A/N: Happy New Year!
Hoo boy there's a lot going on in this update! I feel I may need to give a content warning just for mental health stuff/PTSD/relapses. I didn't want to shy away from writing about it – in personal news I had a very bad OCD relapse last year and as tough as they are, we always come out stronger. The same can be said for our Quirrell, so do not fret!
So, yes, there is angst. But there is also love and drama and all that good stuff. I truly do hope you enjoy, because this idea has been in my head since I first STARTED this fic all the way back in…..
(Let's not think about the passage of time)
"How's Dad?" were the first words Wang Mu blurted as she barged her way into the front seat of the car, slamming the door behind her.
Voldemort, having parked a good distance away from King's Cross station, practically jumped out of his skin at the sudden arrival. "Holy shit! Kid, I'm getting too old for this." He turned the radio off, waiting for his rapid heartbeat to slow down. "Hello to you too, by the way."
Wang had the decency to look sheepish as she put her seatbelt on. "Sorry, Papa. I just – the whole train ride, I've been so nervous. When are the Potters coming?"
It was Friday dusk, the sun gleaming orange behind the clouds as it made its slow descent. Harry and Ginny were supposed to be arriving in less than two hours, which was alarming for a whole host of reasons, but mainly because Quirrell had still been in bed when Voldemort had left the house to collect Wang.
"We've got time," was all Voldemort said. "How was school this week?"
"I don't care about school right now, Papa," Wang said scornfully. "How's Dad?"
Voldemort twisted the keys in the ignition as the car sprang to life. He still wasn't the best driver by any means, but he was at least a lot more confident. "You should care about school, you little Ravenclaw," he said. "School's important."
"You dropped out."
"Extenuating circumstances," he said immediately as he began to drive. "Never, ever follow past me's example, got it?"
Wang smirked, leaning back into her seat. "Yeah, Papa," she drawled. "Got it. Now, how's Dad? You're making me more nervous by evading my question."
With a scoff, Voldemort turned the radio back on, so the car was filled with 80s pop music once more. "Alright, alright, Miss Dictionary. Your Dad…He's ok."
"Just ok?" Wang asked, voice suddenly quiet.
"For now, just ok," Voldemort said. "But he's working through it. He might, uh, look a little tired when you see him, and a little…Y'know. Down."
Wang nodded, shifting her gaze to look out the window.
"But he's going to be fine," Voldemort insisted, reaching over to gently pat his daughter's head. "Your Dad's the bravest guy I know, alright? You know how mental health works, there are ups and downs, and he's well aware when he's down and what to do about it."
"What can…" Wang hesitated. "What can I do to help?"
"What you always do," Voldemort said simply. "Be yourself. Be a kid. And try not to worry about your parents all the time."
Wang Mu huffed a small laugh, turning her head back to look at Voldemort fondly. "Yeah," she said. "That'll be the day."
XxX
The house was silent and undisturbed by the time Voldemort had driven them home. By the looks of it, Quirrell was still shut up in their bedroom, which wasn't exactly ideal considering their meddlesome guests were going to be arriving at any moment.
"Right," Voldemort said, trying to sound as if he was totally fine and not at all worried about what was about to happen. "You hungry?"
Wang Mu simply shook her head. "Ate a bunch of stuff on the train," she said, holding up her backpack. "I might shower, though."
"Sure, you do that." Voldemort absent-mindedly took out his wand from his back pocket and lit up the candles on the coffee table. "Your dad's probably getting ready too, so…Don't go barging into our room or anything."
Wang was already halfway up the stairs, and glanced over her shoulder. "Gotcha," she said, before disappearing to her bedroom. Voldemort watched her go with a small smile, before his gaze flickered to his wand, still in his hand. He'd leave it in the middle of the room to show compliance, to show he was no threat.
Ten minutes later, there was the shrill sound of the doorbell, and still no sign of Quirrell. Voldemort grimaced, glancing at his watch. Of course they were inconsiderately early. Classic Harry Potter.
Voldemort took a deep breath, forcing his muscles to relax, and then opened up the door with a hopefully calm expression. "Hey," was the first thing that came out of his mouth. "How's it, uh – how's it going?"
Harry and Ginny stood in the doorway, barely disguised contempt all over their faces. "Oh, y'know," Harry said stoically. "Totally awesome."
