Sorry in advance for the emotional rollercoaster – except not really!

There will be a continuation, so don't fret!

Quirrell was maybe pouring himself a bit too much wine.

He needed to keep his wits together, he needed to be a good host, and above all else, he needed to not be suspicious in any way whatsoever.

"So, you're still a teacher?" Harry was asking him conversationally, one arm draped over the back of the couch. Quirrell remained standing, chewing at his lip.

"Yup," he said, glancing at his watch, relieved to find it was an appropriate time to get everyone to the kitchen. The sooner this disaster of a night was over, the better. "History and English. Muggle school."

"That's cool, man," Harry said. "I weirdly enjoyed your lessons, you know."

Quirrell frowned. "You and your friends jelly-legs jinxed me for a class prank."

"Oh, shit, yeah." Harry's eyes widened. "We totally did, didn't we? Oops. Well, in our defence, we were also kinda jelly-legs jinxing Voldemort at the same time, so…" He took a sip of wine. "A win-win, I suppose. No hard feelings?"

"None on my end," Quirrell said. "As long as you're sure you have no hard feelings towards me, I suppose."

"You're not the first person to get hoodwinked by Voldemort," Harry said simply. "You more than paid for it, anyway. What with…"

Quirrell abruptly held up his hand to stop Harry's words in their tracks. "Thanks," was all he said. "You owe me nothing, but I appreciate that. And our kids seem to be really good friends despite it all, so…"

Harry glanced over to where Albus and Wang were playing a card game with Ginny, and he chuckled. "Yeah," he said. "Crazy. But a good crazy. So, where's this husband of yours, dude?"

"Held up at the office," Quirrell said, feeling like a broken record. "It's too bad. Maybe next time, huh?"

As if on cue, there was a knock at the front door, and Quirrell frowned.

"Will that be him now?" Harry asked enthusiastically. "Great! Let's meet him!"

When Quirrell glanced at his daughter, Wang seemed to be fervently focusing on her cards, refusing to meet his gaze. Quirrell forced himself to put a smile on his face. "I guess he forgot his keys," he said. "If everyone wants to make their way to the kitchen, I'll just…"

Wang leapt to her feet, tugging Albus along. "Sure thing!" she said, voice perhaps a little too high-pitched. "Can't wait to eat!"

Quirrell waited until everybody was safely out of sight in the kitchen before striding to the front door, yanking it open. In the doorstep stood a man with curly brown hair, a beard, and a sheepish expression.

"Who the hell are you?" Quirrell deadpanned.

"Very funny," Voldemort said, in a voice that was far deeper than his actual one. "Don't be mad at the kid, it's not her fault. Once she told me what was going on, there was no way I could leave you. I had to do this."

Quirrell looked him up and down, still firmly rooted in the doorway. "You could've at least picked a guy who was my type," he said. "Now they're gonna think I like otters."

"No idea what an otter is," Voldemort said, "but I'm gonna take it as a compliment. Now let me in."

"You shouldn't have done this." Quirrell's grip on the door handle tightened. "For God's sake, what're you playing at?"

"I needed to. I needed to protect you –"

"Protect me?" Quirrell echoed incredulously. "The best way of protecting me was to stay the fuck upstairs. The best way of protecting anyone was to stay upstairs! Also, no offence, but this guy you've chosen to morph into is two inches shorter than me, and I think Harry Potter could take you in a single punch."

Voldemort's nostrils flared. "No, he couldn't."

Throwing his hands up in exasperation, Quirrell gave a humourless laugh. "I don't care! I don't care! Do you appreciate how fucking insane this whole thing is? I needed to deal with this myself."

"I didn't want you to go through this alone," Voldemort said. "Squirrel, c'mon. We're a team."

"We won't be for much longer, if they find out who my husband really is," Quirrell said through gritted teeth. "So, please, for the love of all that is holy, go back upstairs and keep yourself hidden."

Voldemort took a step forward, gently grasping Quirrell's hand in his. "Quirrell," he said softly. "It's going to be fine. I'm gonna control myself, and it'll be over before we know it."

Peering at him doubtfully, Quirrell relaxed his stance enough for Voldemort to enter the house. "You've got to control yourself, Voldemort," he said, voice quiet. "Otherwise, I…I don't know what's going to happen."

"Nothing'll happen," Voldemort soothed. "Now, c'mon. I'm your muggle husband who works at an office. What could possibly go wrong?"

