So I've been in an angsty mood lately, and because I'm an asshole I decided to take that out on AVPM Quirrell. I apologise in advance.
Disclaimer: I don't own AVPM or Harry Potter.
He won't be here long.
He chants it to himself in his head as he's led by two dementors to the cell. It's so cold, and his feet are bare against the freezing concrete floor, which only makes his teeth chatter even more violently. There's no use in protesting anymore - he's screamed himself hoarse and they just weren't listening. But they will eventually. Because he won't be here long.
The dementors stop outside of a cell and open the door. It's dark and small and freezing inside, with one tiny 'window' which is just an open hole with thick metal bars down it.
Quirrell looks inside, before turning his head to glance at the dementor. "I won't be here long. I'm innocent." His voice is already croaky from all the screaming he'd done. "So is there any way I can just...Wait with you guys until someone from the Ministry comes, and then I can leave because I haven't done anything wrong?"
The dementors laugh instantly. It's a horrifying sound, one that makes him grimace and cover his ears. He's shaking so hard that he can't walk. Instead, he just stands there, terrified, until one of them simply shoves him inside. He goes sprawling, scraping his knees on the rough floor, crying out in pain. He's barely managed to sit himself up when the door slams behind him. "Nonono, please! Please, I promise, I didn't do it! It was Voldemort!" He scrambles to the door desperately, looking out the small barred window at the dementors who are still standing in the corridor. "Please listen to me, please just let me talk."
One of them approaches him, and he shudders at the despair and cold he suddenly feels. "Okay, honey, here's what I'll do." It says, in an oddly soothing voice. Quirrell relaxes, nodding intently. "I'll come back in a little bit, then we can talk. Just you and me. And we'll sort something out."
A smile spreads across Quirrell's face in relief. Oh, thank God, a nice dementor. It's going to help him. "Thank you, thank you so much, yes."
"Oh no, hon. Thank you." It says before the two of them glide away. Quirrell breathes out shakily, but he's feeling a bit more confident now. Soon it'll all get straightened out and he can go. He doesn't know where exactly, but he'll be ok. As long as he just gets out of this madhouse. He staggers back, taking in his surroundings before he sits down on the bed. Well, it's more of a rock than a bed, but it saves him from collapsing in a heap on the floor.
He's aware of the sound of screams and sobs all around him, and he shudders. Even guilty people don't deserve this treatment, no way. He bites down on his fist to stop himself from joining in their crying, and lets his mind wander as he waits.
He sits for a while, and suddenly his door is opening and he hurriedly stands when the dementor enters. It was telling the truth, it'd come back! "Thank you," He breathes, "Oh God, thank you. Can I go home now, please?"
"Hold up there! We haven't even started talking yet." The dementor scolds, causing Quirrell to flinch back. It already sounds so different to how it had previously.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just really want to leave." He replies shakily. "It's all a big mistake. I never killed that boy."
The dementor observes him for a moment. "You're nothing but a boy yourself," It says eventually, "Are you scared, honey?"
"Yes, I am, I'm really scared." He whispers back, rubbing at his arms in an attempt to warm up. The prison robe he's in does nothing for his chills, and he almost asks for a blanket or something.
"Well, when I'm scared, I like to talk about things that make me happy. So why don't we start with that? You go first."
Quirrell frowns a little, realising Voldemort is pretty much the only thing that makes him happy. But he's gone, he's left, he doesn't care about him. Quirrell's eyes sting and he swallows, struggling for a moment. "Um..."
"There's gotta be something." The dementor says, drifting around the small cell. "A friend, perhaps?"
Did it know? Quirrell swallows again, before nodding slowly. "V...the Dark Lord said he was my friend." He replies quietly, feeling his face burn in embarrassment and humiliation. How could he ever have believed that? "My best friend..."
The dementor doesn't laugh - thankfully - and instead comes closer. "Okay, and what kind of things did you do with the Dark Lord?"
"Just...just hung out, kinda." Quirrell says, a small smile creeping up on his face despite himself. "Watched movies, talked..." The memory's fresh in his mind, and he recalls one of their movie nights, his smile spreading as he does so.
