Hope you all are getting in the winter spirit! It's freezing over here too.

"Papa," Wang Mu whined plaintively. "It is – so cold."

"Well, it's the middle of October, so yeah." Voldemort replied, before glancing down at her as they walked; her little nose was bright red and her teeth were chattering. "Come on, it's not that bad."

"Is too!" She protested, and on closer inspection she was on the verge of tears. "So, so cold and everythin' hurts."

"You sound just like your Daddy." He told her, though he did slow his pace to observe her properly. "He goes on at me about the cold all the time." At that moment, his phone rang, and he extracted it from his pocket to answer it.

"I'm sick." Were the first words he heard, and Quirrell coughed. "I'm being serious. I feel awful."

"Oh, not you too, I'm having all this from Wang." Voldemort said with a roll of his eyes. "I know you hate the cold, but I'll warm you up later, alright?"

"I swear, Voldemort. I'm hurting all over. I need to come home."

"Heard it all before, drama queen." He said, though his voice was affectionate. "Drink some hot chocolate. You'll be fine."

"You used to be on my case whenever I so much as sneezed." Quirrell whined helplessly.

"Well yeah, 'cause you used to get sick so often after Az…Listen, man, I'm out with Wang Mu right now. We're gonna look for some stuff for Halloween. I'll pick you up some chocolate."

Wang Mu tugged on Voldemort's sleeve anxiously. "Cold, cold, gotta go inside."

"Right with you." He told her, before turning his attention back to Quirrell. "See you later. Don't be a slacker."

"You're so – " Quirrell cut himself off, but he sounded angry. "Fine. Whatever. Fine!"

"Love you." Was all Voldemort replied, before disconnecting the call and unwrapping his scarf. "Right, Wang, I'm sorry. Here." He wound it around her neck, and she smiled up at him gratefully. "I promise, we'll be ten minutes, then we'll go back home."

"Was that Daddy?"

"Yeah, and just like you, he's feeling the cold and he's not happy. So, we'll have to cheer him up somehow. Ideas?"

"I'll draw him a picture." She wrinkled her nose. "You can give him a kiss."

"Low budget ideas, I like it."

"I'll think some more." Wang told him, before taking his hand again. "He still has to come trick or treatin' on Halloween day. I'm prob'ly gonna be a ghost, so let's buy candy."

Xxx

"Home at last, and in from the cold." Voldemort laughed, glancing at his watch. Quirrell had been working late tonight, and Wang was already in bed, which was perfect for what he had in mind. "Don't worry, since you called, I've been thinking of a ton of ways for me to warm you up."

Quirrell staggered into the living room, tugging at his tie. "I'm…"

"Wow, you are cold." Voldemort raised his eyebrows as his hand connected with Quirrell's freezing one. "What're we gonna do about that?"

Quirrell blinked at him, his eyes somewhat glassy as he murmured something.

"I think I might be hot enough for the two of us, if you wanna feel…" He pressed Quirrell's hand against his chest, before frowning heavily when he got no response. "I'm trying to seduce you here."

"I feel really bad…" Quirrell mumbled back. "Sorry…"

Voldemort's hand immediately went to Quirrell's forehead, and he winced at how hot it was. "Oh, shit, here. Sit. Maybe you are sick."

"I fuckin'…told you." Quirrell protested weakly, as Voldemort sat him down on the couch.

"Yeah, my bad," Voldemort admitted sheepishly. "I figured you were making a fuss over nothing. I mean, it's not like that's never happened before."

"My fusses are always entirely reasonable." Quirrell retorted, before he hastily covered his mouth. "Oh, oh, I feel really sick."

"No throwing up on this carpet!" Voldemort immediately fumbled for his wand to Accio a bucket into the living room, and hastily thrusted it on Quirrell's lap. "There, do it in there, and don't – Oh, jeez." He rubbed Quirrell's back comfortingly as he retched. "If that's your way of saying 'I told you so', you've truly made your point."

"I feel so bad." Quirrell was practically crying. "I feel so, so bad, Voldemort."

"I know, I know, hey." Voldemort cleaned up the bucket with his wand before wrapping an arm around Quirrell's shoulders carefully. "You feel like you're gonna throw up again?"

