Sorry this has taken such a ridiculously long time guys! Anyway, I think this'll be the second to last chapter, so thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed! You're all amazing!

Hope you enjoy!

And so time passed.

Days into weeks into fucking months with no Quirrell, which distressed Voldemort to no end because he had no idea if he'd been sent free yet or not. He hadn't been able to visit Quirrell in his dreams nearly as often, which definitely wasn't helping matters, and he worried that this distance was damaging his partner as much as it was him. Stupid thought. Of course it was. When Quirrell was especially panicked or miserable, their shared souls would cause Voldemort to feel sick and that had unfortunately been happening a lot lately. And there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it at the moment.

That wasn't the only thing that was distressing however; no, he was becoming increasingly upset at himself and his own actions. It was getting far too easy to slip back into his old ways with no Quirrell to guide him and Death Eaters everywhere.

He gave a small sigh, resting his head in his arm against the table as he tried to zone out to all the mindless chatter around him. Ugh. He was tired, he was missing Quirrell and only yesterday he'd tortured a mudblood on this very dining room table.

It hadn't been intentional. He honestly had never thought he'd do it when he started up his intimidating act in front of the guy. Something inside him had just…snapped. The way the man had pleaded and cried and not told him what Voldemort wanted to know had kind of pushed him over the edge. Okay, so that was no excuse, obviously. He'd used the Cruciatus curse. His own actions absolutely repelled him, but there it was.

He had no idea where the Death Eaters were keeping the man. He hoped they hadn't killed him. Although, the alternative was him rotting in Lucius' dungeon, so…It kind of sucked either way. At the moment, it just couldn't be helped. The man knew too much. He could end everything and go to the Ministry. Then what would happen to Quirrell?

He was startled into sitting back upright when Lucius tapped his shoulder, hastily bowing under Voldemort's glare. "My apologies, my Lord! Only we have news on Harry Potter and –"

Ok, so that grabbed Voldemort's attention. "Yeah? Go on, tell me!"

"Well, he's in the middle of his third year now - as you well know - and is apparently turning into an even more obnoxious and self-confident brat." Lucius' voice lowered, "Which makes it all the easier to strike!"

Voldemort smirked. He liked the sound of that. Finally getting his own back on the boy who'd destroyed everything…

But wait. That wasn't strictly true, now was it? Without Potter, he'd never have been able to find love with Quirrell. So he sort of owed the boy that…And wasn't he supposed to be getting over this stupid Harry Potter obsession? He'd been doing so well.

Lucius obviously noticed Voldemort's face fall, because he frowned. "My Dark King? Are you well? Would you perhaps wish to discuss this another time or…?"

"You know what?" Voldemort managed to say, hastily standing from his chair. "Yeah. I'll think about all this and…you know, get back to you. I dunno." Oh God, all this double-life living and stress and confusion was making him sick. He wanted Quirrell, for fuck's sake, not to be here plotting an attack on Harry Potter. But to get Quirrell back, didn't he have to kill the boy? What was even happening anymore?

He staggered up to his room only to find – much to his dismay – Bellatrix sitting on his bed, reading the Daily Prophet. He slammed the door shut behind him as he entered, storming over to her. "You have no place being in the Dark Lord's room."

She glanced up, her face a little flushed. "Aw c'mon, it's just me…"

"Do you seriously think I give a fuck? Get out, go on. What are you even doing in here?"

She placed the newspaper next to her, smoothing down her dress. "I wanna talk about your new plan. The one concerning Potter. Now that McGonagall's running the school, security's gonna be a little tight, so…so what're we gonna do?"

"I'm trying to figure it out." He grouched, sitting down next to her. "What does it matter, anyway? We have all the time in the world."

"I guess." She admitted, trailing her fingers lightly over his bare shoulder. He'd gone back to wearing his cape and was surprised to find how much he'd missed it. He shrugged her hand off moodily and she continued. "Anyway, it's good to see you on such evil form."

She was obviously elated at how he rarely mentioned Quirrell anymore, presumably thinking he'd forgotten about him. It had been five months, after all. Maybe she was right to think that. Except it was the complete opposite of the truth – Quirrell was basically all he thought about, day in, day out.

"Myeah." He muttered, "Are you leaving now or what? I want to catch some sleep."