It happens so fast. He's suddenly being pinned against the wall, the dementor inches away from his face. His eyes flutter as he sees the creature begin to suck something out, something silver, from Quirrell himself. He tries to scream, and his legs kick out as he pointlessly struggles. His eyes are blurry with tears as he feels the dementor finally retreat, and hears it make a satisfied noise. He's numb and so, so cold, so when he slumps to the floor he barely even registers himself doing so.
"Thanks for sharing, sweetie. I'll be back later to talk some more, okay?"
Quirrell wheezes, and it's not long before he's started to sob pathetically. "No, please, please don't do that!"
"Well, I gotta eat!" The dementor laughs loudly, the shrill noise echoing around the cell. "And your memory was only a starter for me. I'll come for my main course later. You take care, alright?"
"No! Nonono, please, I'm innocent and you can't do that!" He cries, barely aware of even doing so. "Please don't do that again, that was my memory!"
"And I'm sure you have plenty more of those, especially about that lovely little friend of yours." The dementor chuckles before it leaves, the cell door slamming shut behind it.
Quirrell immediately leaps up, punching and kicking the door. "He's - not - my - friend!" He roars, "Not my friend! Don't call him my friend! He's a lying bastard!" His hands are aching, but he persists, punching the door even harder. "I hate him! I hate him!" It's not long before he breaks down again, and he slides to the floor, his head in his hands as he sobs. "Voldemort, Voldemort, where the fuck are you? Voldemort!" He sobs the name a few more times, before he manages to calm down a little. The tears keep coming, but he's not wheezing quite as violently, and he manages to drag himself back to the bed, nursing his bruised knuckles.
He needs to get a grip, before he becomes as crazy and manic as the prisoners around him. He can do it, he just needs to stay calm until the Ministry realise their mistake. It won't be long. He'll get home in no time.
Then again, where is his home? Certainly not at Hogwarts anymore, they'll never take him back. He could always move back in with his parents. Yes, perfect, away from all the drama and prejudice and memories. His parents would know he'd never kill a child. He would go back and live with his parents, just for a little while, until everything had blown over.
Quirrell nods to himself as he stares up at the ceiling. "I won't be here long." He whispers. And the more he says it, the calmer he feels, and he manages to sleep.
XxX
He gives up eating by the third week. At least, he assumes it's the third week, but it's so hard to keep track. It could be a year for all he knows. A dementor arrives early – it's still dark outside - and places some scraps on the ground for him, but Quirrell shakes his head.
"N-no." He manages, his voice so croaky he barely recognises it himself. His old stutter is back, and just speaking overall is such an effort.
"No?" The dementor repeats. "Hunger strike already? Fine. As long as we get that soul of yours sometime soon."
Quirrell doesn't say anything. He's lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, just like every day. "H-has the - the Ministry -" He begins, only to be interrupted.
"They aren't coming for you."
"They are," Quirrell whispers, "I'm - I'm innocent."
"And seeing as you're still so adamant that you're innocent, why don't we talk about some things to keep you in that positive mind-set?" The dementor asks as it glides towards him.
"No t-talking." Quirrell replies bleakly. "J-just take them. I d-don't want to t-talk, just take th-them."
"Don't mind if I do..." The dementor says, before it leans over him and starts to feed. Quirrell simply lets it. He won't be here much longer.
XxX
"And this is Quirinus Quirrell, is it?"
The voice makes him scramble out of bed instantly, even though his body is now extremely frail and skinny. It doesn't matter; people are here. They're here and now he can get out. He almost laughs from pure relief as he looks out through the bars on his door. There are five people, clearly Ministry officials, just outside his cell. Finally.
"H-hi, hello," He breathes, "has the M-minister d-discovered I'm innocent n-now? Am I g-going home?" His voice cracks on the last word, the anticipation almost killing him.
A man sniffs slightly as he observes him, and eventually a woman speaks up. "Fudge is dead. He was killed in his office last night."
Quirrell freezes, his eyes widening. "Wh-what?"
"Killed by You-Know-Who himself."
No, oh no, that couldn't be right. Voldemort had killed the Minister, without even telling him that Quirrell was innocent first? "N-no, please..."
"We're just doing our inspections, but we do want to talk to you. You've been trying to escape."