He shook his head, his face pale. "Don't think so, but my head hurts and I'm cold and I actually just puked in our living room which is so gross and I –"

"At least you did it in a bucket, right?" Voldemort attempted. "Hey, don't cry, it's ok. I think you've caught some bug, and I'll check your temperature for a fever. I've got you."

"I told you I was sick like five times today." Quirrell complained, his teeth chattering. "And you laughed at me."

"I said I was sorry, and I am." He kissed the side of Quirrell's head. "I'm really sorry, but I'm here now. I'm going to take your temperature just now, alright? I'll get you some water too. Come on, let's go up to the bedroom."

"No funny business, I'm sick." Quirrell mumbled, shakily getting to his feet. "Water. Then gotta…brush teeth."

"Yep, that's all happening, just hold on." Voldemort helped him up the stairs, and they reached the bathroom. Quirrell leaned against the wall and hesitantly sipped from the glass of water Voldemort soon pressed into his hand. "Just gotta find the thermometer. It's around here somewhere…"

Quirrell moved to brush his teeth, and spat a few times to get rid of the burning sensation in his mouth. "Gross." He stated flatly.

"What? Thermometers?"

"Bein' sick."

"Yeah, it's a bitch. A-ha!" He retrieved the thermometer from the cabinet proudly. "See, it really pays off to organise all the medical supplies."

"You alphabetise and arrange all my meds." Quirrell nodded gratefully.

"You bet I do. Right, open up." Voldemort stuck the thermometer in Quirrell's mouth, and grimaced as its temperature gradually rose. "Damn, dude! You don't fuck around when it comes to getting ill. That settles it, no work for you tomorrow. You need to get to bed."

"Gotta fever?" He slurred.

"Looks like it. Don't worry, I'll look after you."

"But Wang's gotta…She's got school…"

"I can take her. If it gets too much I'll call Devin, or your Mom. You just focus on resting, alright?" Voldemort told him somewhat sternly as he guided him back to their bedroom, where Quirrell immediately collapsed on the bed. "No, no, stay awake for just a few more minutes, love."

"No…"

"You can't go to sleep in your clothes. Come on, sit up."

Quirrell groaned feebly into his pillow before pushing himself into a sitting position and blearily unbuttoning his shirt. "Don't make me fold 'em."

"I'm not that mean. I'll do it." Voldemort accepted the clothes as they were handed to him. "If you don't put on pyjamas, you'll be even colder."

"I can't move anymooore." Quirrell protested, closing his eyes. "You just make me warm again, ok?"

Voldemort huffed a small laugh as he put away Quirrell's clothes. "I'll do what I can, but I still think you should…" He trailed off once he heard Quirrell snore, and gently moved him into a more comfortable position before sliding in next to him. He stroked his hair, before gently kissing his nose. "Whatever you need, I'll do it," He murmured. "I'll be your slave for the day. For the week. However long this lasts, I'll be at your service."

Quirrell mumbled something in his sleep, and buried his face in his pillow.

"You were right, y'know. What you said earlier, I always got so worried when you were sick. I don't want you to think I don't worry anymore, 'cause I do. I just…Well, you're always terrible when it starts to get cold. But I don't blame you for that, it's totally understandable. Sorry, I don't know why I'm saying all this when you're not even awake. I'll shut up now." He held Quirrell closer to him, and nuzzled his face in his soft hair. "I love you. Sleep well, you've earned it."

XxX

"I want to go and see Daddy." Wang Mu protested loudly, thumping her little hands against the table. It was Saturday morning, five days since Quirrell had staggered in from work sick, and he was still pretty rough.

"No, kiddo, you can't go up there, Daddy's still not feeling well. We can't have you catching whatever he's got." Voldemort told her, passing her a smoothie he'd just made her. "Drink up. Vitamin C is your new best friend right now."

"But you go see him!"

"Sure. I'm a grown up. I do the exact opposite of what I tell you to do." Voldemort ruffled her hair. "No, I'm kidding. I need to look after him, keep him company, give him his potions. I'm made of stronger stuff. Never been sick, don't plan on being sick anytime soon."

