Chapter Text
“I'll walk you home.”
Quirrell had really had no intention to go to this party. In fact, when asked whether he would be attending, he had said no. Even when his best friend Tom had told him that it wouldn't be any fun without him there, he had still politely declined.
It just really wasn't his scene. His idea of a good party involved a group of friends sitting down, drinking tea, and talking about the latest novel they'd read (what he was describing may have been a book club, not a party, but still). Anyway, he knew nothing more about the boy throwing the party than that his name was Jack and he was apparently in the same year as Quirrell. It honestly just didn't make sense for him to go.
And yet here he was, standing outside Jack’s house, his ears already aching from the heavy thump of music coming from inside the building. He had only come at all due to a string of almost incomprehensible yet worrying messages from Tom's friend Bella that went a little like:
Hes gone!!!!?!!
Vollemot gone!!!
U neef to com find him
HeLF
It had taken a while for Quirrell to realise that ‘Vollemot’ referred to Tom, but once he understood that his friend was in trouble and this was probably not a ploy to make him go to the party, he saw no choice but to do just that.
He walked up to the door, and as he pondered whether it was party etiquette to ring the doorbell - and if anyone would hear him if he did - or just enter, he heard a voice.
“Squirrel?” the voice said, the word slurred enough that Quirrell struggled to understand it, but there was no mistaking who was talking.
He turned to see his best friend sitting against the wall with a paper cup in his hand and looking very, very drunk.
“Tom, what are you -” Quirrell began, but was immediately interrupted.
“No.” Tom held up his finger and shook it in Quirrell's general direction. “Noooo, not Tom.” He pointed at himself. “Voldemort.”
Quirrell didn’t bother asking. “Okay, Voldemort, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you inside?”
“Well, yaseesquirrel,” he began, his words merging into each other as he tried and failed to stand up. Quirrell rushed over to help him. “Thanks. Ya see, inside it was really loud, y’know, and everyone left to do… my friends wanted to do their own thing, I guess. An’ I wanted to go home, but…” He started laughing then, a laugh that came out sounding like a somewhat pained hiccup. “But I kinda forgot where I live, y’know? So I jus’ thought, y’know, why not jus’ stay out here? And the rest…” He nodded his head triumphantly. “...is hist’ry!”
“Right,” Quirrell said thoughtfully. “Then it’s a good thing I came to look for you, To- uh, Voldemort. I’ll walk you home.”
“Nooo,” Tom whined into Quirrell’s shoulder where his head was now resting.
“But you just said you wanted to go home!” He couldn’t help but laugh as he said this. Tom was pretty cute when he was drunk, Quirrell had to admit. Actually, he was always cute, but that wasn’t a thought he should really be focusing on with Tom slumped into his arms, now practically nuzzling Quirrell’s neck.
Abruptly, Tom pulled away, looking Quirrell dead in the eyes. “Yeah,” he said, “I know, but I don’t want to be an incon- an incon…” He furrowed his brow, mouthing silently as he searched for the right word, giving up before Quirrell could offer help. “You don’t have to do that for me.”
Quirrell shook his head. “It’s really no trouble. I came here to look for you, after all, and now I’ve found you, I have no desire to go inside.” He gestured at the house that he could practically see vibrating with the volume of the music played within. “Also, based on how we live pretty close to each other, I’m going to guess that you can’t live more than twenty minutes away from here, walking distance.” He could tell that Tom was considering the offer, but all the same added, “Oh, and then there’s the obvious fact that I couldn’t really call myself your friend if I left you stranded in a stranger’s front garden overnight.”
“ Best friend,” Tom corrected, and at first it seemed like that was all he had to say, but then he stood up straight and announced, “Okay, I’ll let you walk me home, Squirrel.” He prodded Quirrell’s chest with his finger. “But I’ll owe you, yeah?”
Quirrell laughed again, nodding. “Sure.” Of course, Tom most certainly did not owe him for Quirrell being a decent human being, but it was probably simpler to go along with it, for now.
Tom held out his hand for Quirrell to shake, as if sealing the deal, and then, with Tom hanging on to Quirrell’s arm to keep him upright and with his cup still in his other hand, off they went.
“Well, here we are,” Quirrell said and immediately cringed. This was Tom’s house, after all. He didn’t need it announced to him.
Tom turned to face him. “Thanks for walking me home,” he said, and his words were followed with a smile that brought Quirrell’s heart up into his throat. “You know, if you wanted to stay over…” He trailed off suggestively and then laughed loudly. Right, he was joking. Obviously. Quirrell had assumed it was a joke from the beginning, and yet…
He laughed nervously. “You’re just saying that because you’re drunk.” He cursed himself then. Why did he say that? Tom had said it because it was a joke. Maybe it was a joke he only made because he was drunk, but Quirrell’s words had made it sound like he thought that Tom was being serious.
Tom’s smile didn’t leave his face. “Would a drunk person do this?” And slowly, giving him lots of time to pull away if needed, he leant in and pressed his lips to Quirrell’s.
Quirrell stood perfectly still, too shocked to move a muscle, to kiss Tom back, although he knew then that he wanted to. Tom’s lips had the taste of alcohol and they were chapped from the cold air, but none of that mattered, because they were his, and this was him, and he was kissing Quirrell.
Before Quirrell could get lost in the kiss or even fully think through what was happening, Tom pulled away. His flirty smile was gone, replaced with a devastating look of horror and regret.
“I-I’m sorry,” he stuttered. “That was… I shouldn’t have… I should go.”
Quirrell’s heart sank. “Oh,” was all he could get out.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry, Quirrell.” He was already backing away, walking up the driveway. “I’ll see you at school.”
“Oh, Quirrell said again. He cleared his throat. “Okay. Goodbye, Tom.”
“Bye.” While giving Quirrell one last clearly apologetic look, he managed to retrieve his key from his pocket and opened the door.
A second more, and he was gone.
Quirrell didn’t move from his spot for a few seconds, minutes, who knows how long? As his heart pounded in his chest and tears pricked in his eyes and he could still somehow feel Tom’s kiss against his lips, one thought protruded his mind.
This was why he didn’t go to parties.