It was true. He'd been getting more manic over the past few weeks and had done a ton of dumb attempts at getting out of the place. He nods bleakly, hardly taking anything in anymore.
"You realise it's completely pointless and if you continue to try, you'll get the Kiss."
"The K-kiss..." He echoes, realising it suddenly sounds very appealing. No one is going to help him. He's alone. "Ex-excuse me, but what d-day is it?"
The woman tells him, and he doesn't like it. It's been a month. He's been here a whole month, but it might as well be five years. A month and Voldemort hasn't come. "Bastard!"
"Excuse me?"
"Oh, n-no, not you, s-sorry!" He says hurriedly, before his voice cracks again and he begins to cry. "Him, V-Voldemort, where is - is he?"
"He says the name!" A man hissed, scandalised.
"Well, he's in here for murder because he worked for the Dark Lord, of course he does!"
"I d-didn't kill him!" Quirrell sobs. "I s-swear, please s-stop! I'm innocent!"
They're already leaving, and he's by himself yet again. His sobs increase, and before he knows what he's doing he's screaming. Screaming because of Voldemort, because of Fudge, because of himself for believing Voldemort in the first place. He kicks out at the wall, punching it until his knuckles are bleeding. "Bastard! I h-hate you! Where - are - you?" His voice rises. "I'm g-going to DIE! Do you even c-care, you f-fucking son of a b-bitch? I'm going to d-die!"
Of course, nothing happens. He crawls into bed, still sobbing heavily as he mumbles Voldemort's name over and over again. As the minutes drag by, he begins to get the feeling he's being watched, and he slowly opens his eyes and lets out a small gasp.
Because Voldemort is standing there.
"Y-you're here!" Is the first thing Quirrell can say, as he hurriedly sits himself up, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he breathes. "V-Voldemort!"
Voldemort smiles at him as he comes closer, his wand in his hand. Oh God, it really is him. "Squirrel. How...how are you?"
"Well, I've...b-been better." Quirrell croaks back, before he scowls. "I've b-been waiting on y-you. Every n-night I called for you!"
"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, but I got so carried away with that damn plot. I know better now, I know what I want." Voldemort dips his head, and Quirrell swears he's blushing. "I...I want you."
Quirrell smiles, just so relieved he's finally here. "And I w-want you. Y-You're really the only thing I want. I... I c-can't believe you came b-back!"
"Of course I did." Voldemort moves closer, reaching out his hand to place on Quirrell's bony shoulder. "Now, you're coming with me. I'm gonna take good care of you, and I'm never, ever gonna leave you again."
He feels his eyes well up again and he reaches for Voldemort's hand. "Th-thank you…oh my God, thank y-you. I knew you'd h-help me."
"I will. I'm just so fucking sorry it took me so long." Voldemort replies, gently giving his hand a squeeze.
Quirrell closes his eyes, smiling. At last. "It's o-okay. It doesn't m-matter now." He whispers, and they look at each other for a while, before Voldemort slowly leans in.
"Would it be totally out of line if I kissed you?" He asks, and Quirrell manages a laugh.
"Are you k-kidding? I've b-been waiting on that f-for ages!"
"Ah, okay then. Awesome." Voldemort grins, and leans in closer so that his lips are mere centimetres away and…
And he's not there. Quirrell blinks, looking around desperately, but no. He's very much alone in his cell again. "V-Voldemort?" He whispers, slowly getting out of bed. "Voldemort?" He'd been here, he had. Quirrell clutches at his hair, continuing to look around. Where was he? Oh please, please say it hadn't been a hallucination. Was Quirrell going crazy? "Voldemort!"
It's not the last time he sees him, either. Over the next few months, the dementors begin to plant new, false memories in his head. One time he's home with his parents, the next he's reunited with Voldemort. Either way, he's safe, or at least he thinks he is. He always wakes up back in his cell eventually, with the monsters sucking his new happy feelings out of him.
And it doesn't stop. It's never going to. Because no one is coming for him. Quirrell is going to be in Azkaban forever.
XxX
"Squirrel?"
Quirrell is gently shaken awake; the sunlight is streaming in through their open window and he scrunches his eyes shut, making a small noise of complaint.
