Seeing the reward information appear on the new variant, a hint of strangeness entered Char's eyes. Curse studies? This was an extremely mysterious and strange branch of dark magic. Many problems that the wizarding world had not been able to solve were related to curses. For example, a werewolf's bite, which could turn the victim into a werewolf as well, was considered a thorny curse that had yet to be conquered. Only a very small number of dark wizards would ever dare to study curses, and for this reason, they were something that many wizards feared. Curses were hard to guard against, and many powerful wizards in history had fallen victim to them. Even the Death Eaters, in their many attempts to assassinate Dumbledore, had placed their hopes in a necklace with a powerful curse. They knew it was a long shot, but they still believed it might work, a testament to the strange and unpredictable power of curses.
"A Silver-level comprehension of curses," Char mused. "Maybe it will come in handy someday. The Resurrection Stone ring carried a powerful dark magic curse. After Dumbledore put it on, even Snape's potions couldn't completely remove it; they could only buy him another year or two of life. That's why he had to seize the remaining time and hurriedly make his follow-up arrangements. The main reason Voldemort was able to make a comeback so smoothly, besides Fudge's amazing help, was actually Dumbledore's death."
Char narrowed his eyes. He didn't like Dumbledore. The old man was too defensive and loved to secretly arrange things for others. But at least he stood on the side of rules and order, which was better than the chaos brought by Voldemort and his Death Eaters. If Dumbledore could live a year or two longer than in the original story, Char might be able to enjoy a peaceful farming environment for that much longer. This was of vital importance to him. By the time Dumbledore is cursed, if my curse knowledge can reach the Diamond or even Epic level, combined with Snape's potions, there should be hope.
His eyes then fell on the second reward: Quintaped Transfiguration. This time, his brows furrowed. As the name suggested, this should be the black magic that turned wizards into Quintapeds. It was definitely profound; he had seen the weirdness of the monsters firsthand. If this kind of magic fell into the hands of some dark wizard obsessed with power, they would probably be ecstatic. But Char declined the offer in his mind. But perhaps this contains the deeper secrets of Drya Island. If I ever go back, especially if I want to explore the secrets of that temple, this knowledge might help. If all else fails, I might as well use it to improve my own Dark Magic Transfiguration. It wouldn't be a bad idea.
He nodded in satisfaction. The rewards brought by this new variant were still quite rare. As for its name… he thought about it. "Since red hair has grown on it, let's call it the Red-Haired Mushroom." Calculating the gains from this adventure, a smile appeared on his face. "A lot of Pute Fruit. A rare variant, the Red-Haired Mushroom. And, of course, the two-faced man was severely damaged. The harvest this time was truly bountiful. I just don't know what's going on with him now."
At the same time, on a remote island, a pale-faced Quirrell climbed with difficulty out of the sea. He spat out a mouthful of blood, a strange black and red color. The smell coming from it was extremely fishy, and a few drops that fell into the sea poisoned all the fish and shrimp within a hundred meters, causing them to float to the surface. He gritted his teeth. "Damn it. What on earth is going on?"
Voldemort's weak voice sounded in his mind. "It's poison. You've been poisoned. A very strange and complex toxin. That old bastard Dumbledore… I don't know when he poisoned me." Voldemort took over Quirrell's body and waved his wand. Rays of light streamed down, landing on Quirrell. The agonizing pain in his blood immediately felt much better.
Quirrell let out a breath. "Master…"
Voldemort's voice remained solemn. "I have suppressed the poison for now. But this toxin is not the biggest problem in your body right now. The biggest problem you have is the curse." As Quirrell listened in confusion, Voldemort explained. "You drank the blood of three unicorns before, which left a strong unicorn curse in your body. If that's all, it wouldn't kill you, but it would slowly torture you for the rest of your life. But on that damned island, in that damned temple, there was another ancient, vicious curse. It's distributed in your blood, connecting with the unicorn curse, making things even more difficult. What's even more troublesome is that the toxins are becoming increasingly linked to these curses. Every second, they are mutating." There was annoyance in Voldemort's voice. "This is an elaborate setup! Dumbledore, you've done so many evil things!"
Quirrell was already at a loss, unable to hear Voldemort's curses. He asked with a trembling voice, "Then, Master… can I still be saved?"
Voldemort was silent for a moment. "I'm not good at detoxifying or removing curses. Change your appearance and go to St. Mungo's."
Quirrell's already pale face became even paler. Does this mean even the Dark Lord can't do anything? No… how did it become like this?! With a last hope, he disguised himself with magic and Apparated to St. Mungo's, dragging his pain-racked body to the Poison and Curse department, where he promptly fainted.
When he woke up, he was in a hospital bed. The pungent smell of disinfectant filled his nose. The ceiling was spotless. A group of doctors in white coats surrounded him. Such a scene made him feel at ease. "What is my situation now?" he asked quickly. "Can I still be saved?"
The doctors looked at each other, a silent communication passing between them. One of them came forward. "Sir, I'm the head of the Poisons and Curses Department at St. Mungo's." He introduced the others. "This is my senior from the Curse School. This lady is my senior in Magical Toxicology." Another white-haired old man stepped forward. "I am their teacher. A graduate of Durmstrang. I rushed over from Germany after receiving the news. I also brought along several other professors. It can be said that we are the backbone of curse medicine in the magical world."
Quirrell's heart became more at peace. He even felt like crying. St. Mungo's has always been criticized for its high fees and poor service. Who said this? Rumors, all rumors! What a great attitude. In order to calm him, professors of this level were being so kind and friendly. He vowed that when the Dark Lord returned, he would allocate funds to St. Mungo's. He breathed a sigh of relief. "Then my problem can definitely be solved, right?"
