When she pulled away, all hurt was gone from her expression and she genuinely looked happy and upbeat, as she gave him a quick peck on the cheek, and a big thumbs up.
"Night, Q. Go get your man!" And with that, she walked off, down the stairs and out of view, Though Quirrell stood for a few minutes, just absorbing the huge change, long past the point he couldn't hear footfalls anymore, before, in a sudden burst of motion, he rushed inside again, slamming the door behind himself, and leaning against it. As his breath shortened at the idea of fixing the net issue he was sure he had caused, he slid slowly down the cold paint of the wooden door, curling up in a ball, to minimise the space he took up, like he was trying to erase the whole night. Flinging his head backwards to combat the nervous tears that threatened to spill, he dented the door, but the turmoil in his brain meant he didn't even notice.
Quirrell rested his head against the door, reflecting on their exchange, and absentmindedly humming the slower song from earlier. That conversation had been enlightening to say the least, as had this whole evening. The more he thought about it, the more he realised that he definitely liked Voldemort as more than a friend. He sighed. This was going to end well.
(Not really) A/N- So yeah. This has been sitting, as a draft, for quite a while, so, as a last Hurrah, I thought (as the maintenance friend) I'd add a tiny bit more, and publish it, to at least bring this book to some kind of flimsy conclusion. Maybe if I get the permissions, I might carry it on myself? I might mention at this point, I'm not this good an author, and my memory isn't that good so I can't remember the slightest bit about the rest of the plot, even though I was told, so, if I am allowed to continue, it'll be off on a tangent. But yeppers. Lets count this as the end?