"Well, I wouldn't mind that either." She said eagerly, clutching onto one of his hands. "How about we –"

"Get your hands off of me! Wizard God!" He stood up furiously, tearing away from her. "Is that all you think about? I'm trying to work on a scheme here!" I also don't want you anywhere near me because you're holding the love of my life captive.

She flushed, getting to her feet a little shakily. "I…Well, I just thought –"

"You thought wrong." He resisted the urge to shudder in disgust, turning away from her. "Leave."

There was a slight hesitation, until she said in a hushed voice, "You still think about him. Even after all this time. You do, don't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." He said quietly. Yes. Of course I do. "If this is about Quirrell, I have nothing to say about the guy. He did his job, didn't he? It's time to move on." So they can let him go. Please let him go…

"Well, that's something, I guess." She muttered. "I'll leave you to plan."

"You do that." He didn't turn around until he heard the door close behind her, and he let out a sigh of relief, his eyes snapping to the window when he heard a noise. An owl, a scroll in its beak, was pecking at his window. Well, this was interesting.

He immediately made his way over, opening the window and allowing it to fly in. "Hey, birdy. Is that for me?" He petted the owl's head – he'd always loved them – as it dropped the scroll onto his bed. "Thanks. Where'd you come from, anyway?" He picked the paper up, unfurling it and then he had to sit down at the familiar writing. Oh God.

My Voldemort,

Well, obviously you've been doing a convincing job, because I was let out of that horrible place a week ago. I have no idea when or how this owl is going to find you – I'm sure there are tons of security issues wherever you are, Bellatrix being the main one – but I'm risking it to write to you anyway. Sorry if it gets you in trouble or anything, but aren't you 'Lord Voldemort' to them? I think it'll be okay. Sorry, I'm rambling in my own letter to you. It doesn't matter anyway I guess, because I've jinxed this letter so that only you can read the real message. Which makes pretty much all of the above pointless.

It hasn't been great, I won't lie to you. After a while I could deal with the physical and mental torture (it was no way near as bad as Azkaban, after all), but the thing that made it worse was not being able to see you at all. You'll probably be freaked out when you see me – my body's an absolute mess and I seriously need to put on weight, but in spite of it all, I'm alright. I just need you with me. I've missed you like hell.

I'm staying in Diagon Alley at the moment. Most wizards aren't too happy to see me and are treating me like scum, but at least I have a bed. Even though I was proven innocent and let out of Azkaban, it looks like they still all hate me. At least they haven't done anything majorly bad to me yet.

I hope you're ok and keeping your head with all this. I have heard of a lot of Death Eater attacks – it's all anyone's talking about around here – and I really hope you weren't involved in them. Or maybe you had to be, I don't know. I'm not sure I want to. Whatever the case, everyone's panicking that the Dark Lord is returning again. I'm sure I won't need to tell them that the 'Dark Lord' is my significant other and wouldn't hurt a fly anymore, because you'll be back with me soon enough, right? Then we can leave for somewhere safe together. And Bellatrix can 'accidentally' trip in front of someone firing the Killing curse.

I'm kidding. Kind of.

Anyway, I've got the exact address of where I'm saying, and I've written it on the other piece of parchment. I hope you get this letter soon, but I know it might not be so easy for you to get away. It doesn't matter. I've waited this long, so I can wait a little longer. There's always the chance you haven't even gotten this letter at all and that really sucks. I'll have to track you down if that's the case.

Ok. I'm rambling again. I love you. I miss you. I'll hopefully see you soon though, right? I love you.

Your Squirrel

Voldemort stared down at the letter for the longest time before shakily checking when it was dated. Around five weeks ago. Oh God, Quirrell. He was alright, he was out of there. He was waiting for him. Would he still be in Diagon Alley now, or would he have moved on to look for Voldemort? What was he going to do now? Would he just have to disguise himself somehow and sneak in there somehow? God there was so much to think about and so much to do –

His eyes fell on another piece of parchment on his desk; the plan drawn up by himself and the Death Eaters for the attack on Harry Potter and for a moment he stopped. He was so close to finally getting his own back on the boy. Was this what it came down to? Did he have to choose between Potter and Quirrell again? The answer should be straightforward, shouldn't it?

No, enough fucking around. It was completely obvious what he had to do. He folded up Quirrell's letter, tucking it in his pocket, before standing up and walking over to the revenge plan, all set to tear it up.

Quirrell was waiting for him and Voldemort was coming back for him.