Lord Voldemort was many things. Powerful. Evil. Essentially soulless.
But he wasn't heartless. (Well, not anymore. He had a body now.)
"I'm...I'm sorry, Quirrell," he said, leaning his head back against his friend's. He sighed at the familiar feel of Quirrell's head behind his own. "I don't know what I was thinking. All right, I suppose that's not true."
He frowned. Apologies were always difficult for horrible villains.
"I was thinking that it had been twelve years since I'd been in anyone's pants. Not even my own. I wanted to prove I was still, you know, me. The Dark Lord. And I was scared. I thought maybe...maybe you only wanted to be my friend because I was on the back of your head and I could easily kill you."
He hoped Quirrell was listening. The back-to-back position to which they'd quickly returned wasn't entirely conducive to reading body language.
Quirrell sat up quickly, forgetting that his friend was no longer physically attached to the back of his head.
"I was kidding about that! You mean you actually had me sent to Azkaban so that you could get laid!" he said, his voice cracking, "I was tortured in there! And do you know what the food was like?"
Quirrell slumped back against the slightly moist rocks of Azkaban island.
"Besides, how could you not think I was really your friend? We already had that rollerblading date planned. And I sat through She's All That for you!"
"Wait, I thought you liked She's All That! You mean you lied to me?" he said. This was a betrayal he'd never expected.
"But that isn't the point. It wasn't about getting laid. It was about ruling the world! Sometimes your friends have to eat prison food so you can have absolute power! And I was already devouring your soul, so dementors really shouldn't be such a big deal," he pointed out. He looked around, seeing nothing but gray ocean. "Hey, Quirrell? How do we get off this island?"
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But he wasn't heartless. (Well, not anymore. He had a body now.)
"I'm...I'm sorry, Quirrell," he said, leaning his head back against his friend's. He sighed at the familiar feel of Quirrell's head behind his own. "I don't know what I was thinking. All right, I suppose that's not true."
He frowned. Apologies were always difficult for horrible villains.
"I was thinking that it had been twelve years since I'd been in anyone's pants. Not even my own. I wanted to prove I was still, you know, me. The Dark Lord. And I was scared. I thought maybe...maybe you only wanted to be my friend because I was on the back of your head and I could easily kill you."
He hoped Quirrell was listening. The back-to-back position to which they'd quickly returned wasn't entirely conducive to reading body language.
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"I was kidding about that! You mean you actually had me sent to Azkaban so that you could get laid!" he said, his voice cracking, "I was tortured in there! And do you know what the food was like?"
Quirrell slumped back against the slightly moist rocks of Azkaban island.
"Besides, how could you not think I was really your friend? We already had that rollerblading date planned. And I sat through She's All That for you!"
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"Wait, I thought you liked She's All That! You mean you lied to me?" he said. This was a betrayal he'd never expected.
"But that isn't the point. It wasn't about getting laid. It was about ruling the world! Sometimes your friends have to eat prison food so you can have absolute power! And I was already devouring your soul, so dementors really shouldn't be such a big deal," he pointed out. He looked around, seeing nothing but gray ocean. "Hey, Quirrell? How do we get off this island?"
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"What about that flying machine you were always talking about? Can't we just use that to get off the island?"
Quirrell paused.
"Actually, how did you get on? the island?"
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