"Alright, perfect, now go into fifth position – No, fifth, that's fourth."

Wang Mu furrowed her brow as she rearranged her feet in her ballet shoes. "Fifth is hard, Papa."

"Yeah, but it's an important one," Voldemort told her. "You want to dance ballet, you need to slide into fifth position easily."

"Ok, wait, let me try again." She replied, and did just that. "Am I doing it right?"

"Yeah, that's it. Sweet! Plié."

"What, like this?" She wobbled, her arms losing their position, and he managed to catch her before she fell forwards. "Damn it!"

"Hey, whoa, no need for that," he laughed. "Good job your Daddy isn't here. It's alright, it just takes a ton of practise. You're doing great. Are you enjoying your class?"

"You're a much better teacher than Miss Spencer is," Wang Mu told him, unpinning her dark hair from her bun, shaking her long hair loose. "But it's really fun, anyway. You think I'll be able to go en pointe?"

"Sure, but it'll take a few years," he said, collapsing on the couch. "Do me a favour, kiddo, get me a bottle of the beer I like."

"I'm not a waitress, Papa."

"Yeah, but I'm tired and thirsty, and you're the best daughter in the world." He lay himself down, stretching an arm over his head. "Plus, your Dad's out, so he can't get it for me."

"You could Accio it over," she rolled her eyes, taking off her ballet shoes.

"Uh-uh, put those away, neatly. And, unlike your Dad, I can't do wandless magic, so that's out."

"I could get your wand."

"It'd take the exact same energy to go to the kitchen than to go upstairs and get my wand," he batted his hand. "C'mon, I don't ask for much."

She murmured something unconvincingly, but did turn on her heel and head to the kitchen for him. Voldemort glanced at his watch, slightly impatient for Quirrell to return with – hopefully – good news. It was his final interview to see if he'd be able to become a Healer at St Mungo's and while Voldemort had full confidence in him, he knew some wizards were still major uptight asses.

Just as Wang Mu passed Voldemort his beer and he took a sip, the front door was shoved open loudly, resulting in him choking the slightest bit.

"Say hello to the newest Healer at St Mungo's!" Quirrell burst into the living room, punching the air in excitement. "I got it! I got the job! I get called in when there's an emergency, how cool is that?"

It sounded like a lot of stress to Voldemort, but he was grinning anyway as he stood, pulling Quirrell into his arms. "Knew they'd pick you," he insisted, giving him a kiss. "Congratulations, Squirrel. You're going to be amazing."

Wang Mu was looking a little troubled; she was frowning, her arms folded across her chest. "Daddy? Does this mean you'll never be home? 'Cause you're already really busy."

"Oh, no! Don't worry, baby, it's totally fine," Quirrell assured her. "I mean, it's not a full-time thing, that'd be impossible. Like I said, it's only for when they really need me."

"Yeah, c'mon," Voldemort nudged her expectantly, even though he was privately agreeing. "Aren't you going to congratulate your Dad on his hard work?"

Wang Mu smiled, and gave Quirrell a hug too. "Well done, Daddy. You're gonna be the best."

"Ah, don't talk me up too much before I've even started," Quirrell laughed. "But hey, you have a point. I'm the best. Oh, you've started on beer already?" This he directed at Voldemort, who shrugged and held out the bottle to him.

"It's actually pretty late now, Q," he felt he had to remind him. "You've been out all day. I had to drive and everything."

"You're getting so much better at that," said Quirrell, even though Wang Mu was shaking her head in complete disagreement. Voldemort hoped she wouldn't mention how he'd gone through two red lights. Quirrell then clapped his hands. "Screw beer, I want some Firewhisky, or champagne. Champagne! That's what we need right now."

"I don't know if we have any," Voldemort admitted, but then hastily squeezed Quirrell's shoulder. "Which is no problem, 'cause I can go out just now and get some for you. You're right, let's celebrate properly. You deserve it."

"Firewhisky will be just as great, no worries," Quirrell insisted, giving Voldemort's cheek a kiss. "You've already been running around all day. Was your dance class good, Wang?"

"Yup," she said simply. "My concert's in four weeks. You'll be there, right?"

"Of course we will," Quirrell replied, but he was already scrolling through his phone, presumably to check his work schedule. "Where else would we be? I'm already really excited about it."