Deciding not to dignify that with a response, Voldemort pushed the door open wider. "Well…" He gestured for them to come in. "Same protocol as before? Wands on the table?"
Ginny already had hers in her hand, nervously fidgeting with it. "Mmhmm…" she managed as she skirted around him, as if he was going to hex her with a single look. Harry stayed in the doorway for a moment, pursing his lips.
"Sure," he eventually said. "I can beat you without a wand if I had to, anyway."
Voldemort resisted the urge to laugh in his face, and simply shrugged. "Whatever you say. Now, about tonight – about how this is all going to go. I appreciate you both coming here and giving us a chance to –"
"I don't know what I'm doing," Harry admitted as he stepped inside. "No clue what to do for the best. Still deciding if I should bust out the old Auror training and get the two of you in handcuffs."
"Please," Voldemort said quietly. "I know you don't owe me anything; you don't need to treat me with any decency, I don't deserve it. But Quirrell – he's really not ok right now, and I'm – fuck it, Potter, I'm scared for him. Alright?"
Harry looked at Voldemort through narrowed eyes. "Starting the sympathy act a little early, aren't you? I've only been here two minutes."
"It's not an act," Voldemort said. "He's making himself sick, worrying whether you two are gonna be sending Dementors here any second. This whole week, he's been –"
They were interrupted at the sound of the back door to the garden opening, and Quirrell walked inside with an impressive bouquet of vibrant flowers. He was clean-shaven and extremely dapper in a pale blue shirt, brown hair meticulously brushed. Voldemort stared at him in shock.
"Yeah," Harry said in an undertone, "he sure looks sick, Voldemort."
For a while, Voldemort struggled to make sense of what he was seeing, especially when Quirrell presented the bouquet to Ginny with a warm smile. "For you," he said. "I know flowers don't exactly make everything alright. But they make everything a little brighter."
"Oh!" Ginny accepted the bouquet, admiring them. "These are…lovely. Thank you. You made these?"
"Sure did," Quirrell said. "You're very welcome."
"Whoa, whoa, Ginny!" Harry cut in quickly. "What if they're, like, laced with poison or something?"
Quirrell arched an eyebrow. "Why would I poison my own flowers? Seems a bit of a waste for somebody so passionate about the botanical arts."
Floundering for a moment, Harry could do nothing but gesture around. "Dude, I don't know! This whole scenario is totally bat-shit! Just – drop the flowers, Ginny!"
"Oh, but…" Ginny pouted as she glanced at her bouquet. "I really like them."
"Thanks," Quirrell said with another bright smile. "So you've got freesias, snowbells, some roses – of course – and then this type is actually my favourite, it's called a –"
There was the sudden sound of footsteps on the stairs, and before long Wang Mu was flying into the living room towards Quirrell, hair still slightly damp from her shower. "Dad!"
"Baby," Quirrell said with a warm smile, enveloping her in a hug. "How're you doing?"
"How're you doing?" she demanded. "Are you ok? I didn't want to go back to school, I wanted to stay here with you and Papa so badly."
Quirrell soothingly stroked her hair back, shaking his head. "I'm absolutely fine, Wang," he told her. "You don't need to worry about me. It's my job to worry about you. Now, who'd like a cup of tea?"
"Only if someone with no magic hands does it," Harry said immediately. "Voldemort can do it, if he's so apparently domesticated."
Wang pulled away from Quirrell, frowning heavily at Harry. "I thought you were going to give my dad a chance. That's what Albus said! Just 'cause he can do wandless magic doesn't mean he does it all the time, ok?"
"It's true," Quirrell said simply. "It's also not as simple and easy as it appears. Takes a lot of effort, and I'm a little tired from work this week, so I think you'll be pretty safe."
Ginny nudged Harry with an expectant little look, until he eventually threw up his hands with a sigh. "Fine, fine! Sure. Trusting an ex-con and a Dark Lord 'cause our son told us to. Why not?"
"A former prisoner who was proven innocent on all charges," Quirrell corrected. "And a practically reborn and re-soulled Voldemort. If we want to be specific."
Harry scoffed and muttered under his breath, only for his eyes to widen slightly. "Wait, whoa, wait. Back up. All his horcruxes are gone. I know, 'cause I took care of that. He's basically just a walking shell of a person, if you're being so specific. How can he be –"
"It'll all go way smoother with a cup of tea," Quirrell interrupted. "As promised, we're going to answer all questions. So. Take a seat. Wang, entertain our guests."
