Woo. People have reviewed. This makes me happy, so I shall continue to write at a greater speed (Until I run out of steam that is). Anyways, next chapter is the first chapter where they're at Hogwarts, which should be fun. Cheers~! And thanks for reading (And reviewing. That too.)

Right. Well, let the records show that getting drunk does NOT properly dispose of Dark Lords. However it does get THEM drunk, which is an equally amusing sight.

"Q-Quirrell… Check this out, it'll be great… IMPERIO!"

It would seem that a drunken Dark Master was exponentially worse then a Drunken Master. Drunken Masters weren't excellent at nonverbally using Unforgivable Curses. As Quirrell looked over through the haze of beer goggles, it seemed that a very attractive woman was dancing naked on a table. If he had been sober he would have seen in place of the very attractive woman a cursed Sybill Trelawney.

No one thought it was too strange for her.

Quirrell still let out a roaring laugh none the less, he wasn't sure if he felt compelled to laugh because of Voldemort or the beer. He suspected both.

"Ah… M-my liege…" Quirrell bumbled out loud. He was drunk enough that no one seemed to notice. "I… I think I should g-get back to my apartment soon… Because I'm… I'm…"

"Soooo drunk?" Voldemort filled in the gaps

"Yeah, yeah…" Quirrell tried standing with a loud laugh, but only succeeded in falling back into his seat. He concentrated a second, standing up. "No floo powder… S-so I guess I'm apparating…" His eyes closed and he concentrated the best he could.

This was the equivalent of driving home drunk, except with more missing organs and less endangering others.

Thankfully, the worst Quirrell did was lose a part of one of his shoes. Though… It was a nice pair of shoes. He'd regret it in the morning. Hardly half a second passed after he got into his apartment before he passed out on the floor.

The next morning he woke up horrified.

"What did I do last night?" He grumbled to himself, looking down to his feet. Hrmph. He had liked those shoes. Why in the name of God did he go out and-


Oh. Um. That's right.

"Last night… It was all part of a plan, wasn't it? Trying to get rid of me? Dispose of me?" Quirrell heard the voice hissing in his head, oh god. The wrath of an angry, paranoid, Dark Lord… Not good. Not good.

"I could have-" Voldemort paused, amending his statement "WE could have been caught because of you. Because of YOUR incompetence! Getting drunk is a RISK, you filthy, idiotic, Mud-Blood! CRUCIO!"

Oh- Oh jeeze. It took Quirrell a second to comprehend the complete mind numbing pain he was in. This was not good. No. Ouch. Ouch. Ow. Not good at all. He wasn't completely aware of it, but by this point he was screaming in agony.

"I should kill you RIGHT. NOW."

"NO!" Quirrell shouted through his cries of pain "IT'LL NEVER HAPPEN AGAIN! I'LL NEVER TOUCH ANOTHER BEER IN MY LIFE!" He added, after a second the pain stopped, and Voldemort fell silent. It seemed that for now he was returning to the 'silent but deadly' mode. Ugh. Crucio'd hangovers were the worst ones in the world.

After a few minutes to recuperate from what had just happened, Quirrell rose. He'd get over the pain soon, but he had other things he should be doing. Lesson plans, he was teaching a brand new subject after all. He could no longer use the same homework assignments he'd used for the past few years. Unless he wanted to teach DADA students what a 'television' was; but even though they were evil Quirrell sincerely doubted it was the variety of dark art that they needed… Defending… From…

…He just realized the irony that he was going to be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts as a pawn of Voldemort. Wonderful. Tactically he supposed it was good, but his student's education… It would suffer more then a muggle at a Death Eater meeting.

Quirrell spent the following hours working. It was almost like he was normal, a normal wizard performing (Relatively) normal tasks. It was the calmest he'd felt since You-Know-Who inhabited him.

In no time at all it seemed days had turned into weeks. As fast as you could say 'ZEfron is totally awesome' (Which Voldemort seemed to be able to say with an ungodly fast speed) it was time to get back to Hogwarts. This year was going to be wildly different from the past few… For one, he was teaching DADA instead of Muggle Studies; which meant of course that Snape would have yet another reason to hate him. If Snape didn't hate everyone anyway he'd almost feel bad.

The main difference though was that this year he'd be a Deatheater. Er. Would he be? He worked for Voldemort, but he didn't have that awful gaudy skull tattoo. Maybe he was just a Death-Taster? Or maybe he was just an incredibly lucky Mud-Blood. Either way you looked at it he still had the evilest leach in the world attached to his soul.

"I think I've… Got everything" Quirrell muttered to himself mainly, not thinking Voldemort was listening.

"What about your… Turban?" The voice was less faint then it had been a month ago. He was gaining strength.

"Oh right! How could I forget my turban!" Quirrell looked around his apartment. "Oh! That's right! I don't have one! Well, I guess I've got everything then…" Sarcasm: A (Totally awesome) coping mechanism.

"Are you sure, Quirrell? Perhaps you should check again. Under your cot." It was very off putting, for some reason Voldemort wanted Quirrell to have a turban. He had no idea why, but he was sure it couldn't be for anything good. Unless this was the wacky side to the dark lord, in all the books he'd read the main bad guy always had a zany side. That nutty Voldemort…

"…Under here?" Quirrell ducked over to the edge of his apartment, checking under the edge of the bed with his fingers. He quickly detected a bit of cloth which he pulled out.

"Ah yes. You've found it." Just judging by his voice he could tell he was smirking. Er. If he had a mouth.

"Now, dare I ask, why did a turban end up in my apartment without my knowledge?" Quirrell was puzzled. Even for wacky, zany this was weird. He didn't get drunk and bring home some strange African prince or something did he? Because that'd be even weirder for him.

"You'll be needing it of course. We wouldn't want people to ask any questions." A low chuckle rang through Quirrell's mind. Uh-oh.

"Any q-questions? Any questions about what?" Inadvertently Quirrell had backed himself against a wall.

"Gimme a second." No. You know what, Voldemort didn't get a second.

"I demand you tell me right this instant! Why am I holding a turban?!" Hardly a second had passed, but he felt something push his head from the wall. Curious. A hand was lifted slowly to feel the back of his head. Nothing. Well, hair, but that was normal.

Then the back of his hand brushed against something.

"…You're kidding me…" Quirrell muttered, craning his neck sideways to see. His suspicions were confirmed. Out of the corner of his vision he could fleetingly see the edge of a head that was not his own.

"I figured you wouldn't mind me crashing on your neck for a while. That whole 'no body' thing was starting to get me down. It's no biggy, right?" Voldemort's words went mostly unheard by Quirrell.

"Y-you're… On the… I'VE GOT TWO HEADS!" He leaned his head back to groan but only ended up butting heads with the Dark Lord.

"Hey, watch it." Voldemort demanded, watching him out of the corner of his eye.

"And… Turban… And…" He lifted a hand up to rub his forehead. Oh god. This year wouldn't be fun. Not at all. He didn't want to begin to consider how many problems having a second head would cause him, not to mention the privacy issues. At least when Voldemort was a disembodied head he could pretend he wasn't there…

"Now Quirrell, come! We've got to… Get back to Hogwarts!"