She smiled brightly at him. She'd lost one of her front teeth recently and they'd spent the best part of a week consoling her about it when she thought her smile now looked ugly. Voldemort wasn't being biased, but she was the cutest kid in the entire world.

Maybe a little biased, but it was still a fact.

"Alright, go and get your Dad some Firewhisky," he told her, pointing towards the kitchen. "It's in the lower cabinet."

The smile abruptly fell, a scowl taking its place. "What? No! Papa, I just got you beer. I'm not a servant."

"That's fair enough," Quirrell agreed, jabbing Voldemort in his side, not too gently. "You made our kid get you that beer? Shame on you."

Voldemort winced, rubbing the afflicted area. "I asked her, I didn't force her. And I asked this time, too. I wanted to talk to you," he lowered his voice, raising both his eyebrows. "Y'know. In private."

"Oh," Quirrell's expression cleared as he lowered his voice too. "Alright. Still, you can't expect Wang to handle your expensive Firewhisky to your satisfaction."

Voldemort pursed his lips in agreement. "Maybe not. Come with me, then. We'll get it together."

Wang Mu had already picked up her Harry Potter novel and was sitting cross-legged up on the couch, so she thankfully wasn't paying any attention to the two of them as Voldemort tugged Quirrell into the kitchen.

"What's up?" Quirrell asked immediately. "Aren't you happy for me?"

"'Course I'm happy for you," he insisted. "You worked so hard and you've been talking about this for ages. How couldn't I be happy?"

"Then why do you have that look on your face?"

"What look?"

"Your eyebrows are all pinched. It's your concerned face," Quirrell told him. "Are you concerned?"

Damn it, Quirrell could really read him like a book. After all these years, it still took Voldemort by surprise whenever Quirrell voiced exactly what he was thinking, sometimes even before Voldemort knew himself. He saw no point in lying. "Yes."

Quirrell's face fell. "But why? I don't get it."

"Because I know you and I think you're taking on way too much," Voldemort had to say, already regretting it as Quirrell's eyes narrowed. "Take Wang's dance recital as an example. The minute she mentioned it you were already checking your phone. You can't make it, can you? Let me guess, a school meeting?"

"I'm going to ask if they can reschedule," Quirrell managed, looking extremely put-out that Voldemort had managed to guess. "It'll be fine. There's no way I'm missing her show, alright?"

"I'm not lecturing. I'm only suggesting that maybe…You're giving yourself a little too much work."

"It'll be fine," Quirrell repeated, sterner this time. "I'm not made of glass, so don't treat me like I am. I want to do these jobs and I'm going to do them to the best of my abilities. Which are pretty fucking good."

Voldemort raised both hands in surrender. "Awesome. Then good for you. Like I said, I couldn't be prouder."

"Yeah?" Quirrell shifted, tugging at his tie to loosen it. "Thanks. I appreciate that."

"Don't sulk on me, Squirrel. I'm honestly really happy for you. You know me, I just worry about you," he shrugged, cracking a smile. "I can't help myself."

Quirrell's expression softened and he thankfully smiled back. "Alright."

"Can you promise me one thing, though? If you find yourself getting a little stressed or whatever, tell me. We'll figure it out."

"Sure," he agreed. "That's fair enough. Now pour me some Firewhisky."

XxX

With great responsibility came a lot of stress. That was normal. That was totally to be expected. Sure, it was frustrating and Quirrell was tired seventy per cent of the time, but it was all worth it.

As it turned out, St. Mungo's was kind of a mess and had a lot of emergencies. Quirrell had decided a long time ago that muggles had a much better grip on the whole medicine front and so far his new job was proving that point.

He also hadn't really taken into consideration that it'd be gory. There was sometimes a lot of blood. Quirrell still wasn't exactly good with that, but he was improving and he'd be damned if he went home complaining about it to Voldemort.

His phone rang as he was grading papers in the teachers' lounge and he did his best not to yawn as he answered it. "Hello?"

"Daddy! Daddy, hi."

"Hi, Wang," Quirrell replied, tapping his pen against the desk. "What's up?"

"Nothing. Just wanted to say, make sure you come really early for the concert tonight so you get good seats. Like, right at the front, Daddy, 'kay?"

"Oh…" he breathed out slowly, blinking down at all the papers he still had to look through. Fuck. Fucking hell, tonight was the concert? Already? "Um, I mean, sure! No problem, sweetie. Hey, can you put your Papa on the phone for a moment?"

