Quirrell's face shifted, revealing a brief flash of alarm. He was currently possessed by Lord Voldemort, who could read his every thought and converse directly within his mind.
"I understand... Master..." Quirrell thought subserviently.
He gave a light cough and asked, feigning ignorance, "Is this a... Norwegian Ridgeback dragon egg?"
"Yes. A Norwegian Ridgeback egg, and it's perfectly hatchable," Damian smiled slightly. "Feel free to inspect it. If you know your stuff, you'll know that viable dragon eggs have a much more vibrant color."
Damian wasn't afraid of Quirrell trying to snatch the egg and run. Voldemort, hiding on the back of his head, wouldn't allow a public commotion. The Dark Lord still needed to maintain his cover at Hogwarts.
Quirrell took the heavy egg to examine it. "How much are you asking? If the price is right... I might consider it."
Damian simply held up one finger.
"One thousand Galleons? Hmm... that price is quite..." Quirrell trailed off, slightly surprised. A viable dragon egg for that price was actually a bargain.
Damian shook his head, cutting him off. "Ten thousand Galleons. You should know what you're holding. Aside from strictly guarded reserves, there aren't many Norwegian Ridgebacks left in the wild."
Quirrell's pupils contracted. He was momentarily stunned before a flash of fury crossed his face. "You are greedier than the goblins at Gringotts! Ten thousand Galleons? Three thousand, maximum!"
Ever since Voldemort had possessed him, the Dark Lord had constantly demanded magical items to restore his strength. The staggering expenditures had drained Quirrell's life savings. Now, he only had a few thousand Galleons to his name.
Damian replied unhurriedly, "You won't find many live dragon eggs on the black market. This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance. If you're genuinely interested, I can let it go for eight thousand, five hundred Galleons."
Damian had intentionally quoted an exorbitant price. His true goal was to extort profound Dark Arts knowledge from Voldemort, so he had to name a sum Quirrell couldn't possibly afford. Of course, if Quirrell miraculously coughed up the gold, Damian wouldn't complain.
Quirrell's expression was agonizing. He truly couldn't afford it, but this was a direct order from the Dark Lord. If he failed, the punishment would be excruciating.
"Master... I truly cannot afford this..." Quirrell pleaded in his mind.
Voldemort's cold, raspy voice hissed back. "Useless fool! How can you not even produce a mere eight thousand Galleons? Why did I saddle myself with a failure like you?!"
Seeing that Quirrell was thoroughly broke, Damian tossed him a lifeline. "As you can see, I am a businessman. I accept bartering. If you have rare potions, formulas, profound magical knowledge, or artifacts of equal value, we can make a trade."
Quirrell scrambled for ideas. He didn't have anything of that value left on him—except for the Dark Lord attached to the back of his head. And he couldn't exactly trade that.
Voldemort instantly caught the stray thought. Quirrell violently trembled as a sharp, punishing pain shot through his skull, causing him to curl in on himself.
Seeing the man squirm, Damian stood up, feigning impatience. "It seems we can't make a deal today."
Quirrell immediately grabbed Damian's sleeve, forcing a strained, desperate smile. "Wait. I... I have some magical knowledge."
It was exactly what Voldemort had commanded him to offer.
Damian sat back down, perfectly adopting the look of a greedy merchant. "I'm listening."
Quirrell swallowed hard. "I can teach you the Unforgivable Curses."
"The Unforgivables aren't worth 8,500 Galleons on the black market," Damian scoffed, shaking his head. "Plenty of dark wizards know the incantations. They're only forbidden because they're cruel and lack counter-curses. Now, if you had deep, original insights into how they fundamentally operate, that might hold some value."
Quirrell went silent, his eyes glazing over as he listened to the voice in his head. A moment later, he spoke again. "Detailed insights into the Fiendfyre Curse, or advanced Legilimency. You may choose one. I guarantee the knowledge is exceptionally profound."
It seemed Voldemort was unwilling to part with the deeper secrets of his signature Unforgivable Curses.
Damian weighed his options. His own Legilimency was already highly proficient. With the right potions, he could pry open the mind of anyone weaker than him. And if he faced someone significantly stronger, even advanced Legilimency wouldn't help—trying to invade a superior wizard's mind was practically courting death.
He decided on the destructive path.
"I'll take the insights into Fiendfyre," Damian declared. "But I need to inspect the goods first."
Quirrell pulled a blank notebook from his robes and pressed his wand tip to the cover. Slowly, ink began to bleed onto the empty pages. After a moment, the book was filled with dense, dark knowledge regarding the Fiendfyre Curse.
Quirrell handed the notebook over. He wasn't afraid of Damian defaulting on the deal. No one cheated the Dark Lord, and Voldemort's knowledge came with a heavy, unspoken price tag.
Quirrell remembered his own travels. He had actively sought out the rumored remnants of Voldemort in the Albanian forests, thinking the Dark Lord's weakened state presented a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. He had planned to manipulate the wraith, slowly prying profound magical secrets from him.
He had gravely underestimated his opponent. Even as a mere shadow, Voldemort had gradually twisted his mind, culminating in full possession.
Now, his life and death rested solely on the Dark Lord's whim. He was nothing but a puppet.
The fact that this random merchant was successfully bartering for the exact kind of profound knowledge Quirrell had originally sought filled him with immense, burning jealousy. But it was his Master's decision, and he didn't dare voice a complaint.
Damian quickly flipped through the fresh notes. His magical intuition was sharp, and he instantly recognized the authenticity and immense value of the theoretical framework written on the pages.
He flashed a shrewd, satisfied smile perfectly befitting a Knockturn Alley merchant. "Very good. This is exactly what I was looking for."
"The egg is yours." Damian placed the heavy Norwegian Ridgeback egg on the sticky table, tucked the dark notebook into his robes, and stood up.
Before walking away, Damian slipped a small parchment business card onto the table. "I operate out of Knockturn Alley. If you ever need anything else, come find me. I have plenty of exceptional wares."
The real Knockturn Alley merchant—whose face Damian was currently wearing—had severely ripped him off back when Damian was still ignorant of black-market potion prices. Dropping the man's business card in front of a Voldemort-possessed Quirrell was just a kind gesture to drum up some new clientele for the fellow. It was absolutely not because Damian held a grudge...
[75 STONES] - Unlock1 Bonus Chapter
[150 STONES] - Unlock 2 Bonus Chapters
[300 STONES] - Unlock 3 Bonus Chapters