"Poor Daddy." Wang Mu sighed, resting her chin in her hand.

"Yeah, I know. Poor Daddy."

"Maybe he should go to that wizard hospital."

"St. Mungos? Nah, it's nothing like that." Voldemort replied, and then paused. "But maybe a muggle doctor. We'll have to see."

"Daddy doesn't like going to hospitals." She insisted.

"Yeah, he's not the biggest fan of 'em, I know." Voldemort said. "But remember, he's now working really hard to try and get that part-time job with Mungos. Then he can be a Healer too, which is so much better than him having to be the patient. But look, don't worry about it. Whatever happens, your Daddy will be ok. I'm actually gonna go up and check on him right now. Hey, should I put a movie on for you?"

"Ok." Wang Mu hopped from her chair. "Can I watch High School Musical?"

"You're a girl with good taste. 'Course you can. As long as you promise to drink your whole cup."

She sighed heavily, but took a few obedient sips of her smoothie as she followed him to the living room.

"Do me a favour, and keep the volume down low, alright?" Voldemort told her as he set up the movie for her and passed her the remote. "Your Daddy needs his rest and he almost definitely won't appreciate Zac Efron's singing. He's weird like that."

Wang Mu beamed at him and he smiled back before leaving the room and heading up the stairs. He reached their room and opened the door as quietly as he could to find it shrouded in its usual darkness to help Quirrell's headaches and he edged himself in, gently shutting the door. His eyes quickly adjusting, he made his way over to the bed where Quirrell was lying in a curled up ball.

"Hey, hon, you awake? How're you doing?"

Quirrell blearily lifted his head and offered him a weak smile. "Oh, hey," His voice was hoarse and raspy, a stark contrast from his usual soft tone. "Not too bad. Better than yesterday. And I haven't thrown up today yet, which is nice."

Voldemort looked at him anxiously, sitting down on the edge of the bed and gently stroking his brown hair back from his forehead. "You still feeling cold?"

"A little."

"You're burning up, man." Voldemort stated, gently bringing his cool fingers against Quirrell's clammy skin, as the man rested his head against Voldemort's shoulder. "You need proper help, not just blankets and my shitty potions."

"No, really, you're helping. A lot." Quirrell said firmly, though his voice was still croaky and his eyes were beginning to flutter. "I'm just...it's the flu or something. Not a big deal."

"You've been like this for days now, and I'm not convinced you're not getting any better. I think - maybe it might not be such a bad idea – "

"No."

"Let me finish."

"I know what you're going to say, but I'm fine. You're doing a great job. All I need is some rest for a few more days, and some more potion, and I'll be great."

"Is it so wrong to admit you might need some proper care? Some antibiotics or whatever the fuck else muggles use?" Voldemort began hesitantly. "How about it, huh? Would you be alright with a muggle doctor?"

"Maybe. I don't know. Look, just stop going on about it." Quirrell snapped, grouchily moving away from Voldemort's shoulder. "Anyway, why would you trust a muggle doctor? You always say how stupid they are."

"I did, before those doctors and nurses saved your life after Azkaban." Voldemort stood from the bed. "Well, if that's all you have to say about it, I'll leave you to get some more sleep. You need anything?"

Quirrell looked up at him after a few moments of silence. "I...I'm sorry. Please, sit down. I didn't mean to snap at you."

"It's fine, dude, don't worry." Voldemort sighed. "I'm not mad, I just want what's best for you. But you're a grown man, you can make your own decisions. I didn't mean to bug you." Voldemort kissed him on the head again and gave him a smile.

Quirrell sighed and furrowed his eyebrows. "Maybe...maybe you should call a muggle doctor...just in case."

"That's my Squirrel!' Voldemort grinned. "I knew you'd come to your senses - no offence. I'll get right on it."

"Now? Straight away?"

"I see no point in waiting. Maybe I can get one who'll come to the house and take a look at you."

Quirrell frowned in distaste. "Maybe I've changed my mind..."

"Too late," Voldemort said triumphantly, already walking from the room. "Get some rest. I'll keep you informed."