In the kitchen, Voldemort watched Quirrell pour milk into five teacups, as if this were a perfectly normal evening. Wang had remained in the living room, though judging by the total silence, she was not having an enjoyable time with her former idol.
"I can feel you staring," Quirrell said mildly. "You're gonna burn a hole in my shirt."
"You look lovely," Voldemort said. "That's all."
Quirrell passed him the tray of teacups with a smile that didn't meet his eyes. "Thanks," he said. "I'm all good. Given myself a bit of a shake. I was a total drag this week, huh?"
"Wow," Voldemort said, in an equally light voice. "Who knew it was that easy? Guess we should ring up the psychiatrists and put them all out of work."
Quirrell didn't rise to the bait. "I'm fine, Voldemort. Really. It was a…blip."
"It's not a blip, babe," Voldemort said. "It's a relapse, and you're putting up a hell of a front, but that's not sustainable."
"It's sustainable for tonight," Quirrell said, gesturing towards the door. "So we can do what has to be done. Now, go put on your best show, got it?"
XxX
"A love shield?" Harry echoed, mouth slightly agape. His cup of tea was long finished, but he still held onto the handle as if it was the only stable thing around him. "Like…my mom's? That happened to you?"
Wang Mu, after much protesting, had been sent upstairs so that Quirrell and Voldemort could have this conversation. Voldemort was increasingly glad about that, because judging by how it was going, they were only bewildering the Potters more.
Voldemort nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I didn't plan on it. It was…When I attached myself to Quirrell's soul, it left its impression I guess. His love saved my life when your spell backfired."
With a somewhat nervous smile, Quirrell tapped at his heart. "Literally soulmates. So, he does have a soul. He's a part of me, and vice versa."
Harry and Ginny just stared at both of them as if they was completely crazy. "Oh my Wizard God," Ginny eventually mumbled. "You're the last horcrux?"
"He's not a horcrux!" Voldemort snapped immediately, and then forced himself to relax again. When he continued, his voice was soft yet firm. "He's not. Don't ever refer to him as that."
"As you can imagine, we debated for a while over whether to tell you this," Quirrell said, hoping he was doing a good job at presenting himself as calm and controlled. "But now that we have, it gets everything out in the open. The ball is completely in your court. You know something that very much puts me and Voldemort in danger, and we've given you that information willingly."
Harry's gaze darted between them. "You – I mean – this is nuts."
"And hopefully, it proves we're not a threat to you," Voldemort countered. "You've now got an even bigger upper hand than we could ever dream of."
"I'm hoping that by the end of tonight you realise we're a legitimate, loving family," Quirrell said simply. "Comfortably living in the muggle world and doing absolutely nobody any harm. You wouldn't be protecting anybody by turning Voldemort and myself in to authorities, or informing them about the piece of his soul. You'd be destroying our child's life."
"Wang Mu obviously is the most important factor here," Ginny agreed. "But whether we'd be destroying her or saving her is a totally different story."
Voldemort arched an eyebrow. "Saving her from what? Doing her chores? That's about as extreme as we go, parenting-wise. Though sometimes I guess we do throw her in the basement and leave her for a couple of hours if she doesn't eat her five-a-day."
"Ha!" Quirrell practically interrupted, as he not-so-subtly dug his fingers into Voldemort's thigh. "You are just a regular comedian tonight, aren't you?"
"Sure am, sweetheart," Voldemort said, attempting to break free from his husband's surprisingly strong grip. "Almost as funny as Harry and Ginny are being. The big-shots swooping in to save the day."
Harry narrowed his eyes. "Don't patronise us, Voldemort."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Voldemort said with a shrug.
Harry's gaze switched to Quirrell, his frown only increasing. "I guess my next obvious point is – who the hell marries Lord Voldemort? What kind of suicide mission is that?"
Almost protectively, Quirrell covered his wedding ring with his other hand. "I married Voldemort because I'm in love with him, and he's in love with me. Pretty straight forward."
"This guy," Harry said firmly as he pointed towards Voldemort. "This guy is not exactly the epitome of romance here. Is it like, a residual possession thing? You had to sign yourself away to him for life 'cause he has part of his soul in you? I really just do not get why you would do that."
