Voldemort's disembodied voice echoed in his mind, leaving Quirrell utterly baffled.
"Fragrance?" he stammered. "But Master, I smell nothing on the boy. You've never mentioned a scent before. Why now? What kind of smell is it?"
Voldemort seemed to hesitate. "I… cannot describe it. It is a unique sensation. Though I have no body, it is as if my heart is beating faster. My very soul… it throbs. That little whelp seems very important to me. Quirrell, do you understand what I mean? Hmm? Quirrell, what is that look in your eyes?"
Voldemort trailed off, noticing the increasingly strange expression on his host's face.
Quirrell paused, then spoke with careful deference. "Master, forgive my bluntness. For the sake of our great cause, this is a critical time. I-I do not have the energy to satisfy your… cravings. Perhaps after we acquire the Philosopher's Stone and you regain your strength, you can choose as many little wizards as you wish—tall, short, fat, thin…"
Voldemort's voice froze. For a long, stunned moment, there was only silence. Then, he understood.
Rage, pure and absolute, erupted from the back of Quirrell's head.
"Quirrell! What are you talking about? Do you think I am a—a PEDOPHILE?! What in Salazar's name is going on in that stupid head of yours?"
"Master, it's alright," Quirrell said hurriedly, trying to be reassuring. "It is not uncommon for a great man such as yourself, one with no interest in women, to prefer the company of his own sex, or even children. It is simply a different preference, that is all."
"Damn you, I AM NOT!" Voldemort roared, cutting him off.
The force of his fury sent a wave of weakness through Quirrell's body, making his vision spin. Realizing he was depleting his precious energy, Voldemort quickly regained his composure. He had to fall into a deep sleep soon. As for the anomaly that was Char Sprout, it would have to wait. Quirrell was right about one thing: retrieving the Philosopher's Stone was the only priority. Once he returned to power, no secret, no matter how well-hidden, could escape his grasp.
"Quirrell," he commanded, his voice now a low hiss. "Continue your search for the unicorn. As for that little brat, ignore him for now."
At the same time, having just left Quirrell's sight, Char paused. He could have sworn he felt a lingering gaze on his back. The feeling was fleeting, but it was enough to make him frown.
"Is Quirrell still after me? Is he planning something?" he wondered. But he quickly shook his head. "No, that shouldn't be it. My only real value to him was getting past the three-headed dog. Now that he has that information from Hagrid, why would he waste his energy on me?"
Unable to find an answer, he pushed the thought aside. Worrying about it was pointless. Until Quirrell drank the unicorn's blood, he was too weak to pose a real threat. Strengthening himself was the only thing that mattered.
With that, Char hurried to Hagrid's hut. "Hagrid, I got your letter," he called out as he entered. "What's this treasure you wanted to show me?"
Hagrid's face lit up, his eyes shining with pure joy. He led Char to a makeshift nest of straw in front of the fireplace. Cradled within it was a huge, dark brown egg, its surface covered in what looked like scales.
"You won't believe what this is," Hagrid said, his voice trembling with excitement. He leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, "I've only told you. Not even Harry knows yet. It's a dragon egg! I've wanted a dragon since I was a boy, but the Ministry is so strict. Then, yesterday at the pub, I made a bet with a stranger, and… well, here we are."
As Hagrid spoke, Char examined the egg. It was an incredible thing, its shell having the texture of metal. But something felt wrong. He sensed a strange sickness emanating from it, a lack of vitality. It seemed less like a new life waiting to hatch and more like a dying ember.
Hagrid, oblivious, was happily flipping through a stack of books on dragon care he'd just borrowed from the library. "I've been trying to figure out what kind it is," he mumbled. "Let's see… black shell, metallic luster, scales, sharp spikes…"
He turned a page, and a sudden cry of surprise erupted from him, so loud it shook the rafters. "It's a Hungarian Horntail!" he roared, practically dancing with delight. "The most ferocious of all dragons! By Merlin, I'm the luckiest man alive!"
Char, however, was even more confused. A Hungarian Horntail? He distinctly remembered from the book that it was a Norwegian Ridgeback named Norbert. And that dragon had been perfectly healthy. This egg felt… weak.
A thought struck him. Could this be the butterfly effect of my actions? Dragon eggs were rare, likely procured from the black market. In the original story, Quirrell was still strong enough to get his hands on a healthy one. But this time, thanks to his encounters with Char, Quirrell was far weaker. Had he been forced to settle for a dying egg?
As if to confirm his thoughts, a patch of grayish-white color suddenly appeared on the egg's dark shell.
"What's that?" Hagrid asked, his joyous expression faltering. "Why is it turning gray?" He instinctively knew something was wrong. He frantically flipped through his books until he found the answer.
