AN:
Enter, reader, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed.
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In the morning Voldemort felt angry. Angry at life, if you could call living on the back of someone's head that. He needed to yell at somebody. He knew he would regret this later, but Quirrell was his only option. He started just shouting. At first he was hardly sure of what about… but before he knew it Voldemort was yelling all his woes, misfortune and misery into Quirrell's mind. It sounded a little something like this: "First you couldn't get my stone from Gringotts, and now you fail to get it from Hogwarts! You filthy, SWINE! You are the worst professor I could have possibly gotten from that forest in Albania! Thanks a lot! Now I'll NEVER get the Sorcerer's Stone, let alone a new body! And it will be ENTIRELY your fault! And now Snape, being the lap-dog traitor that he is, is sure to tell the headmaster that he found you sneaking about! I think he's onto us as well! Did you see how he kept looking at your turban?!"
Quirrell didn't flinch as Voldemort viciously accused him. He really couldn't blame Voldemort for being mad because he hadn't just failed his master; he had failed his friend. He wished he knew how Voldemort felt, so that he would know how to react. But honestly, Quirrell really hadn't done anything wrong. As soon as Quirrell thought that, Voldemort stopped yelling at him. Oh, now he'd done it. Stupid thoughts…
Voldemort forced himself to stop and think for just a few seconds. Quirrell was right; he hadn't done anything wrong. It was really not his fault at all… He began to feel slightly embarrassed by his outburst. "I-I was destroyed by a baby, Quirrell! I know it happened a long time ago man, and y-you would think I'm over it by now. But… It was just a horrible expirience! Shameful! And ever since then, it just seems like nothing, nothing, turns out the way I want it to anymore! I'm just…tired, Quirrell, of trying to find somebody to blame for my problems and never even considering myself; never stopping to wonder, 'maybe this is all my fault!"
Now Quirrell felt very bad for Voldemort. He was no longer yelling angrily at Quirrell. Now it was more like he was yelling angrily at himself. "It isn't your fault, Voldemort, don't say that." He heard Voldemort laugh madly, like when you're laughing at something so horribly ironic that it's funny only to you.
"But it is my fault! This is all my fault! And you, whom I'm controlling and using and making do my dirty work, are telling me that it isn't my fault." Voldemort stopped in his tracks. He was pouring his all his feelings out. Dark Lords weren't supposed to have feelings; or at least not feelings of sorrow, shame, or…or…. Whatever he felt towards Quirrell. Compassion, care, affection. It was disgusting.
Quirrell decided to try to get the Dark Lord into a better mood by attending the next Quidditch match. It was Slytherin verses Gryffindor. It might brighten Voldemort's day if their house, Slytherin, won…or if their enemy, Harry Potter, fell off his broomstick and broke his neck. Unfortunately, Quirrell got stuck sitting directly in front of Grease-Head. He kept leaning forward in fear that Snape would just flip off his turban at any moment. Luckily this didn't happen. A little ways through the match, Quirrell decided to have a little fun. Right after Potter had dodged an oncoming bludger, Quirrell started muttering curses and hexes under his breath. Harry's broomstick began to lurch, zigzag through the air, and try to buck him off. Nobody seemed to even be noticing. Then he made his broom roll and Harry nearly fell off. He was now dangling from it, holding on with only one hand. He tried to make it buck again so that Potter would fall, but he couldn't. He felt like something was holding him back and by habit he turned around. Snape was muttering nonstop counter-curses under his breath. This made Quirrell mad, and he began to mutter his own curses quicker than before. Nearly a minute later, Quirrell felt someone moving behind him. Before he could turn, they shoved past him, making him fall headfirst into the row in front of him. When he regained his standing position, he smelled smoke. Snape stood up quickly and started beating his robes which were for some reason on fire, 'accidently-on-purpose' knocking Quirrell over. When Quirrell got up again, Potter was already back on his broom. And even worse, Gryffindor had won. He hadn't even seen how.