XxX

Voldemort considered himself to be handling everything extremely well, given the circumstances. He was somehow seated right next to Harry Potter himself, which was making his skin crawl, so he was sticking to very short answers and grunts whenever a question was directed his way.

"And you met at the park?" Ginny was asking. "How cute!"

"Yeah!" Quirrell said, taking a hasty sip of wine. "It was sweet, wasn't it, love? Moment he came up to me, I knew there was a spark. Been inseparable ever since."

Voldemort nodded, attempting a smile as Harry turned his head to him.

"So, you're all cool with the wizard thing," Harry said. "Must've been weird at first, right?"

"A little," was all Voldemort said. "But, y'know. Then it was fine."

"Especially, considering…" Harry gestured to himself. "The whole Voldemort thing. Not to worry, I sorted that out! Everyone can sleep safe, huh?"

Voldemort's grip on his wine glass tightened to the point where it was in very real danger of shattering. "Thank God for that," he said through gritted teeth. "So. What're you doing nowadays? If those glory days are behind you?"

"Ah, man, bit of everything," Harry said with ease. "I was doing Auror stuff for a bit, but it was a drag, to be honest."

"An Auror," Voldemort said with an arched eyebrow. "Wow."

"Wow, indeed," Quirrell said, keeping his voice light. "Very interesting."

"Yeah, well." Harry shrugged. "When you've defeated the Big Bad, there's not really much else to do, y'know?"

Quirrell laughed politely. There was an awkward silence, in which Voldemort took a long gulp of his drink.

"So…" Quirrell attempted. "How's school going, you two?"

"It's good!" Albus said enthusiastically, helping himself to some extra vegetables. "Potions is my favourite at the moment, but I'm enjoying Defence Against the Dark Arts a lot. We've been learning all about Patronuses."

"It's really tricky," Wang said, a little glumly. "I've not conjured up an animal yet, just stupid mist."

Quirrell laughed a little at her downcast expression, looking at her fondly. "Ah, you'll get it," he said. "Just takes a lot of time and practice."

"Took me ages," Harry agreed. "Lupin kept making me practice with Boggarts, but it was tough. Still, I'd take a Boggart over a real Dementor any day. At least Boggarts don't talk in sweet, sugary sociopathic tones all the time."

"Dementors don't talk, Dad," Albus said with an affectionate roll of his eyes.

"Yes, they do," Quirrell and Harry said simultaneously. There was a small silence, where both men looked at each other, and Quirrell abruptly broke his gaze first.

"They totally do," Harry continued. "They just don't make it public knowledge. Sneaky little bastards! Right, Prof – Quirrell?"

Quirrell took a long gulp of his wine. "Mmhmm," he said. "They're actually pretty chatty."

"Oh," Albus said, as he and Wang shared a surprised little glance. "They don't tell us that at school."

"They probably don't know," Quirrell said. "Like Harry said, it's not exactly public knowledge, unless…"

"Unless you've been super close to them," Harry finished. "Totally."

Wang Mu shifted a little in her seat, gaze darting towards Voldemort, whose fist was decidedly clenched. He could do this. He could do this, he could keep his cool, he could suck it up –

"It was in my first year, but man, I remember being surrounded by those guys like it was yesterday," Harry continued. "Total mind-meld! The cold, the stress they made me feel –"

"I generally don't like to talk about Dementors at the dinner table," Quirrell interrupted. He jabbed at his plate a few times, before throwing his fork down with a disgruntled sigh. "Ruins my appetite."

Voldemort threw a not-so-subtle glower in Harry's direction. "Now you've done it," he grumbled.

Harry winced apologetically. "Oh, dude, I didn't think –"

"Yeah," Voldemort said before he could stop himself, "you never do, do you?"

Ginny frowned heavily, leaning across the table. "Um, excuse me?" she demanded. "Just who do you think you're talking to like that? This is Harry Potter! The Harry Potter. I know you're a muggle, but even you should know who Harry is!"

"I know exactly who Harry is," Voldemort snapped, slamming his fist down on the table. "The insufferable know-it-all who still needs to be the centre of attention in my own house, and who has made my husband uncomfortable –"

"Darling," Quirrell warned through extremely gritted teeth.

Voldemort glanced down at his fist, which was still on top of the table. His skin felt weird, like all the rage bubbling underneath the surface was forcing its way through his flesh. Wait – no, his skin was actually bubbling. Uh-oh.

Hastily bringing a hand to his head, Voldemort felt the brown curls slowly diminish to make way for his own platinum hair. He recoiled from his seat, as if that would somehow hide who he was, debating whether it was too late to make a run for it. As the bubbling feeling came to an abrupt stop, he realised it was. Way too late.

