Lord Voldemort's voice echoed ominously in Quirrell's mind.
Quirrell was equally confused.
"Scent?"
"But I didn't smell any scent from Robert, Master."
"You didn't smell any scent before, so why were you suddenly awakened this time?" Voldemort questioned coldly.
"What kind of scent was it?"
Quirrell's barrage of questions made Voldemort fall silent, if only for a moment.
"I can't describe the scent," he said finally.
"It's just... a very strange feeling. Even though I don't have a body right now, I felt as if my heart beat faster... as if my soul trembled."
"That little brat seems... important to me somehow."
"Quirrell, do you understand what I'm saying?"
"Huh? Quirrell, what's that look on your face?"
Voldemort paused mid-thought, noticing Quirrell's increasingly strange expression.
After a moment's hesitation, Quirrell cautiously spoke.
"Master, forgive my bluntness, but we are at a critical stage of our plan. We really don't have the extra energy to entertain... your eccentricities."
"Perhaps when we obtain the Philosopher's Stone and you've regained your full power, you can indulge in as many young wizards as you wish—tall, short, fat, thin—your choice..."
Voldemort's voice froze.
A long, stunned silence followed before the Dark Lord erupted in fury.
"Quirrell? What are you suggesting? Do you think I'm—"
"A pedophile?!"
Quirrell quickly tried to clarify,
"Master, it's alright. In Britain, it's not uncommon for powerful individuals to be... different. A high-ranking figure who has no interest in women may naturally prefer the same sex, or even children—"
"Shut up!" Voldemort roared.
"I am not! Idiot!"
Quirrell felt his body weaken as Voldemort's rage flared—his limbs trembled and his vision blurred. But Voldemort quickly forced himself to calm down. Overexerting himself would drain his already limited power.
He pushed the matter of Robert aside for now. As Quirrell had said, finding the Philosopher's Stone and regaining strength were the real priorities. If Robert did hold some secret, it wouldn't escape him in the future.
"Quirrell," he said coolly.
"Continue the search for the unicorn. Forget the brat for now."
Meanwhile, Robert, now out of Quirrell's view, suddenly paused.
A fleeting sensation of being watched passed over him.
He frowned.
"Was Quirrell still scheming something?"
But after a moment of thought, he shook his head.
"That doesn't make sense. My biggest value to Quirrell was as bait for Cerberus. But he probably got the way past Cerberus from Hagrid already. Why would he still care about me?"
Unable to find an answer, Robert cast the matter aside.
"If I can't understand it, no use overthinking."
Besides, before Quirrell drank unicorn blood, he probably wouldn't have the strength to act.
Strengthening himself was the real path forward.
Robert soon arrived at Hagrid's Hut.
"Hagrid, I saw your letter. What good thing do you have to show me?"
Hagrid's face lit up with joy. He led Robert to a nest of straw near the fireplace. Resting atop it was a large, black-brown egg with a metallic sheen and faint scales.
Hagrid spoke with excitement, barely containing his voice.
"You won't believe what this is. I haven't even told Harry and the others yet."
"It's a Dragon egg!"
"I've wanted one ever since I was a student. But the Ministry's laws are too strict. I never had the chance."
"Yesterday, someone in the pub bet me... and I won it!"
While Hagrid beamed with delight, Robert examined the egg.
It was indeed remarkable—but something about it felt off.
Rather than pulsing with life, the Dragon egg seemed... sickly. Faint. Unwell.
Hagrid eagerly flipped through a pile of books he had borrowed from the library.
"Let's see... black shell, metallic texture, some scales, sharp spines... Aha!"
His voice rang out so loud it shook the ceiling.
"It's a Hungarian Horntail! The fiercest of all dragon breeds!"
He practically danced in joy.
But Robert was confused.
"Hungarian Horntail? But in the original timeline, it was a Norwegian Ridgeback named Norbert."
Even the egg back then was healthy and hatched successfully.
Could this discrepancy be a butterfly effect... from his interference?
Robert's mind raced.
