I do not own A Very Potter Musical or 'Colder Weather' by the Zac Brown Band.
A/N: Alright, so a Quirrel/Voldemort story. I'll be honest, I'm nervous because this was my first time writing this pairing. So, when you finish, drop a review, please.
Quirrel opened his eyes as he felt the warmth of the body next to him disappear. He cringes as the harsh buzz of a zipper cuts through the air, fully awakening him from his dreams. It was that time.
She'd trade Colorado if he'd take her with him.
Voldemort's boots thudded heavily against the wooden floors of the home. Suitcase in one hand, car keys in the other, he slides out of the front door, opening it as little as possible. The 'click' of the knob setting in place echoes through the house as the door shuts.
Closes the door before the winter lets the cold in…
Quirrel wrapped the blankets around himself tightly, listening closely for the door to open again. He couldn't leave, could he, the man asked himself. No, of course not, those three sacred words had been exchanged the previous night. There was no way.
…and wonders if her love is strong enough to make him stay.
A red glow illuminates the room, fading as quickly as the car outside pulls away. Hot liquid builds in the man's eyes as a soft sob wretches itself from his lips as he curls up under the covers.
She's answered by the tail lights shinin' through the window pane.
A week later, Voldemort's packing his suitcase again, murmuring into the phone cradled between his shoulder and ear, keeping his voice low to make sure he didn't wake the blonde man lying in between the sheets.
He said, 'I wanna see you again,
But I'm stuck in colder weather.
Maybe tomorrow will be better.
Can I call you then?'
Quirrel's voice on the other line was cold, hoarse, and fierce. His words cut like a mix of razor wire and shards of glass, cutting deeper than anything else. The final blow was the abruptness of which he ended the phone call, leaving Voldemort with his head bowed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
She said, 'You're a ramblin' man.
You ain't ever gonna change.
You got a gypsy soul to blame and you were born for leavin'.
Voldemort knocked back the last dregs of his coffee, needing the caffeine the drink held to stay awake. A familiar glint catches his eyes. He turns toward it, seeing the frumpy brunette waitress that had served him his drink. On closer inspection, he noticed the twinkle that lit up her eyes every time she glanced down at her phone between orders.
At a truck stop diner just outside of Lincoln,
The night is black as the coffee he was drinkin'.
And in the waitress' eyes he sees the same ol' light a shinin'…
Then he remembers why the look is so familiar. It was the same light that Quirrel would get in his eyes whenever their eyes met. He jumped up, throwing money on the counter, leaving as quickly as possible.
…he thinks of Colorado and the girl he left behind him.
Again he's packing his suitcase. This time, he's leaving a married woman whose husband is away on business. He glances back at her, taking note of her short black curls splayed across the pillow and the contrast between her dark skin and the white sheets.
He said, 'I wanna see you again,
But I'm stuck in colder weather.
Maybe tomorrow will be better.
Can I call you then?'
Voldemort tossed his suitcase into the back seat of his car as he started it up. He thought of Quirrel's words from their last conversation. Frustration built up inside of him. He slammed on the gas, tearing out of the driveway.
She said, 'You're a ramblin' man.
You ain't ever gonna change.
You got a gypsy soul to blame and you were born for leavin'…
…born for leavin'.
It felt like his body was on autopilot. He barely stopped long enough for food or to put gas in his car. He didn't even know his destination. Hours upon hours of driving overtook him and his mind thought to all of the times in the past couple years that he had left Quirrel before coming back to him again and repeating the process. The black top seemed to stretch on forever in front of him. When his mind finally alerted him that he had reached his destination, he looked up, gritting his teeth when he realized where he was at. He pulled away as he noticed the familiar silhouette in the bedroom window pulling back the curtain.
Well, it's a windin' road when you're in the lost and found.
You're a lover, I'm a runner, and we go round and round.
And I love you, but I leave you.
I don't want you, but I need you.
You know it's you that calls me back here, baby.
The next month passed by in a blur of drunken and sober hookups and one night stands. Anything to keep himself distracted. He hopped around different states, staying close to borders, hitting up big name clubs and bars. He'd take anyone, as long as they didn't have hauntingly familiar dark hair and eyes against fair skin.
I wanna see you again,
But I'm stuck in colder weather.
Maybe tomorrow will be better.
Can I call you then?
'Cause I'm a ramblin' man.
I ain't ever gonna change.
I got a gypsy soul to blame and I was born for leavin'.
Born for leavin'.
But in those rare moments he was alone with his own thoughts and in his own dreams, everything reminded him of Quirrel. His clothes still carried the faint scent of the flowers from the garden Quirrel had in the backyard and cinnamon from the body wash the other man had used. In those times, he did the only thing he could do and most times it wasn't even his choice. He would just let the tears spill silently from his eyes, letting his body release the tension he had built up. And in those moments, he would swear he could feel Quirrel's arms around him.
When I close my eyes I see you.
No matter where I am,
I can smell your perfume through these whisperin' pines.
I'm with your ghost again.
It's a shame about the weather.
For the last time, he packed his suitcase again before going back to Quirrel's house, his left leg twitching nervously the entire ride there.
But I know soon we'll be together and I can't wait 'till then.
He stepped out of his car, making his way up the walk, pausing in front of the door. He rang the doorbell hesitantly, shoving his hands into his pockets as he waited. After a few seconds, the door opened, revealing Quirrel in an old pair of jeans and a shirt of Voldemort's. His eyes narrowed when he saw the other man and he made to shut the door. Voldemort quickly jammed his foot between the door and the frame, a hand shooting out to grab the door. "Quirrel, will you listen to me, please?"
"What do you have to say?" Quirrel hissed, still trying to shut the door. "We haven't spoken in over three months!"
"I know!" Voldemort gritted back. "I'm sorry. I've made some mistakes, and I realize that. But, for some reason, I can't stand leaving you alone. I never wanted to leave before in the first place. But something always made me. I do love you, though."
Quirrel glowered at him. "So you came back?"
"I came home." The words slipped past his lips before he could even think about it. Quirrel let go of the door in shock, turning his head away in an attempt to hide his surprise. Voldemort blinked, realizing that it had gone beyond repair this time. He made to walk away, an arm on his elbow stopping him. Suddenly, Quirrel's arms were around his neck. Voldemort smiled softly, returning the embrace. They could talk and figure out all of the details later.
I can't wait 'till then.