The experts looked at each other, a hint of fanaticism in their eyes. Their tone gradually rose. "The problem cannot be solved. But St. Mungo's can provide you with treatment completely free of charge. Oh no, if you agree to our terms, we can even help you settle your relatives. Your name will also appear in a paper—"
Quirrell was stunned. "???" "You—what are you talking about? What paper? What placement?!"
The old man's face was enthusiastic. "Do you realize how rare your situation is? An extremely difficult curse blended with poison, forming a symptom never before discovered in curse science. Exquisite and complex… you are now a living monument to curse studies! We can't save you, but young man, think positively. Your condition will promote the development of curse science. Your name will remain in the textbooks of magical medicine, shining brightly. By the way, we don't know your name yet. What do you think about naming this condition after you?"
Quirrell's face turned livid with rage. He pulled out his wand. If the noise hadn't been so loud, he would have cast a Killing Curse on the doctors. "Name it after me? Go to hell!" he roared, storming out of the hospital. But the doctors' advice echoed in his ears. "Young man, think about it again. Given your current physical condition, you can live for seven more days at most. Why don't you consider our terms? This way, even if you die, you will still be honored!"
He slapped his palm hard against a wall. "To hell with your honor!" After venting his anger, he seemed to have been drained of all his strength and sank to the ground, his face full of confusion. His heart filled with regret. Why was I so arrogant? Why did I go looking for Voldemort? Why did I try to control him and gain power from him? Otherwise, he would still be the talented and promising Professor Quirrell, one of the youngest professors at Hogwarts. He should have lived another life, instead of just waiting for death.
Voldemort's voice sounded in his mind. "How? Regret it? Scared to death?"
Perhaps because death was near, Quirrell was no longer so afraid. "If you are not afraid of death," he said sarcastically, "why do you want to live like this, parasitizing on me?"
Voldemort sneered. "But I won't die. No matter how many times I fail, I always have a chance to come back. But you, Quirrell, you only have one chance. You can continue to speak to me in this tone and die in fear, and I will just wait for the next person to come looking for me. Or, you have another choice…"
Quirrell's pupils suddenly trembled. "What choice?"
"Is this the tone you use when you beg me?" Voldemort whispered.
Quirrell's body trembled. He fell to his knees and pleaded in his most loyal voice yet. "Master… I don't want to die. Please save me."
Voldemort smiled. "The Philosopher's Stone. Its power can easily create a new life for you."
"But in my current state, I won't survive more than seven days," Quirrell despaired. "The loss of strength is too serious. It's impossible to get the stone in such a short time."
"Of course, I have a way to keep you going until then," Voldemort said calmly. "Even your strength can be improved. Your situation is difficult because those curses and poisons are effective on humans. When I was listening to those doctors, I came up with a solution. If you can neutralize one or two of these curses, your situation will be quite simple. And the key to this is one point." His voice was cold. "Quirrell, you need to undergo Dark Magic Transfiguration. As long as you're not human, the unicorn's curse will be less effective, the Quintaped's curse will be ineffective, and even those toxins will no longer be able to harm you."
Quirrell's eyes widened. "No… no longer a human being? Then what will I be transformed into?"
Voldemort gestured for him to look at the tube of blood he had collected. "That's the blood of the Quintaped. I can use it to transform you into something like it. Don't worry, I will do my best to hide those features. You only need a looser robe, and you can continue to blend in at Hogwarts. If we find the opportunity, we can take the Philosopher's Stone. By then, you will naturally have a new body."
The image of the monster on the beach came to Quirrell's mind. That strange look made him shudder. But a moment later, he gritted his teeth viciously, his expression distorted. It's okay to become that kind of monster. As long as I can survive, that's enough!
Feeling the desire to live rising in Quirrell's heart, Voldemort's voice sounded very satisfied. "I saw you in the Albanian jungle. I knew you had great potential. Now, prepare yourself for your new body. It will be much stronger than your current one. I need a month to slowly transform you. Take a leave from Hogwarts. You are no longer needed in the Defense Against the Dark Arts class."
Quirrell took a deep breath. As Voldemort had said, he sent a letter to Hogwarts asking for a month's leave. Then, he clenched his teeth. "What about Char? If it weren't for him, how could I have ended up like this? Shouldn't he be punished?"
Voldemort said, "Char must have been tricked by Dumbledore. He is still loyal…" But feeling Quirrell's deep hatred, and needing to appease the man he was parasitizing, he added, "Alright. Once I've finished reforming you, he'll be punished. If you have the chance, you can punish him yourself. Is that okay?"
Only then did Quirrell nod resentfully. Following Voldemort's instructions, he headed towards Knockturn Alley. "There," Voldemort directed, "I need some experimental materials."
Early the next morning, as Char walked out of the small greenhouse, he heard the news in the corridor. "Have you heard? Professor Quirrell is not well. He has suffered a sudden illness. He took a full month off." The young wizards groaned. They really enjoyed the Defense Against the Dark Arts class now.
Char frowned. Quirrell took a month's leave? What is he going to do? He would definitely not give up on the Philosopher's Stone. He would be back in a month. But a moment later, Char's frown relaxed. A month? His gaze fell in the direction of the small greenhouse. The Piranha Algae, the Guardian Tree, the Devil's Snare… he could almost see their reward light balls shining brightly. They were not far from maturity. One month. It was enough time to transform himself.
But apart from these, Char felt more and more that he still needed some means to resist mental magic. This month of free time was the perfect opportunity for him to learn Occlumency from Snape. A thought flashed through his mind. He took a step forward and walked towards Snape's office.