"Alright," she replied happily. "I'm a tiny bit nervous but Papa says that's normal."

"It is, honestly. You'll be amazing."

"Alright," she repeated, and took a deep breath before yelling, "PAPA! Phone!"

A few moments later, Voldemort's gravelly voice greeted him. "Hey. How's it going?"

"Why didn't you remind me?" he hissed, jabbing his pen against the paper erratically. "Why didn't you say anything about this recital?"

"Yeah, I'm doing pretty good, thanks for asking," Voldemort said dryly. "And I did. For one thing, it's in our calendar. For another, Wang's been going on about it for weeks. You can't make it, is that what you're about to tell me?"

"No! No, it's not that, I'll be there, I just—I have so many papers left, and I need to get them done by tonight, so I—"

"Yeah. Nice," Voldemort retorted, his voice laced with enough scorn to make Quirrell cringe. "So, you'll be late? Or maybe you'll just be a no-show. Awesome. Want me to tell her, or should you?"

"Don't act like—I'm not doing this on purpose! Of course I want to be there, I said I would be, so I will! Just…" he faltered. "Maybe a little bit late. But…Hey, you can save me a seat, right?"

There was a very long silence. Quirrell knew what that meant; Voldemort was doing his very best not to say something he'd regret. He supposed Wang Mu was still in earshot.

"I'm really sorry," Quirrell attempted, lowering his voice. "Dude, I am. I promise, I'll make it up to the two of you."

"I'm not the one you need to make it up to."

"I'm pissing you off, alright, I know that. I'm not doing any of this deliberately, trust me. I'll get there as soon as I can."

"Her first recital, man. What else will you miss because you're too busy? Taking her to the train station for her first day at Hogwarts?"

His grip on his pen tightened to the point where ink splattered all over his fingers, a smattering of blue staining his skin. "Don't you dare go there. You know I'd never— It's a fucking dance, I'll miss the first thirty minutes of it, no one's gonna die."

"Alright, now I'm going to hang up before I get really mad," Voldemort said, and there was something in his tone that Quirrell couldn't decipher. "See you later."

"Wait, wait, I'm sorry, just—" The dialling tone was his only response, and Quirrell slumped in his chair. Now he'd done it. And now he was even more behind with these damn papers.

A takeout coffee cup was placed in front of him and he blinked before glancing up to find Devin standing by his side. "Figured you needed caffeine," she supplied. "Wow, you look like you could tear your own hair out."

"At this point, I could," he muttered, gratefully taking a sip of coffee. "Thanks."

"What's the matter?"

"What isn't? I have, like, twenty papers to get through and my daughter's recital is tonight. My husband probably wants to strangle me."

"You're not missing Wang Mu's recital just to grade some tests, are you?" she asked in surprise. "Can't they wait?"

"I'm already falling behind. I have so much to do, everywhere, all the time. If I manage to finish these, I can get to see, like, half her show, which is better than not seeing it at all. Right?"

"Does she like to dance?" was all Devin said in response.

"She loves it. Just like her Papa. She's so excited for this show, she's been practising for months at her classes. This is her first time dancing in front of a proper audience." Just thinking about it was making him grin, but the smile soon faded. "Jeez, what am I doing? I have to see the whole thing. I can't just show up half-way through! I'm such a jerk!"

"Nope, you just needed to come to your senses a little," Devin told him with a laugh, poking his shoulder. "So, c'mon. The papers can totally wait. You can maybe even use one of your sick days tomorrow, get them done at home. Right now you have to support your daughter."

"I do," he agreed, already shoving his things into his briefcase. "God, I hope I can resolve this whole thing."

"Sure you can. Just go and apologise. If it's Joe that's mad at you, he'll forgive you in two seconds."

"Fingers crossed," Quirrell muttered darkly, already halfway out the door.

XxX

The dance school's auditorium was packed with people. Quirrell honestly hadn't expected it to be so busy; he'd thought this was a low-key sort of event, but apparently not. That only made him feel worse about himself for how uninvolved he'd been in all this.

Voldemort's eyes widened in surprise as he spotted Quirrell in the foyer and he shoved his way through the crowd to reach him. "Hey," Quirrell panted from the effort, thrusting the pink flowers he'd bought at him. "For Wang. All performers deserve flowers."

Voldemort continued to look at him in confusion. "Don't you have papers to grade?"