In the original, Quirrell hadn't yet needed unicorn blood. He would've had strength and resources to secure a quality Ridgeback egg. But now, thanks to Robert's interference, Quirrell was weaker.
"Could that have forced him to settle for a second-rate egg, maybe even a dying one?"
Just then, Robert noticed a patch of grayish-white emerging on the egg's surface.
Hagrid was instantly alarmed.
"Why is it turning grayish-white?"
He flipped through more pages and found an entry.
"A Hungarian Horntail egg nearing death turns gray-white. Eventually... it turns to stone."
His voice trembled.
"It's dying?"
Crushed, Hagrid cried out.
"No! That bastard tricked me!"
But then his eyes lit up with determination.
"There must be a way to save it!"
He and Robert poured through every book they had. Unfortunately, the verdict was clear—unless the egg's vitality could be re-stimulated, it would die. And while a potion existed to do that, some ingredients were extinct.
Hagrid collapsed in despair, sobbing into a handkerchief the size of a pillowcase.
Robert's face grew grim.
This Dragon egg wasn't just a curiosity—it was vital to his plan for cultivating blood emeralds. If the egg died, he'd have to find another magical creature to extract from.
But the other options weren't great.
Cerberus? Too risky—too many eyes watching.
Acromantulas? Savage and barely controlled even by Hagrid.
He looked at the egg again. The gray-white blotches had spread.
"At this rate, it'll be stone by dawn," Robert muttered.
Then a thought struck him.
"The silver barrel!"
He had retrieved a small silver barrel from the Ministry of Magic's secret vault. It was originally meant as a cover for the World Tree root, but he remembered it had an effect—it stimulated the vitality of seeds.
And wasn't an egg... a seed of life?
It was worth a shot.
He dashed back to Hufflepuff, rummaged through his luggage, and returned to Hagrid's Hut with the silver barrel.
"Hagrid, I have something that might work. Also, look for anything else useful for dragon eggs. We'll try everything."
Hagrid's eyes lit up with hope.
"Dragon eggs love high temperatures. I've got whiskey and chicken blood ready too."
"Alright," Robert nodded.
"Let's do it."
They placed the silver barrel over the stove, poured in the whiskey and blood, then gently lowered the egg inside. The mixture bubbled and frothed as the egg floated and sank.
Robert took a large iron spoon and, without pause, began gently ladling the mixture over the exposed shell.
Seeing Robert work with such calm precision gave Hagrid hope.
"He's done this before?" he thought.
In truth, Robert was just recalling how he used to make tea eggs back in his past life—boil, baste, soak. Wasn't this similar?
He focused his senses on the egg, carefully observing its magical aura.
Time passed.
Then, something shifted.
The faint life energy within the egg seemed... brighter.
"It's recovering?" Robert whispered.
Hagrid gasped.
"The gray spots—look! They're shrinking!"
He wept with joy.
"It's alive! It's really alive!"
Robert, still focused, didn't stop. He continued ladling the bubbling liquid over the shell. Slowly but surely, the egg's gray patches vanished, replaced by a gleaming metallic black.
"This silver barrel," Robert realized, "might be far more powerful than I thought."
Could it be the reason the World Tree root had survived so long in the vault?
Even if not mythical-level, this barrel was certainly Legendary.
After a while, the egg's recovery slowed. The metallic sheen hit a saturation point, then stabilized.
"Seems the barrel's effects have reached their limit," Robert said.
"Too damaged—barely any markings left. If it could be restored..."
But Hagrid didn't care. He was elated, cradling the warm egg like a newborn.
Robert chuckled.
"It's healthier now. I'll leave it to you to care for it."
Hagrid blinked.
"You're not staying?"
"It's nearly dawn," Robert replied.
"First day of class after the break. Can't be late."
Hagrid reluctantly waved him off.
As Robert walked toward the Greenhouse, carrying the silver barrel, a thought struck him.
"If this barrel worked on a Dragon egg... what could it do for magical plants?"
"What if I used it on the Devil's Snare root?"
"Could it evolve again?"
"Could it reach—Golden Level?"
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