"Wait!" Quirrell called out, then broke off in a wheezy coughing fit. Voldemort immediately walked back, his expression replaced with concern as he sat Quirrell up and soothingly rubbed his back until he stopped.

"Here, drink this." He murmured as he passed him his glass of water on his nightstand. "You ok?"

"I don't want..." Quirrell flushed, "I don't want some random guy or whoever looking me over and touching me. I hate that. I hate doctors. I hate needles, and stitches, and whatever else. I'm not doing it."

"It won't be like that, Squirrel. You know that's not how it works." Voldemort said gently, "Do you need anything stitched up?"

"No, but what about blood samples?"

"I highly doubt they'll need to take any blood from you." Voldemort cupped Quirrell's face comfortingly. "Listen, I know you get jumpy around personal contact with strangers, and I know you hate being on the end of a medical examination, but you'll be fine. I promise. Besides, I'll stay in the room the whole time."

Quirrell gave a small sigh, then flinched back. "Dude, don't come too near me!" He protested in his hoarse voice, "The last thing this house needs is you sick as well!"

"Ah, don't worry about it. I've never been sick in my life." Voldemort said dismissively, and to further diminish Quirrell's protests, he kissed him on the lips with soft determination. "Now, I'm gonna phone a doctor, and I want you to rest and concentrate on getting better. Don't worry about anything else, Wang Mu and I have it covered."

A small smile appeared on Quirrell's pale face. "She's being ok, right? Not giving you any trouble?"

"Ha. I'd like to see her try. She's being an angel so she can come up and see you."

"Aw, my baby," Quirrell said miserably. "Tell her that Daddy's gonna get better soon for her, ok?"

"I have, don't worry. I think she's drawing you something as a gift, so whatever you do, act surprised and pretend she can draw."

"You're awful." Quirrell scolded, but couldn't help but crack a smile.

"I know. That's why you love me though, right?"

"Uh-huh." Quirrell gave a small chuckle. 'Now seriously, leave. I don't care what you say, if you catch my illness I won't be held responsible."

XxX

"Ok, that's it done." The muggle doctor took the thermometer from Quirrell's mouth and checked it. "You appear to have the flu."

"Yeah," Quirrell croaked back, glancing at Voldemort, "I kinda figured that out myself."

"There's not an awful lot I can do, except prescribe you some things for your aches. Make sure you get plenty of rest, and drink lots of fluids."

"Ok." Quirrell mumbled, "Thanks." For nothing, he almost added, and bit his tongue to refrain from actually doing so. "And this medicine, it'll help?"

"Oh, yes. I'll write you up a strong prescription that your, uh..." He glanced back at Voldemort who retaliated with an arched eyebrow, "…friend can pick up for you."

"I'm his husband." Voldemort said back with an unimpressed look.

"Yeah, he didn't spend a fortune on this ring for nothing." Quirrell added, holding out his hand. "I mean, he's my friend too, but husband comes first –"

"Right, yes. Of course." The doctor interrupted, looking a little flustered and uncomfortable as he retrieved a stethoscope from his briefcase. "Just a quick check, if you could lift your shirt…"

Quirrell clenched his jaw a tiny bit before grudgingly lifting his oversized t-shirt, flinching as the cold metal pressed against his bare skin.

The doctor listened for a few moments, before nodding. "Strong heartbeat."

"Thanks." Quirrell attempted to joke. "You should check out some of my other great assets."

"I think I've seen all I need to." Came the retort, and Quirrell almost flinched at the tone of his voice.

This was just what Voldemort needed - a homophobic muggle in his house, spouting shit about medicine which would undoubtedly be no help whatsoever. He opened his mouth, but caught sight of Quirrell giving him a warning glare and reluctantly closed it again, moodily snatching the written prescription.

"Well, thank you for stopping by." He managed to say through clenched teeth, "It's appreciated. When do you think my husband will start to feel better?"

"Hard to say. Give it a few more days." The doctor gave a quick nod, hurriedly following Voldemort out of the room and down the stairs.

Wang Mu bounded up to Voldemort instantly. "Papa, Papa, is Daddy better now?"

"Not yet, it'll take time." Voldemort ruffled her hair as he went to hold the door open for the doctor. "Thanks again."