The entire kitchen fell silent, save for the sound of Ginny dropping her cutlery with a clatter. Everybody around the table sat frozen as they took in the sight of Voldemort, whose hand uselessly dropped to his side.

"Ok," Harry eventually said quietly. "No offence, but what the fuck?"

"Language," Ginny croaked, face ashen.

Quirrell observed the situation, and then seemed to decide the best way to deal would be by topping up his wine glass. "Alright. Nobody freak out," he said once he'd taken a long gulp.

This, naturally, proceeded in Ginny letting out a high-pitched scream as she scrambled from her chair, hauling Albus up from his seat. "Harry! Harry, do something! Oh my Wizard God!"

"It's cool, it's cool," Voldemort attempted, throwing up his hands to show he was harmless. Unfortunately, this only seemed to make people panic more, as if he was suddenly going to start zapping wandless magic all over the place (which he couldn't even do, but whatever).

"This is not cool!" Harry said wildly, fumbling for his wand. "Wang Mu, get behind me! I've got this!"

Wang, who had remained seated right next to Quirrell, blinked at him in bewilderment. "I don't need to get behind you," she said, her voice wavering. "Nobody needs to do anything except sit back down."

"What the hell is going on!" Ginny exclaimed, still holding a squeaking Albus close to her, with an accusatory point in Voldemort's direction. "Do you know who that is, Wang Mu?"

"It's my papa," Wang said simply, lifting her chin up the slightest bit in defiance.

"Your – your papa is Lord Voldemort?" Albus whispered, eyes wide with horror. "And you didn't tell me?"

Wang shook her head fiercely. "He's not Lord Voldemort. He's not been Lord Voldemort for a really, really long time."

"She's right," Voldemort said, hands still in the air. "I'm not going to do anything. I swear on –"

"Swear on what? Your life?" Harry finally found his wand, and hastily pointed it at Voldemort. "How many times do I have to kill you, Voldemort, huh? Is this gonna be fourth time lucky?"

Voldemort's only response was a humourless laugh. He spread his arms out, eyes narrowed dangerously. "Yeah, sure thing, Potter! Come on, try it!"

In an instant, Wang was shaking Quirrell's shoulder in a panic, babbling at him to do something. "Dad, Dad, Daddy! You gotta stop them from being stupid, please!"

"Well aware." Quirrell lamely put his head in his hands, counting to ten under his breath. Once he was done, he pushed his chair back and clapped his hands twice, loudly. "E-nough!"

Everybody stopped. With a twist of Quirrell's hand and a muttered, Accio, Harry's wand was flying out of his grip and landing in front of Quirrell.

"We won't be needing any wands at the dinner table," Quirrell said firmly. "Now, if everybody can please stop shouting at each other, that would be fantastic."

"You're still working with him," Ginny whispered. "This whole time, you've been working with him."

"I certainly have not been working with him," Quirrell said. "I have, however, married him."

"Married?" Harry echoed uselessly. "Lord freakin' Voldemort doesn't get married."

Quirrell humourlessly held up his hand, where his wedding ring glinted in the candlelight. "Well," he said, "I guess I must be the exception."

"Damn right," Voldemort said immediately and without hesitation, only to shut up when Quirrell threw him a furious glower.

Harry shook his head. "No, no, that makes no sense. In my senior year, he came back. He possessed Ginny! He terrorised the whole of Hogwarts, again! How the hell can you stand there and say you married Lord Voldemort, but no big, he's really nice now?"

Wang Mu was already shaking her head fiercely, standing from her seat. "Nuh-uh," she said. "That wasn't Papa. That was one of his old horcruxes, and it happened right before they got me. Papa was here the whole time, and he was really sick from it. Like a stupidly bad fever that lasted weeks. Right, Papa?"

Voldemort turned his head, arms falling at his sides, all anger drained from him. Only now did he seem to be realising the severity of the situation. "Kiddo," he croaked as he looked at her. She only gazed back expectantly. "Yeah. That's – she's right. The old dia – journal that you found. It was a horcrux. A pissed off horcrux, but a horcrux. A very old version of me that hasn't existed in –"

"So you've got no horcruxes left," Albus said slowly, as if he was piecing everything together. "So…Dad can finally stop you. For good, this time."