"Well," Quirrell said monotonously. "He's really good in bed."
There was a long silence, in which Ginny choked on her sip of tea and Voldemort legitimately laughed out loud, resisting the urge to high-five his husband as if they were at some kind of soccer game.
"Well, can't say fairer than that," Voldemort conceded. "So, there you have it. Happily married, raising a kid, and having a very nice, quiet life. Not what I ever envisioned when I was a teen, but I'm very fucking glad for it."
"I also have a lot of good character references, in case our word isn't enough," Quirrell said. "From colleagues, my students and their parents, our neighbours. We're absolute delights to everyone who knows us."
Harry leaned back, still looking extremely baffled by everything that was happening around him.
"And, of course, feel free to cast any spells to detect Dark Magic in this house," Voldemort added, trying not to look as smug as he suddenly felt. "In fact, I totally encourage it."
With a glower, Harry directed his gaze back to Quirrell. "Voldemort's always been infamous for being a manipulator," he said. "How can you ever be sure you're not just a means to an end? Especially if you're practically a horcrux."
Quirrell's jaw clenched the tiniest bit. "I'm just very confident," he eventually said.
There was a creak on the staircase, and he angled his head to find Wang Mu there, gripping onto a photo album.
"Wang –" he attempted, but she was already marching towards them all.
"You can't just waltz in here and accuse Papa of not being in love with Dad," Wang said with an angry little frown. "You don't know anything. Look."
Harry glanced down at the photo album she'd plonked on his lap. "What's this?"
"See for yourself," she said, folding her arms. "Papa adores him, always has."
With a shrug, Harry flipped open the photo album, taking in the first image. A younger Quirrell, clearly quite fresh out of Azkaban due to how thin and pale he was, was reading on the couch. It was a moving image; Quirrell's head lifted once he realised he was being photographed, and the weariness in his expression evaporated as he laughed, blowing a kiss to Voldemort behind the camera.
Page after page there were photos that seemed to document Quirrell's recovery; pictures from date nights, anniversaries, holidays. In each picture, Quirrell was clearly getting healthier and more confident.
"See?" Wang challenged. "Papa made this. Everyone around here knows how much he loves my dad."
"Surprised your mugshot isn't in here, Quirrell." Harry grumbled, "Considering Azkaban was all down to Voldemort, too."
There was a very long, stunned silence, broken by Wang Mu huffing in contempt. "Papa would never do that," she said.
There was only more silence. Voldemort stared ahead at nothing, a look of abject horror on his face, mouth opening and closing uselessly. Quirrell, on the other hand, looked completely devoid of emotion.
"Oh," Harry said, seeming to realise what he'd done. "Oh, uh – Oh. You didn't – Wang, didn't you know that?"
"Know what?" Wang said icily. "What're you talking about?"
"That Voldemort sent your dad to –"
"It's not relevant," Quirrell said forcefully, snatching the photo album from Harry's hands and standing up. "This whole evening is getting us nowhere. You either believe we're being genuine, or you don't. So, which is it?"
Wang Mu grabbed at Quirrell's arm. "Dad, what's he talking about? Papa didn't send you to Azkaban. You didn't, Papa, you saved him from Azkaban. That's what you said!"
"Saved?" Harry echoed incredulously. "Holy shit, Voldemort, you'll do anything to try and make yourself look better, won't you? Making out you saved Quirrell's life? You're the one who totally screwed him over!"
Ginny awkwardly tugged at Harry's arm, hissing at him to shush. "This is clearly not a good time," she said. "Maybe we should –"
"Why should I even pretend to be civil with this guy, Ginny?" Harry gestured incredulously. "All he does is mess up lives! I'm sorry, Wang, I genuinely didn't mean to break the spell, but you have to know that your so-called father –"
Wang moved to Voldemort, gripping onto his shoulders. "Papa. Tell him he's wrong. Tell him how wrong he is."
"I…" Voldemort faltered, finally lifting his head to meet her desperate gaze. "I can't do that, Wang."
Wang recoiled as if he'd burned her, whirling around to look at Quirrell again. "Dad?" her voice caught in her throat. "Dad, what's going on?"
"It was the biggest mistake of my life," Voldemort continued desperately. "There's no excuse for it. I've wanted to tell you so many times, I was just so damn scared. I've been a coward, Wang. But I want to tell you everything now, we both do."
