Help Is Only So Far Away

Part 1

If there was one place on Earth that was literal hell, it was Azkaban. Everyday was torture. Quirrell felt as if his sanity was being drained from him. Everyday, a dementor came and sucked out anything it could find that gave Quirrell even a shred of hapiness. Then they would feed him fake memories and take those as well. At night, people would scream and wail, banging on the walls and bars with their fists. He sobbed every night and begged for the person who put him there to come save him. Most people here were crazy and he feared he was becoming like them.

You see, Quirinus Quirrell was innocent. He had been framed by his only friend. Voldemort. Every night, he told himself that he should have known. Voldemort was the Dark Lord and never truly cared for him, it was all fake to convice Quirrell, to manipulate him. Voldemort was not someone who should have been trusted. Quirrell had some trust issues which is why he found it odd that he had just believed Voldemort straight away, anything that came out of his mouth, until it was too late.

One night, a woman came, heavily guarded by dementors, she stopped just outside Quirrell's cell and he managed to get a good look at her. She was short and slightly plump with brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. She had a white blouse on with a brown suit jacket and trousers. She worked for the Ministry, you could tell just be looking at her. She had a clipboard which she was checking as Quirrell edged closer and closer to the bars of his cell.

"And finally Quirinus Quirrell." she stated. She turned to look at him and almost laughed at the way he seemed to shrink away from her. "Yep still here. Well that's the last name."

She started walking away and Quirrell realised that it was now or never.

"Has the Minister f-found out that I am i-innocent yet?" She stopped in her tracks and turned to face him. She looked upon his hopeful face and laughed.

"The Minister?! Yeah good luck there!"

"What...w-what do you m-mean?" The stutter was not helping his situation. It had gone from barely noticeable to constantly there now. Azkaban did that to you.

"The Minister is dead! You-Know-Who broke in and killed him! I was going round to check he hadn't broken out any of his followers from Azkaban but it seems you are all here." She seemed to be deciding on whether to say her next sentence or not. She did. "I don't know why he would break you out...or choose you in the first place, you are such a wimp! A stutter, you shrivel away from me and the Dementors, you look scared shitless and you are so fucking frail!" She laughed again before leaving.

Tears formed in Quirrell's eyes. Those last few sentences felt like knives stabbing him over and over. He was all those things and more. A nervous wreck, he had trust issues, he was awkward and weak and scared. No one liked him nor would they ever, especially not the Dark Lord. He curled up in the corner and let the tears out. He was done. He had had enough. Of everything. He was just done with life. A Dementor came in at some point and Quirrell vaguely remembered whispering,

"Just t-take them. I don't c-care anym-more."

_________________________________________

Voldemort lay in bed, staring up at the wall. He couldn't sleep. He hadn't for a while. Well, not since.........but we don't need to go into that.

The bed was too big in Voldemort's opinion. It was for just him and yet it was too big. He didn't want to ask Bellatrix to join him. For some reason, he just really didn't want that. So he lay there, everynight, thinking. Often on his side, out of habit.

He got up and started to wander about the Secret Hideout that was just basically Malfoy Manor. He went to the kitchen, through the living room and through, into the garden.

It was empty of flowers.

No, he wasn't going to wander around looking lost. He needed to walk with purpose. He walked back into the house and picked up a film. She's All That. Yeah, he hasn't seen the beginning of it. He took it up to his room and put it into the dvd player. It was still rather empty in the room with too much space but now there would be noise to distract him. He wouldn't feel so lonely. He looked to the seat next to him. Quirrell should be here to watch with him. He never saw the end..........

Voldemort pressed play and watched it all the way through. It was disappointing in Voldemort's opinion, he couldn't think of a reason why but it was. He turned it off and lay back down, unsure of what to do next. So he just lay there, thinking. At this moment in time, he seemed to just be drifting, not attatched to anything, floating between worlds. Powerful and invincible, but vulnerable and restricted at the same time, and damn was it lonely.