"I always have papers to grade, honey," he replied. "Who gives a fuck anymore? I've been letting way too much slide. Like, how could I miss our girl's first performance? Was I seriously going to do that?"

"I didn't think you really would." Voldemort said, and then ran his thumb across Quirrell's cheekbone affectionately. "I mean, I hoped you wouldn't. Listen, I know you're so busy and I want to help you more—"

"We'll talk about that later," Quirrell promised. "It's not important right now. Can I give Wang her flowers?"

Voldemort shot him a smile before kissing his nose. "All the dancers are backstage. Maybe wait until after."

"Oh." Quirrell's face fell a little. "I guess I'm still a little late after all."

"No, it's fine. Besides, everyone knows the performers get their flowers after their show." Voldemort slung an arm over Quirrell's shoulder. "You did great, and she'll be really excited to see you."

"Front row."

"Sure, front row seats sounds good to me." Voldemort glanced around, still smiling. "Ok, it sounds stupid, but I love this. I love how many people there are to see kids dance. Even if it's just a small dumb concert."

"That's not stupid and this isn't a dumb…Oh my God, no, you don't think that I think that, do you? Because of all the crap I said on the phone?" Quirrell gasped slightly. "No, dude! I know how important dancing is to you. I never…"

"Chill, it's fine," Voldemort said with a small laugh. "I know. But yeah, this is really exciting for me. I never got to do performances when I was a kid. Shit, even if I did, it's not like anyone would even come and see me. That's why I think this is so great for Wang to…Hey, why're you so upset?"

"'Cause…'Cause…" Quirrell faltered. "I've been so terrible. I just…I wanted to be a Healer to help people. I'm helping strangers who probably don't like me, while I'm neglecting my family."

"Neglecting?" Voldemort echoed. "You're not neglecting anybody. It's a demanding job, we all know it. Listen, I'm more worried about your stress levels, in all honesty. Maybe you could…Cut back on some hours a little?"

"I'm already trying to do the bare minimum, but yeah. I'm going to write them a letter when we get home. But for now, I just want to focus on you and Wang." Quirrell insisted, pressing a kiss to Voldemort's cheek, breathing in deeply.

"I know the health of the patients is important, but I care more about your health. If this is all getting too much for you, we're gonna have to pause something, you know?"

"I know, I know," Quirrell replied with a sigh. He was an expert in it, from far too many experiences. "But like I said, not tonight. Tonight I want to see my daughter dance."

They managed to get good seats at the front of the auditorium, so by the time the fancy red curtain finally rose, Quirrell was in the perfect place to see Wang Mu's smile just about light up the whole room. She looked absolutely adorable in her pink leotard and tutu, her dark hair twisted up to show her face.

She shot the two of them a small, eager wave before they began with the first ensemble dance. Quirrell felt his smile widen with every spin and leap the kids did. She was really good; he'd seen her practice a few times, but never anything this strenuous or technical. This was proper dancing and she was loving every moment of it.

"She's amazing," Quirrell murmured to Voldemort. "Seriously, she's so good."

"She's gotta try tap dancing," Voldemort whispered back in agreement. "She's a natural."

"You've been helping her, haven't you?"

"Only a little."

"You're amazing, too," Quirrell replied truthfully and kissed his cheek, before hushing to watch the rest.

By the time the final dance was over and all the kids took their bows, Quirrell knew for a fact he'd rather be here than anywhere else. Suddenly all his stresses seemed so insignificant. He was moving towards Wang Mu the second she got off the stage and wrapping her up in a big hug. She laughed breathlessly, grinning up at him, before blinking in surprise.

"You got flowers, Daddy?"

"For you," he told her, passing them over. "All good performers have to have flowers, right?"

"Was I good?"

"Are you kidding? You were wonderful."

"The best," Voldemort agreed, patting her shoulder. "Not to make you big-headed or anything, but yeah. You were the best out of all of 'em."

She flushed, clutching the flowers close to her. "Thank you! I'm so happy. I'm happy you're happy, too."

Quirrell laughed, kissing the top of her head. "How could I not be after this? I have a family of amazing dancers."

She bowed again with a small giggle. "You promise you had fun?"

"I swear it. The most fun I've had in three weeks." He told her with a small smile. "But you always make me feel better." He cupped her face affectionately, then turned his head to Voldemort. "The two of you do. Always."