"Hey!" Wang Mu yelled, fists clenched. "Albus, what the hell? That's my papa! Can you not just listen to me? And he does have a piece of his –"

Quirrell cleared his throat warningly, shooting his daughter a glare smouldering enough that she promptly fell silent. The last thing he needed was the Potters realising Voldemort had a piece of his soul in Quirrell. That would be far too dangerous.

"Let's all just…Take a breather, ok?" Quirrell said. "We can move to the living room, sit down, and properly explain it all. How does that sound?"

"Give me back my wand," was all Harry said, fists clenched. "Now."

"I'd rather not," Quirrell said. "On the slight chance you might try and kill me and my husband with it. I'm sure you understand."

Albus wrenched himself away from Ginny's tight embrace. "This isn't funny, Mr. Quirrell," he protested.

"I'm certainly not laughing," Quirrell said. "So I'm with you there."

"Wang Mu." Albus put his hand on Wang's shoulder, giving her a tiny shake. "Tell him. Please. He can't keep my dad's wand."

Wang Mu sniffled, glancing at Quirrell with wide eyes. "Please, Daddy," she croaked. "That's only going to make it worse."

"How about we all just put our wands in the middle of the table," Voldemort suggested, and did just that before standing back with his palms spread. "There. Now you know there's not gonna be any kind of funny business."

"That'll hardly work," Ginny said, her voice still high-pitched and shrill as she cowered. "Quirrell can do wandless magic! He can do whatever he wants to us!"

Quirrell pursed his lips. "Well, unless you're suggesting I chop off my hands, there's not a whole lot I can do about that," he said as calmly as possible. "But, here. My wand." He dug into his trouser pocket and pulled out his wand, dropping it onto the table with a clatter. "Ginny, if you please."

"We can jinx his wrists together!" Harry burst, looking extremely proud of himself for the idea. "He won't be able to mess with us then, will he? C'mon, Ginny, you've still got your wand!"

Quirrell's mouth fell open, breath audibly hitching in his throat, the only sign that the suggestion had deeply unnerved him. Before he could say anything, Voldemort was taking a step towards Harry, eyes narrowed in warning. "You lay a goddamn finger on him," he said darkly, "and you will regret it."

Harry levelled Voldemort's glare with an all-too familiar cocky smirk. "Coming from the guy who possessed my wife? We jinx his wrists and hear you out, or we leave right now and call the wizard cops. Your choice."

"Oh yeah?" Voldemort said, folding his arms across his chest. "Then you might as well go ahead and call them, 'cause you're not assaulting my husband like that. You can take me to Azkaban first before you ever do that."

"Don't be such an idiot," Quirrell said through gritted teeth. "Nobody is calling the police, nobody is going to Azkaban, and nobody is going to perform any magic whatsoever. We're going to go to the living room, I'm going to pour everyone some Firewhisky for the shock, and then we're going to maturely talk through everything that has happened."

Harry and Voldemort were still glowering fiercely at each other, neither of them moving from their rigid positions. It was only when Ginny hesitantly threw her wand onto the table that Voldemort broke the look first.

"Would you like some Firewhisky, Ginevra?" he asked through his barely contained fury.

"I'd like our children to get out of here," Ginny said. "Before you pollute their minds like you did mine."

Albus hesitantly cleared his throat. "Mum," he tried, "If Wang says the journal was a horcrux, then I believe her, so he didn't really –"

"You weren't there, Albus," Harry said immediately. "Ok, kid? You don't know what this guy is really like. He's a master manipulator, and a total jerk."

"I'm the jerk?" Voldemort exploded, flinging his arms up in exasperation.

Harry jabbed a finger into Voldemort's chest. "You're the Dark Lord! I'm Harry freakin' Potter! Of course you're the jerk out of the two of us!"

The argument was in dangerous territory of completely escalating, so Wang ran to one of the kitchen cupboards, rummaging around. Once she found a bottle of Firewhisky, she was at Quirrell's side in an instant, holding it out to him beseechingly.

"Thank you," Quirrell said, unscrewing the lid. He waited a few seconds as the sound of arguing increased, and then he simply turned and made his way into the living room in silence.

It took everybody in the kitchen a moment to realise what had happened, and then they all awkwardly trailed after him.

"I wasn't going to shout over you. Classic teaching technique," Quirrell said as he poured four strong shots of Firewhisky. "When students are being a little too rowdy or loud, best thing you can do is go deathly silent and wait for them to catch on."

Harry folded his arms across his chest. "We're not children," he said.

"True," Quirrell conceded. "Out of anyone, my husband is the one acting the most like a child. Please. Sit down."

