Voldemort tapped the end of his pencil against the counter, his mind wandering with boredom. He glanced at the clock just to see how much time had passed and, yeah, it had only been ten minutes. Weird. He would've sworn four hours had passed since he last checked.
The tapping was the only noise in the bookstore, a sharp, rapping noise increasing in intensity as Voldemort's mood worsened. He hated working weekends. Weekends were the days you would think were the busy ones, but were they? No. Absolutely not. Everybody was out spending their money in other, cooler stores. Probably used bookstores, where they could find everything Voldemort had for half the price or better. Not that he could really blame them.
Weekdays were better. Voldemort loved working weekdays. Everybody was always in such a rush looking for whatever book they needed. Where used bookstores were messy and disorganized (probably to give off the fantasy of finding hidden treasures in unexpected places), Flourish and Blotts was tidy and easy to navigate when you're looking for that particular book. Voldemort barely had time to breathe some days, which was how he liked it. He liked keeping busy.
And weekdays stayed pretty busy thanks to the traffic from Hogwarts University. Classmates who knew and feared him would run into the store, grab what they needed, and then spend five minutes trying to decide if they really wanted to let the self-proclaimed Dark Lord check them out.
Voldemort smirked, thinking of some of the freshman whispering about him the other day. He'd never done anything to warrant being called the Dark Lord, but he thought it was important to have a sound reputation. So what if it meant everybody was afraid of him? At least he didn't have to worry about people trying to make small talk with him.
They left him alone. And that was just how he liked it.
The bell at the door chimed as a customer walked in, breaking Voldemort out of his reverie. He sat up and made a show of tidying things up around the counter. The manager usually didn't show up on Saturdays, but if he did, Voldemort didn't want to get caught drooling on the shiny counter top.
He adjusted the box of Bisexual Pride pins next to the book quote ones before discretely glancing to see who had entered. All he saw was a head of mousy brown hair disappearing into an isle of books. He breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed again.
"Your crush is here, Lord Voldemort!" whispered Bellatrix from beside him. She grabbed his arm excitedly and jumped up and down, nearly ripping his shoulder out of place. At least if that happened, he'd get to leave early.
"Where did you even come from!?" Voldemort asked his coworker, a hand over his heart to feel the scare she'd given him. Bellatrix was one of his best friends, but she had the really annoying habit of popping up undetected and trying to give him a heart attack. One of these days, he'd figure out how her stealth mode worked.
Bellatrix waved him off and pursed her lips, wearing that scolding look of hers she gave out when Voldemort wasn't paying attention to her. He got that look often. "Have you devised a plan to speak to the peasant yet?" She also liked to give weird code names to people so nobody listening knew who they were talking about, which Voldemort had hoped she would grow out of after high school but whatever.
None of her code names were entirely flattering, either. Most of them made her sound like a superior snob, which wasn't entirely the truth but Voldemort wasn't about to dispute it. Bellatrix had been the one who started the whole Dark Lord business, and he still hadn't gotten away from it.
"No, I've not devised a plan yet," Voldemort muttered, finally pulling his arm out of her grasp. "Aren't you supposed to be stocking books?"
"We have more important things to be worrying about than stocking paperweights," Bellatrix declared spiritedly. She hated books. Voldemort couldn't figure out why she was working in a bookstore. Then again, he also hated books, but he did like money.
"You are the most feared in all of Hogwarts," Bellatrix continued, her voice low and ringing with pride. "Only Albus Dumbledore doesn't quake in his boots at the mere mention of your name!"
"Well, yeah, he's the headmaster. Why would he be afraid of a student he's never even met before?" Voldemort asked, eyebrow raised. Voldemort, in the eyes of the teachers, was the prime example of a model student. He stayed out of trouble and made top marks in all of his classes, so of course he'd never visited the headmaster before. Bellatrix, on the other hand….
Bellatrix smacked his arm. "Don't raise one eyebrow at me! I can't do that, so you shouldn't be allowed, either!"
"Yeah, well, I am the Dark Lord," said Voldemort with a grin.
"Don't think that gives you special privileges!"
His brow furrowed. "Then what does it give me?"
"Street cred." Bellatrix grinned evilly. Voldemort really hoped he never ran into her in a dark alley.
He leaned on the counter again, reaching over absently to poke around a fallen button. He flipped it over and scrunched up his nose at the book quote written in small, fancy lettering. Jane Austen. Gross.
"Is there a point to your speech, or can I go back to daydreaming about snakes now?"
Bella huffed, obviously displeased with the way this conversation had gone. "My point is, with your gruesome and beautiful reputation, talking to the peasant isn't going to be easy. We have to handle this situation delicately."
