Word count: 1266

Written for:

Last Ship Standing Competition - [Quirrellmort Round Two] Chosen prompts: (Object) seashell, (Emotion) nervous, (Word) splash, (Word) childish, (Dialogue) "I thought you weren't going to mention that again." Bonus prompts: (Second Genre) Humor, (Object) hat, (Dialogue) "I just want to know one thing."

Pokemon Go Challenge - Starter: Squirtle (water)

Hogwarts Defense Against the Dark Arts - Task #1: Write about a minor issue in a relationship. A difference of opinions, or a minor fight, for example. It can not be a major problem like cheating. The problem must be fixed by the end of the story. Prompt: (colour) white

2

Swim With Me

Quirrell dipped his toe in the water, an experimental foray, but instantly jerked it back onto safe, dry land. The current seemed much stronger than it had before, something dangerous, not innocent or playful. There were sharks! There were scary-looking plants! He couldn't understand why Voldemort insisted that they go to the pool.

Small children eagerly swam by, heading from the kiddie area where Quirrell stood to the deeper, unsupervised waters. Perhaps foisting his nervous panic onto them, he looked at Voldemort, alarmed. "Shouldn't they be accompanied by an adult, or someone of greater maturity and-"

Voldemort rolled his eyes. "You should be focused on yourself, Quirrell, as you're the thirty-year-old man afraid of water, while they can swim like fishes."

Quirrell frowned. "I thought," he whispered, "you weren't going to mention that again."

"You thought wrong."

Quirrell tried dipping more of his feet into the pool, but every splash from a passing swimmer made him recoil in shock and fear. He simply couldn't find the courage to dive in. Finally, Voldemort sighed loudly and grabbed Quirrell's arm.

"What?" he asked, defensiveness creeping onto his face in the form of a faint blush. "Are you embarrassed to be seen with a non-swimmer, or something?"

Voldemort flexed his massive white swimmer's biceps as he folded his arms. "No, I thought you'd like a snack break." He turned away and stomped towards one of the little buildings, forcing Quirrell to hurry to catch up. His bejeweled pink thong flip-flops were not up to the job, unfortunately. It took several minutes to shed them and meet Voldemort, who had decided to wait for him a few yards away.

"Oh-" replied Quirrell, feeling very foolish. "Well, then, let's go to the snack bar."

They ordered ice cream bars in the shape of a seashell and sat down at one of the old rotting picnic tables. Under their feet, real seashell fragments littered the ground, which made no sense, given that they were miles and miles from any real beach.

Quirrell and Voldemort ate their ice creams in silence, each staring at the food rather than at each other. Voldemort put on his wide-brimmed sun hat, clearly feeling the effect of the hot summer sun on his alabaster skin. They were forced to have their dates inside on most days due to Voldemort's rare skin condition, and today had only been an exception because the weather forecasters swore it would be cloudy. Quirrell, not wanting to argue about the heat, didn't comment on his boyfriend's hat choices.

He finally opened his mouth, ready to speak, when his words were cut off by some of Voldemort's. They looked at each other, then tried again, making the same mistake.

"I just want to know one thing-"

"I think you're being childish-"

Quirrell, having listened to what Voldemort was saying this time, was hurt. "Childish?" he repeated, trying to sort out for himself if that description was fair.

"You won't get in the water! Little kids half your size do, and they're perfectly fine."

"Okay," said Quirrell. "Fair enough." But he frowned again, setting down his remaining melted ice cream. How could his boyfriend be so cruelly honest?

"What I want to know is, what did you want to know?" Voldemort added. "I explained my bit - now it's your turn."

"Well, I wanted to know how you find swimming so easy," he admitted. "You just leap in the pool and breeze past everyone you meet. But when I approach the water, it's like an enemy. I can't get near it."

Voldemort nodded, meeting sympathetic eyes with Quirrell's own. "It's hard to explain. Maybe... well, maybe it's because I don't see the waves as an enemy. I see them like a friend. You know?"

Quirrell bit his lip. "What do you mean?"

Voldemort paused, struggling to explain. But then his eyebrows shot up for a fraction of a second, and Quirrell knew his boyfriend had an idea.

"Maybe the issue you're having is that when you try to get in the water, you're leaving things you care about. Like me, for example. You're going somewhere unknown, where it feels like anything could happen, because - well, because I'm not by your side."

"So..." Quirrell began, starting to get the idea.

"So what if I was already in the water next time you try?"

He pondered. There would be no one to grab him if he slipped, no one to guard their belongings by the shore. On the other hand, he would be stepping into a safer place - all because Voldemort was there to greet him.

"Let's try it," he announced suddenly. Voldemort smiled, and Quirrell knew he'd made the right choice.

Holding hands, they ambled back to the pool, where children were starting to abandon their noodles and floaty balls in favor of warm towels and frisbees. All the better for me and Voldemort, thought Quirrell. Finally some peace and solitude. He allowed his boyfriend to let go of his hand in order to climb into the pool, but Voldemort immediately looked him in the eye and winked.

"It's showtime."

Quirrell gulped. Now that the sun was setting, the foot-deep murky depths of the shallow end seemed even more ominous. He couldn't imagine stepping into nothingness, just assuming there would be something at the bottom.

He said nothing, sitting by the edge with his feet still dry.

"Come on!" Voldemort exclaimed. His red eyes flashed in frustration.

"Fine," Quirrell said. "Fine. If I die, I die. I just wish you'd help me in."

"I won't let you drown," promised Voldemort. He held out a hand, saying, "Start by sitting with your feet dipped in the water."

Focusing only on his boyfriend's face, Quirrell followed each direction that was given. He didn't think about what he was doing - couldn't think about it - for fear of panicking. So it was with complete shock and surprise that he noticed a cold feeling around his gut. Water. He was in the w-

"I did it!" he cried, spinning in a circle to see the water move. As he turned, he came face-to-face with Voldemort, who was grinning broadly.

"I knew you could do it," enthused Voldemort. "But I'm so proud of you."

"Thanks," said Quirrell, blushing. He couldn't help but stare at his boyfriend, whose swim trunks were becoming alarmingly tight. "Is that what happens in the water?"

Voldemort laughed merrily, a sound that drove nearby children running for cover. "Yes, the water makes things cling."

Quirrell glanced down at his own skintight swim trunks, but his eyes returned to Voldemort's and he licked his lips. "No one's around..."

It was true. Night was falling, and Quirrell was sure the lifeguards would be yelling at them to exit the pool any minute now.

Voldemort nodded. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Quirrell decided not to answer, instead leaning in and planting a kiss on Voldemort's rosy lips that quickly developed into something more. He was swept off his feet as Voldemort carried him into deeper waters, still kissing him with gusto. But he pulled away, breathless, his eyes cloudy but dark with fear.

"You know I can't swim, can't tread water... Voldemort, we have to get back to the shallows." His eyes were wide, but his boyfriend stuck out a leg for Quirrell to rest on and he felt a weight lifted off him.

"I Iove you, Quirrell," Voldemort whispered, diving in for another kiss.

Quirrell could only murmur "You, too" before he forgot everything but the taste of Voldemort's lips on his own.

The lifeguards decided not to intervene.