Help Is Only So Far Away

Part 15

Quirrell looked up to see he was engulfed by nothingness. There was a floor beneath his feet but just space and empty air surrounding him. He looked around confused. Where was he? He turned and saw Voldemort in front of him, his eyes full of concern and worry. He was wearing his magnificent sparkly cape, just as he had when they had been in the graveyard.

"Quirrell! Come here! I've been so worried about you! I'm sorry for everything that's happened. Come to me and we can live together in happiness and peace, I promise!" he called out, voice as soft and smooth as butter. Quirrell wanted nothing more than to run into the outstretched arms. They looked so warm and inviting. He took a step foward and paused. He could've sworn he just saw movement in the dark. He looked but couldn't see anything. He must be imagining things. He walked a bit more towards Voldemort, when something came swooping down in front of him.

A black clothed skeletal shape. A dementor! Oh Wizard God! Now he looked around, they were everywhere. They swooped around him, getting closer and closer, a couple trying to suck at his soul.

"Quirrell! Hurry up!" Voldemort called to him, looking around at the Dementors, scared. "Please Quirrell! Come here!"

The brown-eyed wizard started running towards him, trying to dodge Dementors, tears starting to fall down his face. Voldemort kept calling to him, but the dementors were starting to close in on him, when suddenly he pushed hard against one and they all seemed to fly back. His hand was freezing from the Dementor's touch and had a wisp of black curling around his fingers, before floating off up into the sky to join the horrid creatures. Quirrell hastened forward. He could just about reach Voldemort, who was waiting for him. He stretched a hand out and....it passed through Voldemort. It went into his chest. He wasn't there. The fake Voldemort laughed a warm kind laugh, before slowly vanishing.

A cold harsh laugh came from behind him. He turned to see Voldemort again but this time, looking very different. His face was twisted into a vicious mean look, his eyes glinting coldly. His hands held his stomach as he threw his head back in another cruel laugh.

"Honestly, slave. You are so pathetic." He spat at him. More tears streamed down his cheeks. He reached out to Voldemort, hands shaking.

"P-Please." Voldemort suddenly stopped laughing at him and sent him a full on glare that made the hairs on the back of Quirrell's neck rise. He pushed Quirrell back harshly and he fell to the floor in a crumpled heap, weak and frail.

"You should've stayed in Azkaban to rot. It's where you belong." He snarled. Quirrell looked up at him, still huddled on the floor. Suddenly arms seemed to coil around Voldemort and a shorter figure stepped out from behind him. She had dark curly hair and a beautiful yet ripped black and crimson dress. She was beautiful yet had a cold look on her face too. It was Bellatrix. She strutted around Voldemort fingers trailing over his bare chest. She stopped infront of him and pecked him on the cheek.

"What are you doing, my King?" she asked innocently.

"Dealing with this piece of filth." He spat at Quirrell. Bellatrix turned to him and walked over to the mess, her high helled boots clicking on the floor. She walked up to his hand that he hadn't noticed was in front of him on the ground. With almighty force, she stomped on it, her high heel almost going through his hand. He screamed in agony, writhing, trying to grab at his hand. Both his torturer and former master laughed at him. She got off it and Quirrell cradled it to his chest, the tears like a waterfall he couldn't stop. She strutted back to Voldemort.

"How was that, my Dark Lord?" She asked.

"Perfect as ever, Bella. Let's not dispose of him yet. We shall keep him like a pet to torture when we get bored."