Help Is Only So Far Away

Part 21

"Two tickets for rollerskating." Voldemort asked. It was Thursday and seeing as Voldemort no longer worked at Kwaffee, he had nothing to do for the day and decided to spend it with Quirrell doing what he had promised they would. The teenage sandy-haired boy behind the counter paled when his gaze landed on Voldemort's face and without breaking eye contact, clicked something on his computer. The boy was starting to visibly sweat as they waited for the three sheets of paper to be printed out the small machine next to him. He picked them up in one hand, still staring at Voldemort, fearfully. He gulped loudly and the pale wizard rolled his eyes in annoyance. The boy's hair was flopping in his dull grey eyes, his face covered in acne and somehow he got on Voldemort's nerves the second he looked at him.

"Th-that'll be £15 please." The boy got out, his voice slightly cracking. Voldemort grumbled but fiddled around in his pocket, until his hands clasped a worn sheet of thick paper. He pulled his pale hand out, producing a £20 note. Argh, some of the last of his money. Oh well, it would be worth it. Voldemort glanced at Quirrell who was looking at the noticeboard with interest, completely lost in his own thoughts. He felt the corners of his mouth flick up at the sight and he handed the money over.

"Here's your change." The boy said, holding out a note and the paper. Voldemort took it, snarled at him and walked over to the brown-haired wizard.

"Anything interesting?" He asked. He didn't really care to be honest, but Quirrell seemed interested so he was going to try and be interested too.

"There a-are some p-posters for some film-ms and a flyer f-for a lost cat-t called Sparkle. She's g-grey and has bright b-blue eyes. I hop-pe she's okay." Voldemort chuckled at the actual concern in his friend's eyes.

"I'm sure she is. Now come on. Rollerskating." He motioned to the large open doorway next to him and watched Quirrell's eyes light up.

As the two walked to the counter to get the rollerskates, Voldemort's mind was completely focused on the man beside him. About the way his arms swung slightly when he wasn't focusing and how his beautiful tousled hair nearly flopped into his eyes and that he'd need to get it sorted soon. About how he was the most caring man he'd ever met and if he leant slightly to the side, he could feel the warmth emenating from him. They reached the counter sooner than Voldemort would have liked.

"Tickets please." droned a very bored sounding greasy old man. The pale wizard rolled his eyes. Were there no nice people in this place? He handed over the paper to the guy who just grunted and gave back one. "This is your reciept, not a ticket."

"Yeah yeah, I knew that!" Voldemort insisted.

"What size are you and your boyfriend?" The guy asked, monotonously. Voldemort spluttered.

"Sorry what?!" He cried. Quirrell heard his voice pick up and turned abruptly, having been watching the people race around the floor.

"What's g-going on?" He asked, innocently.

"What size shoes are you?" the guy asked, the only variation from monotone is the slight edge of annoyance.

"Oh, I-I'm a-an 8." He took his shoes off and handed over the borrowed trainers. The man took them, with a sneer at Voldemort and disappeared behind an aisle behind him.

"You...um....n-need to t-take your shoes off." Quirrell muttered. Voldemort just stared. Quirrell had been called his boyfriend. Why?! "Voldemort? Are you okay?" Why would he even think they were together? They were just friends, nothing like-

He felt a hand on his arm and jumped. The hand's owner looked at him, concerned, soft brown eyes boring into his.

"Yeah. Yeah, sorry. I'm fine." Voldemort heard himself say, unsure whether the words were really his or not. Maybe they were a littl-