Harry and Ginny glanced at each other, and then seemed to reach the same conclusion. "I don't want our kids here for this," Harry said. "Things have been heated enough in front of them already."

"Couldn't agree more," Quirrell said. "Wang, Albus, please go upstairs."

"But I don't –" Ginny faltered, gaze darting to Wang. "Ok, please don't take this the wrong way, but – if these are your dads, can we trust you to not hurt our son?"

Wang Mu blinked in horror, and then burst into loud, noisy tears. Albus gasped, immediately grabbing her hand and glowering at his mum. "Mum!" he hissed. "Of course I trust you, Wang! We're still best friends, I promise!"

"Ok, ok, I – I'm sorry, but – can you blame me?" Ginny said frantically.

"My dads – are – good!" Wang burst, fists clenched. "Even if – they're yelling!"

In two strides, Voldemort was in front of Wang Mu, pulling her in for a hug. If he'd been angry before, his rage was now officially molten. Nobody, especially a Potter, was going to make his daughter cry. "I'm so sorry, kiddo," he said gruffly. "So, so sorry. No more yelling, no more stupid shit, you have my word. Please, just go upstairs and do dumb kid stuff, ok?"

Wang Mu clung to him fiercely, sniffling into his shirt. "I'm sorry, Papa," she croaked. "I'm really sorry."

"Don't even," Voldemort said, a comforting hand on her head. "Go upstairs, sweetheart. We're going to get everything sorted."

"Yeah," Harry said quietly. "You and Albus, don't worry. This is grown-up stuff now, and…we're going to be grown-up about it."

Wang pulled away, blinking up at Voldemort tearfully. "It'll all be ok?"

Voldemort met Harry's eyes, resisting the urge to clench his jaw. "Absolutely," he said. "Without a doubt."

XxX

Quirrell nursed his glass of Firewhisky in his hands, keeping his gaze firmly focused on the amber liquid. Around him, there was talking. Explaining. Voldemort was doing his best to keep his cool, no matter the jibes, and he was grateful for that.

"Whatever you think of me," Voldemort was saying, "it's valid. But you're thinking of a version of me that died a long time ago. Since then – since Quirrell – I've never looked back. As insane as it sounds, the love I had for him, and vice versa, saved me. When you bounced the Killing Curse back at me, it was Quirrell's love that kept me alive."

"Is…that true?" Ginny asked hesitantly.

Quirrell kept his gaze steadfast on his drink. His knee kept jiggling. It was taking all his effort to make it stop.

"You thought I was never capable of love," Voldemort continued. "That was a fair assumption. But with Quirrell, it…" he trailed off.

Why couldn't his knee stop shaking? Quirrell adjusted the grip on his glass, doing some breathing exercises as nonchalantly as he could.

"With Quirrell, it felt like the most natural thing in the world," Voldemort continued. "I know I can't ever fully atone for what the old me did. But…I'm trying. Every single day, I can't believe how lucky and blessed I've been to have this second chance. I mean, hell, I never exactly thought I'd be someone who wanted kids, but when Wang Mu was born…"

They're going to call the cops on you.

Quirrell flinched at his intrusive thought, nearly spilling his drink. He took a burning sip, desperately willing his heart to stop pounding.

"Ok, so, what do you expect me to say to you?" Harry challenged, arms still folded across his chest. "Am I supposed to pat you on the back and go out for a beer?"

"No," Voldemort said simply. "'Course not. But I am asking you to at least consider what telling the Wizarding World would mean for us. And if you don't care about me, cool. I appreciate that. But I'm talking about Wang Mu and Quirrell."

Harry's gaze darted to Quirrell. "He's not exactly innocent, either. Harbouring a fugitive and all."

"You can't harbour a fugitive if they're legally dead," Quirrell said monotonously, gaze still steadfast on his glass.

"And you're confident you're not under some kind of…curse?" Ginny had to ask. "I mean, this is Voldemort. He controlled you before, he could be controlling you again."

At that, Quirrell finally lifted his head. "He never controlled me before," he said. "I willingly sided. After some persuading, granted, but still."

Harry looked at him, a little dumbfounded. "But –"

"You're absolutely right, Harry," Quirrell said. "I'm not innocent in this, but I've never claimed to be. I did my time. I paid the consequences, and I've put our dumb decisions behind us in the past, where they belong."

"That's exactly it, though." Harry pointed at him. "You paid the consequences. For things you didn't actually even do. The way I see it, Voldemort is living it pretty lavishly. Nice home, willing servant, an unbothered life."