"'The eggs of dying Hungarian Horntails will gradually turn from black to grayish-white,'" he read aloud, his voice cracking. "'Eventually, they will turn to stone.'"
The reality crashed down on him. "It's dying?" The dream he had cherished for so long was shattering before his eyes. A sad, angry sound escaped him. "No! That bloody liar, he tricked me! Wait… there must be a way to save it. It must be in the book!"
He began tearing through the pages, desperate for a solution. Char's expression was just as grave. The successful hatching of this dragon was directly linked to his cultivation of Blood Jade, which in turn could push his legendary life force closer to the mythical level. After witnessing the power of the World Tree root, he couldn't give up on that.
But every book said the same thing. Once an egg began to change like this, its life force was draining away. The only way to save it was to re-stimulate its vitality, but the potion required ingredients that had been extinct for centuries.
Despair washed over Hagrid. He pulled out a handkerchief and began to cry, his great sobs shaking the small hut. He looked like a 400-pound child who had just lost his favorite toy.
Char's heart sank. His plans for the Blood Jade were fading. His only other options were to go after the three-headed dog or the Acromantulas. But Fluffy was part of Dumbledore's plan, and the Acromantulas were a cannibalistic nightmare he had no desire to face.
He looked at the egg again. The gray patch had grown larger. Its life force was now a flickering candle in the wind. At this rate, it would be a stone by morning. It seemed irreversible. But the possibility of enhancing his legendary life, however small, was a chance he couldn't let go.
"Is there any other way?" he thought, his mind racing. "Stimulate vitality…"
Suddenly, he remembered the small silver bucket from the Ministry's secret vault. It was said to stimulate the vitality of seeds. A dragon egg was still an egg, and wasn't an egg just a seed of life? It can't get any worse than this, he decided.
He rushed back to the Hufflepuff common room, grabbed the bucket, and hurried back to Hagrid's hut. "Hagrid, I have something that might work," he said. "Find anything else that might be good for it. We'll try everything at once."
Seeing the ancient silver bucket, a flicker of hope returned to Hagrid's eyes. "High temperature," he choked out. "Dragons like high temperature. And chicken blood and whiskey. I have those ready."
"Good," Char said, his jaw set. "Let's do it."
A moment later, the silver bucket was on the stove, the dragon egg nestled inside. They poured in the chicken blood and whiskey, and as the fire roared to life, the strange concoction began to bubble.
Hagrid watched, his eyes filled with worry. He wanted to ask if this could possibly work, but then he saw Char, focused and intense, holding a large iron spoon, carefully ladling the bubbling liquid over the parts of the egg that weren't submerged. The sight gave him a sliver of hope. This method… it was crazy, but it was something. Maybe Char could really do it.
Char, meanwhile, was silently recalling how he used to cook tea eggs in his dorm room in his past life. Heat evenly, season, soak… it's basically the same thing.
He took a deep breath, cleared his mind, and focused entirely on the egg, feeling for any trace of magical energy, his hand moving in a steady, constant rhythm.
As time passed, he felt it. A faint, almost imperceptible shift. The life force emanating from the egg… was it a little stronger?
Hagrid saw it too. The grayish-white color on the shell was no longer spreading. In fact, it seemed to be shrinking.
"It's alive?" he whispered, tears of joy welling in his eyes. "It's alive!"
Char let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He looked at the small silver bucket with a new sense of wonder. This thing… I may have underestimated it. He had only taken it as a cover for the World Tree root, but now he realized it was extraordinary in its own right. The root had been entwined around it in the vault. Could this bucket be the reason it had survived for so long? If so, this was no ordinary item. It might not be mythical, but it had to be at least legendary.
His hands never stopped. He continued to pour the boiling liquid over the egg, spoonful by spoonful. The gray marks vanished completely, replaced by a deep, rich black, its metallic luster more brilliant than before. The life force within grew steady and strong, until it reached a new plateau and held there.
"It seems the bucket's ability to stimulate vitality has reached its limit for now," Char said, a little disappointed. "It's badly damaged. Most of the inscriptions are worn away."
But Hagrid felt no disappointment. He was ecstatic. He pulled the scorching hot egg from the bucket and rubbed his cheek against it affectionately.
Char smiled. "It's much healthier now, Hagrid. It's in your care." He looked at the sky. "It's almost dawn. I have classes today, I can't be late."
Hagrid reluctantly said his goodbyes. As Char left the hut, he quickened his pace, the small silver bucket held tightly in his hand. A new idea was already forming in his mind.
"If the bucket had such a strong effect on a dragon egg, it might work even better on magical plants. I should try it on the Devil's Snare root. Could it stimulate its vitality even further? Could the reward be increased again? Could it… reach the gold level?"