Artel made his way back to the dormitory, the worn stone corridors echoing with his footsteps. As he pushed open the door, he found the Draco, Crabbe and Goyle lounging about. Their heads turned in unison as they caught sight of him, offering polite greetings.
Curiosity tugging at him, Artel couldn't resist but inquire, "What's got you all so engrossed in conversation?"
Draco, wearing a sheepish grin, responded, "Ah, just discussing some business matters regarding Liechtenstein. You know, the potions shop we've invested in there recently reopened after they sorted out the troll problem."
A gleam of satisfaction danced in Draco's eyes, and Artel could sense his genuine joy.
"I can't even begin to tell you how much gold Galleons we've hemorrhaged because of those blasted creatures. My father has been petitioning the International Federation of Wizards endlessly, but it's been futile. But now, finally, the nuisance has been dealt with."
Meanwhile, Goyle, seated nearby, was devouring a dessert, his words slightly muffled as he chimed in, "I've been reading the newspapers too, but I haven't a clue who took care of it."
Draco, with a smug expression, stole a glance at Artel, noticing the keen interest in his eyes. This seemed to puff up his chest with pride.
"It's all thanks to our family's connections. We have a manager overseeing the potions shop in Liechtenstein, and as luck would have it, his daughter happens to work at the Ministry of Magic there, serving as a receptionist."
He leaned in conspiratorially, relishing the attention, "Word has it that she received a certain wizard named Saruman on the very night the troll menace was eradicated. And guess what? The trolls were obliterated right after!"
Draco's revelation left Goyle and Crabbe wide-eyed with astonishment, to which he responded, beaming with triumph, "Yes, the very same wizard who caused quite the stir at the Ministry on Christmas Eve! Saruman of the White Council!"
The incredulousness in the air was palpable.
"No wonder the entire troll tribe was wiped out. It turned out to be him... But why did he attack the trolls?"
Goyle and Crabbe muttered to themselves, while Malfoy, seemingly unaware of the details, had just heard the news from his father.
"This is confidential information, remember? Don't go blabbing it around! If you stir up trouble for the great wizard and get on his bad side, you know what will happen," Draco cautioned Goyle and Crabbe, casting a wary glance at Artel.
"I won't breathe a word of it," Artel assured him.
Draco breathed a sigh of relief and resumed his conversation with Goyle and Crabbe, boasting about his family's connections.
Meanwhile, Artel returned to his bed, lying down and retrieving the Isil spar. As the picture flickered to life, familiar faces emerged: Dumbledore, Newt, Lupin, Mad-Eye Moody, Tonks, and others.
They appeared to be resting by the edge of a dry underground river, their exhausted faces telling the tale of recent conflict. Even Dumbledore, usually composed, bore signs of battle, with singed robes and a scorched beard.
"Has it been dealt with?" Artel wondered silently, and the image on the Isil spar shifted, revealing the towering figure of the Balrog.
Compared to its initial summoning, the flames engulfing its form had diminished only slightly, suggesting minimal damage.
Artel observed the scene, pondering if Dumbledore and the others were grappling with how to handle the colossal Balrog.
"Dumbledore seems to be away for quite some time. Snape and Professor McGonagall must be in charge now," Artel mused.
Artel redirected his attention to Professor Quirrell.
At that moment, Quirrell had just concluded his class for Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw and returned to his office.
The office of the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor occupied the third floor, sharing the same space as Dumbledore's headmaster's office. Aware of Dumbledore's absence, Quirrell cast a casual glance at the entrance to the headmaster's office before shutting his own door.
After securely locking the door, Quirrell removed the cloth covering his head, revealing the dark presence of Voldemort within.
"Master..." Quirrell's voice trembled with fear.
"Hmm~" Voldemort sighed from the back of Quirrell's head, his voice sending chills down the spine. "Quirrell, my incompetent servant, I am deeply disappointed. How long must I wait for the Philosopher's Stone?"
Quirrell, fearing Voldemort's wrath, hurriedly explained, "Master, I am devising a plan. A three-headed dog guards the forbidden area entrance, and all attempts to breach it have failed. If I force my way through, it will surely alert others..."
"A three-headed dog? Hagrid's doing, I presume?" Voldemort's disdainful laughter reverberated through the office. After a moment, he continued, "Go to Lucius, ask him for a dragon egg, and use that to extract the weakness of that imbecile dog. I won't tolerate any more delays, Quirrell, or my displeasure will be severe."
Quirrell nodded fervently, responding with sincerity, "Yes, Master! I will strive diligently. But Lucius... will he provide me with a dragon egg? Considering..."
"He will! Inform him that you serve me, and he will comply," Voldemort assured. However, his voice waned as if weakened, and he murmured, "If you fail to retrieve the Philosopher's Stone within a month, I'll resort to unicorn blood to sustain me. In that case, you will face a curse."
Quirrell fought back tears upon hearing this ultimatum. It wasn't about the curse; the predicament was the Forbidden Forest. With Dumbledore's magical barrier blocking the entrance and Ministry of Magic Aurors standing guard, entry seemed impossible, let alone attempting it. Even more, Quirrell wouldn't dare venture into the forbidden forest.
The Forbidden Forest was abuzz with tales of a monstrous spider prowling its depths. Despite the numerous Aurors who ventured in, one unfortunate soul fell victim to its venomous bite. Rumors even whispered of the centaur tribe meeting a grim fate.
Quirrell, his nerves in a frenzy, dared not venture into the Forbidden Forest in pursuit of a unicorn for Voldemort after their encounter.
"Master, I pledge to secure the Philosopher's Stone for you within a month!" Quirrell's voice quivered as he spoke, and Voldemort, satisfied, gradually faded away.
Once Voldemort vanished, Quirrell breathed a sigh of relief, hastily wrapping a cloth soaked in garlic juice around his head.
"Lucius... If he secures the dragon eggs, Hagrid's side can be solved... Then only Snape's one that's remaining..." Quirrell muttered under his breath, his gaze fixed on the mirror. With a few pats to compose his appearance, he assumed his usual submissive demeanor and left the office.
"Let the hunt for dragon egg begin," Artel mused, stowing away the Isil spar and retrieving Saruman's second experiment notebook to delve into spiritual magic
.....
Days passed, and Artel found himself idly observing Quirrell from his dormitory window, stumbling upon a clandestine meeting between Quirrell and Lucius in Knockturn Alley. Concealed beneath a cloak, Quirrell conversed with Lucius before parting ways.
"Two weeks. If you're still here, I'll have what you seek," Lucius murmured, cane in hand, before departing.
Artel made a mental note of the rendezvous, planning to trim his beard on the appointed Saturday. The prospect of acquiring dragon eggs for his experiments tantalized him, despite Saruman's notes lacking any guidance in that area.
Dragons held significant value in the wizarding world, with their custodians wielding considerable power and influence. Artel was determined not to let this opportunity slip through his fingers.
At Sunday dinner, Artel observed Dumbledore, noting his fatigued appearance. While he detected no outward signs of injury, Dumbledore's demeanor hinted at a depletion of magical energy.
Later, Artel inspected the Balrog, confirming his suspicions. Dumbledore had somehow sealed the creature underground, surrounded by powerful enchantments. Though dormant, the Balrog posed a formidable threat once reawakened.
Satisfied with his findings, Artel resolved to leave the Balrog undisturbed until he could control it entirely, biding his time for the right moment to unlish it's devastation once again.
.....
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