"Sorry, dude, but it's time to get up." Voldemort says with a small chuckle, beginning to stroke Quirrell's hair. "C'mon, sleepyhead. Doctor's appointment, remember?"
Quirrell grumpily opened his eyes at that, before nodding. Right.
It's been a month since getting out of Azkaban, and to call Quirrell unpredictable is an understatement. Voldemort is lucky to go a day without getting screamed at or without Quirrell going into some kind of trance. But he hasn't left him, and he promises he never will. While Quirrell still isn't eating, and his speech is still terrible, he is so unbelievably grateful at this moment.
Despite being a little annoyed at getting woken up, Quirrell manages a smile as he sees Voldemort, and reaches up to hold his hand.
"Hello to you too." Voldemort grins, before planting a small kiss on Quirrell's forehead. That's the other brilliant thing – apparently Voldemort is in love with him too. Apparently. Because it's far too good to be true, but Quirrell doesn't dwell on that.
"H-hi…" He replies softly. "Doc-doctor's?"
"Yeah, remember? We booked that appointment for you." Voldemort gently taps Quirrell's chest. "To try and step up your eating."
"I'm n-not hungry, V-Voldemort. I'm n-never hungry."
"Well, we gotta change that, don't we? Little steps. You need your strength if you want to recover faster."
"W-whatever…" Quirrell mumbles, knowing that Voldemort's right. How he does this, Quirrell has no idea. Hell, only last night Quirrell had a fit, screaming at him for leaving. It was a fucking miracle how his boyfriend stays so calm.
"Mmhmm. Up you get, then." Voldemort smiles, before kissing Quirrell's nose. "And then I thought we could watch a movie later. 'Cause I know you still haven't finished She's All That."
"Is – is it a nice e-ending?" Quirrell asks as he sits up, rubbing his eyes and yawning.
"You'll have to find out, won't you?" Voldemort says, ruffling his hair fondly. "You're adorable. I'll say this; you'll probably like it."
"Okay th-then." Quirrell smiles again, leaning against him. Voldemort's arm wraps around him and lightly traces over some of his protruding bones, specifically by his ribs.
"You're getting better with drinking stuff, at least." Voldemort comments after a moment. "So, if you're gonna drink something, make it water or milk or something like that. Hey, maybe protein shakes too! They'll help, right? At least a little?"
Quirrell just nods, because Voldemort is so enthusiastic about helping him that he can't say anything bad. Besides, it makes sense. "Uh-huh."
He clings onto him, resting his head against Voldemort's shoulder. God, he loves him. He's so lucky.
Perhaps too lucky. This is the Dark Lord, after all, and Quirrell's a pathetic nobody. The odds are this won't last long; it could be a trick from the dementors, another hallucination, or maybe it is real after all, but Voldemort is only pretending. Quirrell's eyes begin to well up and he starts shaking.
Voldemort notices instantly, but it's really not a surprise – Quirrell cries practically every morning. "Hey, hey, what is it? Are you hurt anywhere?"
A shake of his head.
"Are you just sad, then?" Voldemort asks, holding him carefully.
"Sc-scared." He replies in a whisper.
"Of what? You're safe, I swear. You're alright."
"No. You c-could be – be…" He swallows, "You m-might not be r-real."
Voldemort doesn't reply for a moment, as he gently strokes Quirrell's back. "I am. I promise you, I am. I couldn't hold you if I wasn't real, could I?"
"Y-yes you could." Quirrell responds in confusion as he sniffles. "Of c-course you c-could. The d-dementors could've p-planted this in – in my head e-easily."
"They haven't. You're out of there, you're safe, you're with me, and I'm in love with you."
"A-are you, though?" He asks, yet again, "Are y-you really?"
"Yes." Voldemort replies firmly. "Absolutely. I am. And I'll keep on saying that until you realise it's true, and I'll keep on helping you when you need it. I swear. Because this is real, and I love you, and I'm going to do everything I can to make up for what I was responsible for. Okay?"
Wonderful. Quirrell swallows, nodding, tightening his hold on him. He never wants to be parted from him ever, ever again. Eventually he manages to say a small "Okay" back, before he leans back a little to give Voldemort a small kiss.
He's going to be alright.