"Or I could just do what I always do." When Bella gave him a confused look, he shrugged and added, "Ring up his stuff, put it in a bag, send him on his way, and then go back to wondering which direction my life is going in if I can't even talk to one little-uh, peasant."
Bellatrix did not look happy. "This is going to be harder than I anticipated."
Voldemort didn't really get why she was so determined to get him together with this adorable guy he kinda-sorta-maybe-definitely had a crush on. When Voldemort refused to go out with her, she'd adopted this "If-I-Can't-Have-You-Then-He-Can" sort of attitude and went out of her way to try and hook them up.
Voldemort missed the good ol' days when things were quiet and he could pine after the boy in peace.
"U-um…." The small noise caught Voldemort's attention, and he looked up into the warmest, most terrified set of brown eyes he'd ever seen. Quirinus Quirrell averted his gaze immediately, too intimidated to make eye contact for very long. Voldemort didn't take that personally; he was pretty sure Quirrell would've been intimidated by a bumblebee.
With a secretive smile that was a little bit too on the obvious side, Bellatrix excused herself to go back to stocking. Which was a lie, of course. She'd probably be watching from behind a shelf somewhere, just waiting for Voldemort to embarrass himself.
If anything, her absence only made Quirrell even more nervous. He turned his head to watch her go, mortified to be left standing there alone with Voldemort. He fidgeted, fingers fiddling with a piece of crinkled paper. Voldemort could see some dirt under his nails. Damn, he was cute.
It wasn't just the dirt that made him so damn adorable, either. It was the small flicker of his eyes as he glanced up to see if Voldemort was watching him, the way he bit the corner of his bottom lip, the way he always tried to duck through the store so as to not be detected, but Voldemort always saw him. Even if he didn't see him, he would smile the faint aroma of flowers that always seemed to follow Quirrell about, and his wildly beating heart would confirm what he already knew.
Voldemort's life had been so much simpler before he knew he also liked guys.
When it didn't seem like Quirrell was going to find his voice anytime soon, Voldemort decided to save him the trouble. "Need help finding something?"
Quirrell nodded nervously and handed out the piece of paper. "I n-need that for c-class."
Unfogging the Future. Cassandra Vablatsky. Voldemort needed one too, for Trelawney's class on Monday. They had one, emphasis on the one, and Voldemort had planned to buy it during break.
He glanced to his left, where he saw black spine of said copy on the reserved shelf. He didn't really need it; after all, it was Divination Theory. What would he need a book for?
Maybe if he didn't have a copy, he'd have to share with somebody else. Maybe Quirrell. Probably Bellatrix. The latter didn't seem too appealing, in all honesty. Bella always had cryptic, gruesome notes scribbled in the margins of all her books. Voldemort wasn't even what half of them even meant; he only knew he didn't want to know.
Without hesitating, Voldemort grabbed his copy and held it out for Quirrell. "Must be your lucky day. We have one left. This one was on reserve, but the guy hasn't picked it up yet."
Quirrell blinked at him in shock. "You… y-you won't g-get in t-trouble?"
"Nah, man, don't worry about it." Voldemort wiggled the book a little, going for encouraging, but Quirrell just stared at him like he had no nose. "Come on, I mean it, it's fine! You need the book, don't you?"
With a slight nod, Quirrell accepted the book, murmured a quiet thanks, and slipped away back into the fiction section. Voldemort relaxed on the counter again and glanced around for Bellatrix. Now seemed like the kind of time she would pop up out of thin air and try to scare him to death again. When she didn't show up, Voldemort returned to sliding around the Jane Austen pin.
Just what about him was so frightening? Aside from the reputation Bellatrix had built for him, he never really did much to warrant people being so afraid of him. Usually, it didn't bother him. Quirrell, on the other hand….
Voldemort grimaced a little. He pictured Quirrell, biting his lip like he always did, and wondered what it would be like to bite that lip himself, not too hard but enough to make Quirrell squirm just a little bit. What would kissing Quirrell be like, he mused, his throat tight. Would the little squirrel open up to his kisses, or would he have some bite in him, too? Voldemort didn't care. He just wanted to know, just wanted to try it once. Once would be enough.
He groaned a little and pressed his forehead to the top of the counter again. He breathed out and watched the air fog across the glistening counter top. Once wouldn't be enough. If he kissed Quirrell, he'd want to kiss him again, and again. He didn't know what would be enough. Maybe there was no limit, maybe he would just want more and more until all of Quirrell was his and vice versa.
This was all hypothetical, of course. In a world where Quirrell wanted Voldemort just as much and wasn't completely petrified of him. He didn't even know if Quirrell liked guys or if he was Quirrell's type or if he'd just be stuck pining away after somebody who would never be into him. He was used to that.
Or worse. What if Quirrell thought he was straight? A hetero Voldemort was hilarious, but Quirrell might not know that! A spike of panic coursed through Voldemort's veins. He had to fix that. Quirrell had to know that he wasn't straight, but how? How could he be subtle and informative at the same time?