"He's not my fucking servant," Voldemort snapped before he could stop himself. "But sure, yeah, I've got a good life now. A life I was constantly told I never deserved. You know what it was like being brought up in an orphanage that told me I was disgusting every second of my life?"

"Do you know what it was like growing up with the Dursleys?" Harry challenged. "Oh, wait! Why did I have to live with my uncle and aunt again, Ginny? Any ideas? Any takers?"

"Fair enough!" Voldemort's voice was rising, and he dug his nails into his palms to keep his cool. "And I'm sorry, I really am sorry, Potter. Look, I know we can't sort everything out in a single evening. There's a lot we need to discuss, especially if our kids are friends."

Ginny shifted in her seat, shaking her head. "There's no way they're staying friends."

"With all respect, that's not for you to decide," Voldemort said. "That's entirely up to them."

Quirrell downed the rest of his drink, appreciating the burn that spread across his insides. "We just need your word that you're not going to call the cops on us," he said. "Give us a week. Come back next weekend, with all your questions, all your cards on the table. We'll do whatever we can to assure you that we're no threat to anybody. "But – please. No cops, no Ministry, no –"

He couldn't finish his sentence, because his voice cracked. The silence that followed was extremely telling; everyone knew what he had been about to say.

"I can't go back," Quirrell blurted, already mortified at himself, but physically unable to stop his mouth. "I can't go back there. Voldemort, I can't, I can't –"

In an instant, Voldemort gathered Quirrell close to him, a gentle hand stroking through his dark hair. "You won't," he said immediately. "That's never happening. Never."

Quirrell buried his face in Voldemort's neck, doing his best to get his breathing under control. Between them, Ginny and Harry shared a small look of surprise, clearly bewildered at the patience and care Voldemort was displaying.

"Next weekend," Voldemort said. "More conversations. More earning each other's trust. For our kids' sakes. But we need your promise that you're not going to tell anybody. Please. Don't do it for me, you don't need to give a shit about me. Do it for Quirrell and Wang, whose company you were very much enjoying before I crashed my way in."

"What, so you've got a whole week to figure out how best to Obliviate us?" Harry retorted, an eyebrow arched.

Voldemort shook his head with a drawn-out sigh. "Potter. If I was going to Obliviate you, I would've done it the moment you arrived. I don't do any kind of dark magic. I barely do regular magic nowadays. I use a dishwasher, for fuck's sake."

Harry stood from the couch, his hand clasped with Ginny's. "We'd better be going," was all he said. "We've got a shit-ton to think about, and it's late. I want to enjoy the rest of the weekend with my son."

"Sure," Quirrell attempted, pulling himself away from Voldemort in an attempt to appear back in control of the situation. "Of course. No decisions until next weekend, though, right? Do we have your word?"

"You want my word?" Harry said. "I've got two for you. Douche. Bags." He paused. "Man, Prof – Quirrell. This is so shit of you. I really thought you were different."

With that, he turned his head to the staircase and yelled: "Albus! We're out of here, buddy."

Everything else was a blur. Quirrell was dimly aware of them leaving, the slam of the front door echoing throughout the house. He knew Voldemort was trying to talk to him, but the words buzzed in his ears like extremely aggravating bees.

Then Wang Mu was in front of him, hands on his shoulders. "Daddy," she kept saying. "What did they do? Is everything – it's all going to be fine, isn't it? You told them? You –"

"Leave him, Wang," Voldemort said simply, prying her hands away. "Your dad needs a moment. We all need a moment, huh? I'll go and make us hot chocolate."

Quirrell stood from the couch, limbs feeling like lead. "I gotta go to bed," he muttered. He had to get out of the way before he said anything he'd majorly regret to the two of them. He was past the point of being angry. Now all he felt was total, all-consuming dread. He made a mental note to put some protective charms around the house, just in case the police tried to knock their doors down in the middle of the night.

"It's going to be fine, Quirrell," Voldemort was telling him as he reached the staircase. "Did you hear them? They're coming back at the weekend, they agreed."

Had they agreed? Quirrell was so zoned out he could barely remember them actually leaving. "Yeah?" he asked, turning his head.

"Yeah," Voldemort said sincerely. "At the door, they agreed. Albus stuck up for us, so – good job on that, Wang. He's a sweet kid."

Well. Maybe that was something. Quirrell was still going to do some charms, though. "Ok," was all he said. "Cool. Great. See you tomorrow."

"Quirrell –" Voldemort attempted.

But Quirrell had already gone upstairs, without looking back.