Chapter Text
“Pull over. Let me drive for a while.”
It had been a long day.
Quirrell had spent practically the whole day at the school he taught at due to a staff meeting and a bunch of reports he insisted he had to finish writing that day and that, no, he couldn’t take them home and leave it until tomorrow as Voldemort proposed. He'd said that this was the last day he could write them without it being an inconvenience, as the reports couldn't all be put together until every teacher had submitted their grades and comments. On top of all that, he’d been having trouble sleeping lately; due to the stress of marking the reports, and other things. This time Voldemort knew better than to suggest he give them all B minuses.
So, with all of the stress put upon him, it was no wonder to Voldemort that his partner was exhausted. Still, while Voldemort knew that it was in no way Quirrell’s fault, it wasn’t ideal having someone a prolonged blink away from falling asleep driving you home.
“Hey,” Voldemort said, and he could have sworn that hearing his voice was the only thing stopping Quirrell from slumping forward onto the steering wheel. He gave a small hum in response. “Pull over. Let me drive for a while.”
Quirrell looked over at Voldemort, and at this angle Voldemort could see the dark shadows falling under his eyes. Quirrell looked like he might protest, but luckily he seemed to realise for himself that he was really in no state to be operating heavy machinery. “Okay,” he murmured, and passively drove to the side of the road, parked, and allowed Voldemort to switch seats with him.
Okay, so this one’s the brake, and this one’s the accelerator, and I start the car by… Voldemort’s thoughts were interrupted by Quirrell’s quiet realisation: “Wait, you don’t have a driving license.”
Voldemort frowned. He had hoped that wouldn’t be an issue. Then he saw Quirrell’s face, how he was barely managing to stay even half-awake, and any irritation evaporated from his own face. “I know, but I think I’m still in a better condition to be driving than you right now, Squirrel.” The affectionate nickname made the corners of Quirrell’s mouth turn up. “And I promise you, driving license or not, I will get us home safe, okay?”
“Okay, thank you.” Quirrell’s voice was barely audible, and Voldemort strongly suspected he'd fallen asleep the moment they’d left his lips.
Maybe it was just as well, for if his partner had stayed awake a moment longer, Voldemort wasn’t sure if he’d be able to stop himself from saying something really cheesy.
Still, surely it didn’t count if he just thought the cheesy thing to himself, right?
As he began driving, the words echoed in his head: Surely promising to love and protect you every day of my life is more of an assurance that I’ll keep you safe than some licence? Licences can be forged and expire, but my love for you will live forever.