Quirrell -- The Turbanator!

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"H-hi, I'm P-professor Quirrell. I'm the new D-ddefense Against the D-dark Arts teacher." When Quirrell and I first showed up at Hogwarts, no one believed that this shaky man could possibly be capable of unimaginable evil. Shows what people know; should they have asked me, his "trusty" turban, I would have gladly turned him in.

You know that silly rhyme, Moldie Voldie? I had a good laugh over that once...a LONG time ago. Hate to break it to you skeptical folk, but it's the truth! According to the Dark Lord's shadowy shape, fit under Quirrell's FAITHFUL turban, "the last time you bathed, I contracted a strange fungus...never bathe again, Quirrell."

Ever wondered why Voldemort looked white to one Harry Potter when I was finally removed from my perch? The coloring was due to none other than a nasty strain of athlete's foot. *shudder* And I can attest with great certainty that Quirrell DID listen to his beloved master. I've heard certain students say that Snape had greasy hair. Severus? Pish-posh! Compared to the "Turbanator," the potions master is as dry as astronaut food!

But why, pray tell, couldn't Quirrell have found some other way to hide that smell? Why not deodorant...why not cologne...why not any other blessed thing but GARLIC? Yes, garlic. Garlic rubbed around his legs, his face, and most importantly, his hair. He swabbed it in garlic so thoroughly that on our travels through Italy before we reached Hogwarts, I was trailed by a long line of Italian wizards, their mouths watering.

There was no happier time in my short existence than when Quirrell removed me to battle the Potter boy. Finally, I could breathe! I thought my troubles were finally over; I thought I was finally free! Of course, I didn't realize that this was not the end, but merely the beginning of my long suffering.

It all began with Quirrell's impromptu burial.

"What shall we do with the turban, Dumbledore?"

"Oh, throw it in the casket. It has seen terrible evil...what else would we do with it?"

How about WASHING me, Dumbledore? How about BURNING me? Even that would be better than an eternity with the evil, the vile, the "Turbanator"! You'd think, as bad as Quirrell smelled living, that decomposition would somehow improve the smell...So you would think. Did you know that garlic has three different and distinct fumes it gives off as it rots?

I swear, as soon as I figure out a plan to get out of this blasted casket, I'm hunting down Dumbledore and Voldemort. Ohhhh, they only think they are safe. Because...*DUH DUH DUH* Ah'll be bahck!

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