Wang continued to shake her head. "Papa. You saved Dad, didn't you? That's what he told me. You saved his life."
"I…" Voldemort swallowed. "I came back for him, yes. I did do that. But he never would've had to suffer like that if I hadn't –"
"He did save me," Quirrell said immediately. "That's the only part that matters. Wang Mu, I understand this is a shock, but if you have to hear it from anyone, then hear it from me. I do not blame your papa for what happened. It was a long time ago, and we were both foolish idiots. When I got released, your papa saved my life. Without him, I would not be here."
Voldemort's eyes were stinging, and he hastily grasped at Wang's hand. "We – We both saved each other, see?" he attempted. "I've always said that your daddy's the bravest man I've ever met, and I mean it, I mean it so much."
Looking between her fathers, Wang Mu continued to shake her head. "I don't…" she began, eyes darting towards Harry as if for further explanation. "You knew about this?"
"I'm sorry, Wang Mu," Harry said sincerely. "I'm sorry that you had to find out like that from me."
"God, Potter, just – get out of here," Voldemort snapped. "You've no business in this conversation."
"I was there when it happened," was the instant response. "Think I know a thing or two about it."
Ginny hesitantly placed a hand on her husband's knee. "Harry," she attempted, "just because you saw it, doesn't mean you have to…"
"I'm more than qualified to give my two cents, ok?" Harry said. "One minute all these Death Eaters are dancing around, the next Professor Quirrell is getting dragged away to Azkaban yelling his head off. Meanwhile, Voldemort is sitting pretty with Bellatrix Lestrange, more than happy to have someone take the fall for all his shit –"
"Stop it!" Wang yelled, fists clenched. She didn't protest when Voldemort got to his feet and gently pulled her away from the Potters, though her little face was screwed up with fury. "You don't know anything about my dads!"
Voldemort kept his hands on Wang's shoulders, moving her so she was sitting in the armchair. "Breathe, kiddo," he told her gently as she wheezed, even though his own heart felt like it was split right down the centre, guilt emanating from his eyes. "Deep breaths. It's ok, we're all ok."
Wang Mu peered up at him with an expression bordering on furious and distraught. He understood it all too well, considering he'd spent a whole lot of his life feeling the exact same.
"Daddy and I will tell you everything," he said seriously. "The three of us can have that conversation. You can ask me anything you want. You can yell at me, curse me out, you can even throw stuff at me. I don't care. But all I ask is that you let us tell you the story. Not Harry Potter."
A sudden blast of cold air hit everyone in the living room. Quirrell had soundlessly made his way to the front door in all the commotion, and was now stepping outside.
"Dad! Dad, you can't just walk away from this!" Wang yelled after him. "You have to tell me what happened!"
Quirrell stopped, angling his head slightly. "Just gotta…" he trailed off in a murmur, barely distinguishable as he gestured towards the cold outdoors.
"Now!" Wang demanded as she got to her feet. "You said getting sent to Azkaban was an accident. A mistake from other wizards, not Papa."
"Yeah," was all Quirrell said, eyes hollow and not looking anywhere in particular. "It…It was a mistake. Stupid mistake."
Voldemort carefully motioned for Wang Mu to stay where she was. "Quirrell," he attempted. "Close the door. It's too cold out, alright? Let's just…let's just sit."
It was as if Quirrell didn't even hear him. He simply angled his head slightly, voice low. "Don't be mad at your papa. Be mad at me. I didn't want him to tell you."
"I'm mad at both of you!" Wang snapped, stomping her foot. "You should've told me! You've told me everything else!"
Before Voldemort could approach Quirrell, he was out the door. It slammed shut behind him in the wind, echoing throughout the house. There was a long silence, broken only by Wang letting out a frustrated yell as she ran towards the door, wrenching it back open. "Dad!"
"It's ok, it's ok," Voldemort was immediately at her side, gently closing the door and pulling her back into the warmth. "He just needs to clear his head, it's ok. He'll be back soon, I promise."
Her little face screwed up in rage. "You promise?" she echoed, and it was like being punched in the gut.
Voldemort exhaled shakily, hands still on Wang's shoulders. "I'm so sorry," he said. "I'm so, so sorry, babe. Out of everything I've done, it's – I could never seem to be able to tell you."