He could just stick the Bisexual Pride pins all over his shirt. Wear a flag as a cape. Or maybe a simple wristband would do. Yeah. As soon as he got home, he was ordering a wristband online and would wear it for the rest of his life, just so Quirrell would know he was bi.
Voldemort sighed again. He probably wouldn't do that, either. All of this hinged on weather Quirrell liked him enough to care about his sexuality, which seemed like wishful thinking to Voldemort. So yeah. Proceeding as usual. Working in a bookstore was hard.
Somebody cleared their throat, and Voldemort sat up, expecting to see the manager standing there but instead found Quirrell again. He had several other books now, a couple on plants and one Jane Austen novel. That just figured. Voldemort supposed a person couldn't be too perfect. Or the two of them were just too damn different.
Quirrell eyes lifted upward, and he suppressed a small chuckle. Voldemort tilted his head, confused until Quirrell pointed to his forehead. "Y-you have, um…."
Voldemort raised his hand and felt an indentation across his forehead, probably from the counter. Could his life get any worse? He rubbed at the skin a bit, hoping to get rid of the line, but knowing his pale and pasty complexion, he only made it worse.
"Totally awesome. Thanks for letting me know. I'm gonna go crawl in a hole now," Voldemort muttered, only half joking.
Quirrell laughed for real now, and wasn't that just the cutest thing in the world? Man, Voldemort was in deep if he though the guy's laugh was this adorable. Yeah, he was definitely going to spend the rest of his life in a hole.
"S-sorry," Quirrell murmured, covering his mouth, but his shoulders still shook with silent snickers.
"Nah, please, laugh at my expense." Voldemort chuckled some himself, mostly nerves but who needed to know that? "Did you need help with anything else?"
Quirrell, lips pursed to hide his smile, shook his head and set his books onto the counter. He glanced up again, eyes focusing on Voldemort's forehead, and tried his best not to laugh more. Voldemort wished he would. He bet if he could get him to talk….
"Why is this so funny?" he asked, indicating to the offending line in question.
Quirrell didn't answer him; he just laughed again, shaking his head, and tried to cover it up with his hand again. Yeah, Voldemort was a goner. He began to scan Quirrell's books, watching Quirrell finally get himself under control.
"Sorry," he said, smiling. He had a nice smile. Voldemort wanted to look at it for the rest of his life. Or at least the next hour. "Sorry. It-it's just… not s-something I'd expect of the D-Dark Lord."
"What? Are you saying this destroys my reputation? Damn." Voldemort solemnly shook his head and hummed thoughtfully. "I'm ruined now."
"N-no, no, I think you can make a c-comeback," Quirrell promised.
"Yeah? Think so?" Voldemort leaned his elbow on the counter, boldly closing some of the distance between them. Quirrell blushed a little and looked away, biting his lip again. Voldemort might have been imagining it, but he thought he could see the makings of a smile curling the corners of Quirrell's mouth. He nodded a little, those sweet brown eyes of his flickering up to meet Voldemort's red ones.
Man, it was a good thing there was a counter between them. Voldemort would have probably done something incredibly stupid.
Quirrell handed him a debit card, and Voldemort slid it through the machine. "Y-you know… you're not that scary."
"No?"
Quirrell hummed the affirmative, still regarding him curiously.
And you're too damn adorable. But Voldemort didn't say that. He wanted to say that, but he managed to hold it in.
He bagged Quirrell's books, tossing in the Jane Austen pin he'd been toying with, and held it out to him. Quirrell actually met his gaze this time, curious and a little less like a deer in the headlights. Voldemort swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry and his throat tight, and he was pretty sure he was dying. That was the only explanation. He'd died and gone to a heaven where Quirrell was smiling at him.
"I-I'll see you in class on Monday," he said, nodding in farewell before scurrying out of the bookstore. The door chimed again, and then the shop fell silent. All Voldemort could hear was his heart in his temple, beating at a rate Voldemort wasn't sure was healthy.
Quirrell had actually spoke to him. Looked at him. Smiled. And Voldemort was pretty sure he hadn't been imagining things. Maybe he actually had a chance? Maybe he wouldn't be stuck in this loop of unrequited pining for the rest of his college career? Maybe he actually had a chance?
No, no, Voldemort, don't get too ahead of yourself. It was just a smile. The cutest damn smile he'd ever seen, but still. He needed to stay calm. Cool. Collected. He was the Dark Lord, the terror of Hogwarts for one reason or another. He didn't get scared. He did the scaring, and he was not about to let himself get wound up over a smile.
Bellatrix popped back up just then. "Didn't you need that book for class?"
"Dammit, Bella!"