"It's fine." The doctor smiled thinly back, wrinkling his nose a little at Wang Mu, before leaving. Voldemort furiously slammed the door shut, causing his daughter to jump and squeal at the noise.

"Sorry, kiddo." He said quickly, walking over and kneeling down to give her a proper hug. "Sorry. That guy just wasn't very nice."

"But he was making Daddy better!"

"Not really, Wang. There's only so much muggles can do. I should've known better..." He scowled before attempting to smile. "But hey, don't knock it 'til you've tried it, right? Maybe this muggle medicine will help Daddy a lot. Who knows?"

Wang Mu kissed his cheek. "Papa, why don't you like muggles?"

Voldemort frowned and stayed silent for a few moments, mulling his response over as he held her close. "They're not all bad, Wang. In fact, overall they're fine, and I'm just dumb."

"Devin's a muggle. My friends at school are muggles."

"Exactly."

"Grandpa's a muggle too."

"Yeah, you're right. It's just...my Dad was a muggle, and so were his parents...my grandparents...And they weren't good people."

"Why? Were they mean to you, Papa?"

"Yes," He murmured squeezing her shoulders. "They were mean. They didn't understand me."

She pursed her lips slightly in confusion. "Why?"

"Ah...A few reasons." Was all he said, scratching his jaw. "And when I was a boy I was in an orphanage run by muggles, and they weren't nice either."

Wang Mu frowned, wrinkling her small nose. "What's an orpha...orphan...What's that?"

"Orphanage. It's a place you go to when you don't have parents to look after you."

"But you did have -"

"My Dad didn't want me."

"That's so weird." She pouted, and he kissed the top of her head, forcing himself to smile.

"Anyway, let's not talk about that now, right? It's all done with."

"I've finished Daddy's drawing!"

"Yeah? Awesome! Let me see."

She ran off to get it, giving him the opportunity to hastily clear the lump in his throat and wipe away at his eyes. Ugh.

"Here, Papa!" Wang Mu had returned, eagerly holding out her drawing so he could take a look.

"Wow. That's something." He said truthfully. "Uh, what is it?"

"It's Daddy with his flowers, look!" She pointed at the vague scribbles. "There he is, right there."

He squinted. "Oh yeah, there you go! You really capture him, kid. That's probably the best I've ever seen him."

She beamed up at him. "Can you give it to him?"

"Sure. He'll love it.' He fondly ruffled her hair as he took the picture from her. "Well, I think it's time you got to bed. It's getting late."

"Can I stay up?"

"Hey, just 'cause your Daddy's ill doesn't mean I'll let you get away with everything. Sorry, kiddo, it's bedtime."

She sighed heavily, but began to trudge up the stairs.

"I'll be up in a bit to help you brush your teeth and whatever, ok?"

"Papa, I'm SIX."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, practically a pensioner. I'm still coming up to check." He smoothed out the drawing affectionately before moving into the kitchen area to make Quirrell some tea. When it was finished, he carefully lifted the mug and began to walk up the stairs, nudging open their bedroom door with his foot. "So," He whispered as he neared the bed, "that guy was an asshole."

Quirrell chuckled weakly, propping himself up against his pillows. "I told you it was pointless."

"You did indeed, Squirrel. I'll never doubt you again. Here, I made you tea."

"Aw. Thank you." He held out his hands to take the mug. "Is Wang Mu all sorted for bed?"

"I'm just about to go in and check. While I'm gone, here, look at this fabulous drawing."

Quirrell's dark eyebrows furrowed as he looked at it. "Is that me?"

"Well done, dude! And I think the scribbles around you are your flowers. Don't you look great?"

"Stop it, don't make me laugh! I'll have another coughing fit. It's...it's lovely. Tell her I think it's beautiful."

"You're far too biased, but fine. I'll join you in a bit, unless you'd prefer me to sleep on the couch, just in case I catch something."

"What?" Quirrell actually looked quite alarmed, then cleared his throat, setting the mug down on the bedside table. "I - I mean, I'm fine with the potential risk. You've convinced me you never get sick. No, you're staying with me. Besides, I can't sleep without you."