"Yeah, well, thanks a bunch!" Wang snapped. "You're my papa. We're supposed to tell each other everything, you and me. I've never, ever judged past you, because you've always been so honest and I never knew that person!"
"I know, Wang, I know," Voldemort attempted, but she pulled herself away from him. "It's – Your dad, it's his story, and I know I played a horrible part in it, but I wanted to respect his wishes and – Wang, c'mon, please let's talk this out."
Wang Mu was already running upstairs to her bedroom, and within moments the sound of a door slamming reverberated throughout the house. Voldemort swallowed fiercely, trying to combat the constant waves of nausea as he made his way back into the living room.
"Fucking hell," he croaked out loud, running a hand down his face. "Everyone is so mad at me."
Throughout all this, Harry had awkwardly stood up, and was making his way towards Voldemort. "Uh," he said. "So, we're, uh…Yeah, that didn't exactly go the way I envisioned."
"Noooope," Voldemort dragged the word out, head still in his hands. "Oh God, this is all so bad."
"Maybe you should call Quirrell," Ginny suggested tentatively. "Get him back here so you can both talk to her."
Voldemort could barely comprehend the fact that the couple who was causing so much trouble now actually seemed to want to help. "I – Yeah, I really should…" he blearily glanced around for his phone, only to realise that Quirrell's was actually lying abandoned on the coffee table. Shit.
Harry seemed to realise the predicament at the same time, because he nodded firmly. "Ok, no worries here. I'm the hero, right? Let's go out and look for him, he can't have gone far."
"You're gonna…help me look for Quirrell?" Voldemort asked, just to make sure he'd heard correctly.
"Yeah," Harry said with a shrug. "I help people, Voldemort. It's kind of my whole thing."
XxX
Voldemort was using his phone for a torch, while Harry was using his wand – undoubtedly a bizarre scenario for Potter, witnessing Voldemort opting for muggle technology over magic – and they were soundlessly scouring the neighbourhood. Ginny had agreed to stay and watch Wang, not that it would be strenuous, seeing as she still hadn't come out of her room.
"I really thought you'd already told her," Harry said as they walked, teeth chattering the slightest bit. "How was I to know?"
Voldemort shook his head, grip tightening on the torch in his hand. "Yeah," was all he said, "whatever."
"She'll come round, I'm sure," Harry said. "I mean, she knows how you used to be a piece of shit, so when you properly explain it, she'll understand it was –"
Voldemort stopped in his tracks, flashing his torch in Potter's face, who grimaced and jerked away. "Used to be?" he echoed. "So it takes making my daughter hate me, and driving my husband out the door for you to realise I've been telling the truth the whole time?"
"Your daughter doesn't hate you," Harry countered. "And don't even try that with me, Voldemort. You can't blame me for any of this."
Even though it was infuriating, Voldemort knew Harry was right. "Yeah," was all he said. "I know, Potter, ok? At the end of the day, this is my fault. Past me. Whatever. I just…" he aimlessly gestured with the torch. "It's like I've lived three different lives all in the same body. The me I am now is literally terrified of the me I was when you were a kid. That level of hate, that level of anger, the…"
"Blatant disregard for anyone other than yourself?" Harry finished for him. "Yeah, that was the Voldemort I knew how to beat. This Voldemort, on the other hand…"
"I'd put up no fight, Potter," Voldemort said. "Not for myself, anyway. For Quirrell and Wang, I'd fight with everything I have."
Harry observed him for a moment, before giving a slow nod. "That's kind of what I'm seeing," he said. "I guess I just didn't want to let myself get tricked. Or for my family to get hurt."
"That's understandable." Voldemort swallowed down another pang of guilt. "I was the worst wizard of all time, so, yeah. Makes sense."
"But you genuinely don't seem like that guy anymore," Harry had to admit, sighing a little in aggravation. "I mean, you were never that good an actor, Voldemort. And Quirrell's certainly not the type of man who'd take you back if you weren't totally sincere, so…"
Although finally clearing the air with Potter was of course an important and welcome thing, the mention of his husband's name was enough to make Voldemort's heart clench. The fear came back in an instant, and he swept his torch over the park. "God, Quirrell," he breathed. "It's so cold out. He didn't take a coat with him."
