Chapter 21: What position did Voldemort use to fall asleep?
As they entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, a strong stench of garlic filled the air. Most of the Slytherins came from magical families and had never encountered anything like it before, so they immediately recoiled.
When Professor Quirrell descended the stairs and entered the classroom, an even more pungent wave of garlic hit Ethan, making him regret his decision to sit in the front row just for a better view of the spectacle.
He pinched his nose in disgust and fanned his face. He had just grown accustomed to the strange smell permeating the room when something even worse happened.
"Good morning, everyone. I am Professor Quirrell, and I will be teaching you Defense Against the Dark Arts." His stammering delivery was somehow even more insufferable than Professor Binns's droning lectures.
Ethan listened to the introduction with a frown.
"Now, let's begin attendance."
As Quirrell stammered his way through the roll call, Ethan's brow furrowed even deeper.
After finally finishing attendance, Goyle suddenly stood up at Draco's prompting and asked loudly, "Professor Quirrell, why does the classroom smell like garlic? Also, why are you always wearing a turban? Is there a story behind it?"
Ethan couldn't help but glance back at him. "Wow, that's a brave young man."
"Please sit down. I was out doing fieldwork, and during my travels, I encountered a vampire."
"That's why I used garlic to drive them away."
Ethan glared at Goyle, who had subjected him to yet another sensory assault.
Regarding the turban, Professor Quirrell explained that it was a gift from an African prince he had saved, given as a token of gratitude for vanquishing a reanimated zombie.
However, he could not explain how he had done it, which inevitably raised suspicions that Quirrell was lying to improve his image.
After his explanation, Professor Quirrell finally stopped talking, which was a relief to everyone.
Surprisingly, Professor Quirrell, who spoke with a stutter, had excellent handwriting on the blackboard.
He waved his wand in the air, and lines of text took shape on the board.
The handwriting, like Professor Quirrell's appearance, was slender and delicate.
But the moment he opened his mouth, he shattered that good impression.
Ethan also had to endure the pain of writing down the things he said that weren't in the textbooks.
As Quirrell wrote on the blackboard with his back to the class, Ethan vaguely thought he saw something glittering beneath his turban, but when he looked closely, he found nothing unusual.
"Am I seeing things, or am I hallucinating because I know Voldemort is there?" He didn't know.
Quirrell quickly finished writing on the blackboard and then began his lecture.
As he turned his back again, Ethan, bored, propped his chin on his hand, looking at the back of Quirrell's head, completely covered by his turban, and began to think.
Voldemort's face was attached to the back of Quirrell's head, which explained why Quirrell was bald in the movie. Otherwise, hair growing between two faces would look bizarre.
Besides, with faces on both sides of his head, how could he sleep? Could he only lie on his side?
If Voldemort's face were buried in the pillow, Quirrell probably wouldn't survive, but if Quirrell's own face were buried, he'd suffocate.
Therefore, the most logical explanation was that Quirrell could only sleep on his side, the only comfortable position for someone with two faces. Furthermore, he couldn't move around too much, or he'd bury one face in the pillow.
"And it was pitiful that Voldemort's face couldn't help but smell garlic," Ethan shook his head, eyeing Quirrell and his turban with pity.
Professor Quirrell, completely absorbed in his lecture, didn't notice the strange look on Ethan's face.
When the class finally ended, both teacher and students breathed a sigh of relief.
The Slytherins hurriedly packed their things and rushed out of the classroom for fresh air.
Quirrell breathed a sigh of relief, having safely survived another class without anyone discovering his secret.
In the empty classroom, a deep voice emerged from beneath the thick turban:
"Quirrell, pay attention to the boy who was sitting in the front row. He is a natural-born Occlumens. I cannot read his thoughts, but he suddenly looked at you with pity. I noticed."
"Pity?" Quirrell was taken aback.
"The boy at the very front, let me think, his name is Ethan. Yes, that's it. A very handsome boy, likely quite popular with the girls." He recalled the seating arrangement in class.
"Observe him carefully. He may prove useful to me. A natural Occlumens could serve me well with minimal training."
"Yes, Master." Quirrell stopped stammering and bowed his head respectfully.
Though only one person stood there, two different voices filled the air, a bizarre and inexplicable sight. Fortunately, no one witnessed it, or who knows what terrifying legends might have arisen.
He gathered his teaching materials and climbed the stairs to his office on the third floor. Only there, with no one around to disturb him, could he briefly shed his pretense and be his true self.
It was lunchtime, and students were heading to the Great Hall. The Gryffindor table was nearly full, so Ethan simply nodded to Hermione before sitting at the Slytherin table again.
As Ethan cut into a chicken leg, he casually remarked to Draco, "Don't let them ask Professor Quirrell any more questions next time. His stammering answers are torture."
When he turned to face Goyle, he thought Goyle actually wanted to ask the question, but then he realized that it couldn't be right. With Goyle's intelligence, how could he possibly think to ask such a thing? It must have been Draco beside him who put him up to it.
"I know. Letting Goyle ask questions was practically like torture!" Malfoy said, attacking his lamb chop.
As for the two bodyguards, they were too busy eating and drinking nearby to pay attention to the conversation between them.
"You don't need to wait for me. I'll head back to my dorm alone in a bit." After finishing his ice cream, Ethan headed for the Gryffindor table.
"Why do you smell like garlic?" Hermione sniffed.
Ethan was annoyed too. "Hey, don't even mention it. I just had Defense Against the Dark Arts, and the classroom was practically a garlic factory."
"I'll head back to shower and change soon. I came over to ask if you want to write a letter home. I can have Edward take it with me."
He'd been in a rush that morning and hadn't had time to mail a letter from the Owlery in the castle tower.
"Sure. When were you planning to mail it? I have History of Magic at three."
"Will two o'clock work? I have Transfiguration at three too, so that should give us just enough time to mail the letters before class."
"Okay, I'll go write it right now. See you at the Owlery at two."
Ethan returned to his dorm, washed up, and made sure he no longer smelled of garlic. Feeling better at last, and with time still to spare, he settled by a window in the common room to watch the Black Lake for a while.
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