"Sure you can, but I was kidding." Voldemort said. "I mean, I'm barely gonna start sleeping on the couch when I've stayed with you ever since you got sick. That doesn't make sense."

"Whatever." Quirrell couldn't help but smile. "Go check on Wang, will you? Then come back here and cuddle me."

"On it." Voldemort told him before he left the room.

XxX

"I know you probably won't want to hear this, but whatever that doctor prescribed for me, it's working." Quirrell beamed, stretching as he lounged in his bed. "I feel so much better."

It was a rainy Wednesday morning, with Wang Mu at school, a few days since the asshole of a doctor had given Quirrell that medicine.

"Hey, if it's working, that's all I care about." Voldemort told him as he refilled Quirrell's cup with the potion he'd made. "But this'll still do you some good, so drink up."

Quirrell pulled a face, shrinking back. "But it tastes so...Blegh."

"It's not meant to taste good," He countered. "It's meant to help. Just take small sips, alright?"

Quirrell sighed before he obediently began to drink, grimacing every so often. Voldemort rubbed his back, encouraging him until the glass was empty. "Hey, there you go! That wasn't so bad. You want some more sleep?"

"I think I'm ok." Quirrell told him, shooting him a grateful smile. "But thank you. For everything. You've been so amazing, looking after me like this, as well as Wang all by yourself."

"You don't have to thank me. I'm happy to do it." Voldemort kissed his cheek. "Hell, if I can't look after my husband and daughter, I wouldn't be doing my job. You guys are my world, y'know?"

"Ah, shush." Quirrell laughed, but he was beginning to blush, which made a nice change from his usual pale face since he'd been sick. "Still, I'm gonna keep thanking you until I'm all better. Then I'll have to go back to work. I know for a fact my boss isn't happy I've been off for so long."

"Fuck him." Voldemort rolled his eyes, and then paused. "Actually, please don't. Everyone knows he has a crush on you."

Quirrell laughed again, and then began to cough. "Shut - shut up, Voldemort."

"Sorry, sorry." Voldemort rubbed his back, waiting until the coughing had subsided. "Anyway, it's not a crime to take sick days. You've been feeling like crap."

"On the mend now, though. So I'm going to start helping out. Has Wang been struggling with any homework?"

"Nah, not really." Voldemort rubbed his jaw. "I guess the difficult stuff will come later. She seems to still be enjoying herself, so it's all fine."

"She loves it, huh?"

"Yeah. She really does." Voldemort nodded. "What kid enjoys school? She's probably gonna be a politician or something."

"Or the Minister." Quirrell reminded him, cracking a small smile. "You know, she wrote in her get well card that she thinks I'll be the best Healer ever."

"That's 'cause you will."

"If I do get the job, I want to do more for mental health."

"Yeah, hon, I remember." Voldemort told him affectionately. "And you'll be amazing. But one thing at a time, and the first thing is to get completely better. So I'll shut up and let you rest."

"You don't have to go anywhere." Quirrell said, immediately grabbing Voldemort's hand as he made to stand up. "Stay with me? Being sick is so boring."

Voldemort huffed a small laugh. "Are you kidding? It's the best time to watch trashy TV and laze around."

"Then let's do that." He said eagerly. "Let's watch reality TV shows and cuddle. Yeah?"

"You're still feeling cold? Or is that just an excuse to snuggle up to me?"

"Do I need an excuse?" Quirrell challenged.

"Not at all." Voldemort had to admit, before kissing the side of Quirrell's head. "You know I can't resist you."

"In that case, it's movie time! I vote Corpse Bride, seeing as it's nearly Halloween."

"We watch that every year."

"I'm sick, Voldemort. You have to agree with what I say, it's the number one rule."

Voldemort rolled his eyes, but smiled. "It's the number one rule with you regardless. Fine. But we're watching something actually scary later. Deal?"

"Depends how scary." Quirrell replied immediately, wrinkling his nose. "I'm not good with gore, so that's out."

"We'll find something that'll work for the both of us. Somehow."

"Whatever you say." Quirrell stretched out again. "But you're on popcorn duty."

Have a spooky Halloween y'all!