Quirrell seemed to be trying to cheer Voldemort up. It was funny, he'll admit, the look on Potter's face when he thought he was about to fall off his broom and plunge to his death. He didn't even care that Gryffindor had won the match. What did bother him though was that it was almost Christmas. He hated the holiday. The reason for that being he supposed was that as a child he had never received any real Christmas presents. Sure, at the orphanage they always gave all of the kids, even him, something cheap and small that would usually break by the next month, but never anything that was special or unique. All the orphans got the same present and he had no friends there to get him anything else. While he was at Hogwarts, Voldemort's gang had always given him money or candy for Christmas. But money or candy wasn't special. Money or candy didn't prove that they actually knew him well or liked him. It just said that they were afraid of Voldemort and what he might do to them if he didn't get anything from them for Christmas. Thinking back, maybe Voldemort should have gotten them a little something for Christmas… Ugh, no, that would have ruined his reputation…
Quirrell wasn't really that excited that Christmas was coming. Who would he get presents from? Probably nobody, he thought. He had no family except for distant cousins and uncles, and Voldemort was really his only close friend. But on Christmas morning he had a few things. Apparently a bunch of 5th years had all pitched in to create a big flashy card. It wasn't much, just a card, but Quirrell appreciated the gesture and it kind of made him feel sorry for being rude to them before. Then there was a fairly good sized bottle of sherry from McGonagall, and a vial that was lableled 'Sobering Potion' from Professor Snape that he definitely had no intention of drinking. He felt a twinge of annoyance at Snape's choice of potion; did he think Quirrell was a drunk?! Then he read a small folded piece of parchment that apparently was the card. It read "To use after you've used Minerva's gift. –Severus." He glanced again at the bottle of Sherry that Minerva had given him and rolled his eyes. Dumbledore had sent him a card that sang a Muggle Christmas carol every time you opened it. Quirrell flinched when he separated the 2 flaps of the card, and almost threw it when a women's voice came out of it singing, "Santa baby, slip a sable under the tree, for me. Been an awful good girl, Santa baby, so hurry down the chimney tonight…" Quirrell laughed to himself; that was just like Dumbledore.
Voldemort didn't know what he had expected, but there were no presents for him. Why would there be? Nobody knew about him being here, except for Quirrell. He should have known because if Quirrell had gotten him anything, he would have seen it, he would have known about it. But…he had been hoping…
Quirrell felt bad for not getting Voldemort a present. He felt as though he should because they were friends. But it wouldn't have been a surprise and Quirrell always believed that the best part about getting presents was the surprise of it. So Quirrell had decided he would surprise Voldemort. He would take him out for Christmas.
Voldemort was delighted that Quirrell had indeed thought of him for Christmas. When he told Voldemort that they were going out, Voldemort half-heartedly said that they really should be working on another plan. But, Quirrell convinced him (Come on, dude! You deserve a good break!") and so they went to the Hogshead bar and drank down Firewhisky until they were so drunk they could barely walk, and that didn't take long. "I should have figured," Voldemort hiccupped as they made their way back into Quirrell's sleeping chambers. "That with the both of drinking into one belly *hiccup* we would g-get twice as drunk." ;)
Quirrell had never been so drunk. And obviously, neither had Voldemort; he kept hiccupping and giggling. If he weren't drunk himself, it probably would have really freaked Quirrell out. "I haven't h-had this much fun in a while," Quirrell said smiling. Voldemort coughed and hiccupped and said, "I…can't remember ever having fun!" For such a depressing statement, Voldemort said it quite happily and giggly. "You've never had fun before?" Quirrell questioned him. "Ha ha…Nope." Quirrell didn't know what to say to this, so he kept quiet. He staggered into his room, and tripped. Luckily, the oh-so soft wooden floor was there to break his fall, and that's where he slept. Before he drifted off to sleep however, he though of the Soberng Potion Snape had given him. Had it not been from Snape, it would have come in handy. But since it was, Quirrell dared not drink anything that hook-nosed, greasey-headed slime ball had given him. He'd rather eat 15 Blood Pops, to which he was highly allergic.
Voldemort was slowly, very slowly, coming back to himself. They hurt. Especially in their head. When his vision got a little clearer he took note that they were on the floor. Apparently, Quirrell had fallen over, and decided to sleep where he had landed. Well that wasn't a problem for Voldemort. As long as Quirrell wasn't feeling too groggy to make evil plans in the morning…