"So I take it Quirrell doesn't often go for midnight walks?" Harry asked, struggling to keep up with Voldemort's quickening pace.
"Take a wild guess," Voldemort grumbled.
"But you think he could be in this creepy park?"
"It's not creepy," Voldemort said with an angry little frown. "We love it here. When we first got together, we'd come for walks by the pond and feed the ducks all the time. Then when we got Wang, we'd bring her. It's…it's a cute park, with a cute pond and…" he trailed off, feeling his pulse quicken, breath hitching in his throat.
"Sounds delightful," Harry said. He was, in a classic fashion, oblivious to Voldemort's sudden realisation. "In the daylight. Right now it's creepy and cold and dark, so – What? What is it?"
Voldemort swallowed, adjusting his grip on his phone. "I just, uh…Have a really bad feeling," he said.
"A bad feeling?" Harry echoed. "Want to be a bit more specific?"
"I don't know." Voldemort was already moving ahead, as if his feet had a mind of their own. "I just want to get to that pond as soon as we can."
Harry frowned, once again struggling to keep up. "Bit of a weird time to want to feed the ducks, Voldemort," he said. "I get it, you're a changed man, you don't need to…"
His words trailed off as they both abruptly came to a stop, eyes fixated on the edge of the pond. Somebody was floating on their back in the water, fully clothed, as if out for a bizarre midnight swim.
"Shit," Harry croaked. "Is that –"
Voldemort was already running towards the pond, the shock of the cold water making him gasp as he plunged in, grasping at the floating figure. "Quirrell, Quirrell, fuck, Quirrell –"
"It's ok, it's ok!" Harry was instantly by his side, helping pull Quirrell out of the pond. His eyes were open and he was breathing, which was the most important thing, but he was clearly very out of it and freezing to touch.
"Quirrell," Voldemort croaked uselessly, cupping his cold face. "Baby, what were you doing?"
"Keep him awake," Harry said. "Put your coat around him, sit him up."
The fact it was Potter of all people should've made Voldemort snap, but it was actually annoyingly helpful to have a calm voice direct him. Instantly, Voldemort was shrugging his coat off and wrapping it around Quirrell, holding him close. "Quirrell?" he whispered. "I'm here. You're ok. What did you do?"
Quirrell blinked slowly, eyes meeting Voldemort's worried gaze. "Th-they told me you - died," he croaked.
"I'm right here," Voldemort said immediately. "Right here with you."
"The Dementors –"
"Are not here. They'll never be here. Quirrell, love, why did you…" Voldemort trailed off, knowing how unhelpful he was being. Quirrell himself clearly didn't know why he'd done what he'd done. "Don't worry, I've got you. We're going to get you home, ok?"
"Home?" Quirrell echoed, eyes darting around in fear.
Voldemort simply held Quirrell close to him, glancing at Harry. "This is bad," he said, cursing himself for stating the obvious. "Potter, this is really bad. This is – he doesn't do stuff like this, this isn't –"
"Yeah," Harry said, phone already in hand. "I can see that. We get him back home, then we're gonna need to call an ambulance. If he's been in the water for a long time, then pneumonia could be an issue."
Voldemort's grip tightened on Quirrell protectively. "I told you he hadn't been ok," he said, trying to at least sound a little angry instead of the all-encompassing despair he felt. "He's been so panicked about Az –" He cut himself off in case he majorly triggered Quirrell further, and just shook his head. "Wang can't see this, ok? He'll – he'll hate that, and she'll be so worried."
With a short nod, Harry reached out to grab Voldemort's arm. "I'll Disapparate us back to your place," he said. "And I'll keep Ginny and Wang out of the way while you deal with getting him back to a somewhat normal temperature."
"I don't know if Disapparating will – it might make him worse," Voldemort blurted. "You know, more spaced out and confused. He needs to stay present."
Harry nodded again. "Alright, you know best," he said. "So let me Disapparate, get my car, and meet you back here. Ten minutes, tops."
"Ok," Voldemort said immediately, keeping arms firmly wrapped around Quirrell to try and ease his violent shudders. "Ok, that's – Thanks, Potter, I –"
"No big," Harry said, though he was still eyeing Quirrell's state with clear concern. "It's what I do, right?"
Before Voldemort could offer any kind of response to that, Harry had Disapparated with a crack, and was gone.
