Lucien had been unsure when Harry only ntioned the toad hatching an egg. But the mont the boy added that he'd also dread of being a chicken—a rooster carrying an egg inside—it clicked perfectly with everything he knew about Basilisks.
Salazar's legacy contained detailed knowledge of Basilisk creation, including improved thods. The process boiled down to two steps: get a rooster to lay an egg, then have a toad hatch it.
The toad part was easy. Any competent wizard could find one, keep the temperature and humidity right, and add a few growth charms.
The hard part was making the rooster lay the egg.
Chickens were strange that way. In the embryonic stage they had two sets of gonads, but only one usually developed. If there were no roosters around and a hen's female reproductive system took damage, the dormant male gonad could wake up and develop. The hen would start growing rooster features—bright feathers, a comb, even crowing. If that transforming hen happened to be carrying a viable egg, the egg it laid counted as a "rooster's egg."
It almost never happened naturally. Salazar had created black magic rituals to force it.
Voldemort, who had beco Slytherin's heir while still a student, would have learned those thods.
As for Harry's dreams, Lucien had a clear guess now.
They were mories. Voldemort's mories.
Harry carried a fragnt of Voldemort's soul inside him—a living Horcrux. The soul connection between them let fragnts of mory slip across, passive and uncontrolled. Since Voldemort was still weak and bodiless, the leaks only reached Harry through dreams. The fragnts were broken and short because Voldemort's own mind was scattered.
Lucien pulled his thoughts back and looked at Harry. The boy sat gripping his hands tightly, green eyes full of worry.
"You're not under any curse," Lucien said calmly. "Nothing's attached itself to you. Those dreams… just treat them like movie clips you accidentally watched."
"Movie clips?" Harry blinked.
Lucien didn't explain further. "They won't actually hurt you. Don't worry."
Until Voldemort regained a body, the link between them stayed weak. The mory fragnts drifting through dreams were like smoke—visible for a mont, then gone. They couldn't touch him.
Harry let out a long breath. His shoulders finally relaxed.
"Good. It's just dreams, then." He scratched at his ssy black hair. "Still weird, though. Always turning into animals. Frogs, chickens… Next ti it'll probably be a snake."
Lucien didn't answer. His gaze flicked to the scar on Harry's forehead.
A snake? Maybe. If Voldemort kept working on the Basilisk, Harry's dreams might start getting a lot more reptilian.
"Oh, right," Harry said suddenly, looking up. "Does Divination cover interpreting dreams?"
Lucien almost laughed. Of course it did.
"Yeah. Dream divination is a whole branch of it. So Seers analyze dream symbols to predict the future or uncover hidden information."
Harry nodded slowly, filing that away. If the strange dreams kept coming before next term, he was definitely signing up for Divination. Better to learn how to read them than keep guessing on his own.
…
Deep in the forests of Albania.
A quiet cave, its entrance hidden behind thick bushes. Even if soone walked right past, they'd never notice it.
Inside, the air was damp. Moss covered the stone walls. Small bones and dried bloodstains littered the floor.
A massive toad—three tis the size of any normal one—lay sprawled over a smooth, pale egg. Its gray-brown skin was rough as bark and covered in thick warts. Its eyes were half-closed. It breathed slowly, trying to keep its belly pressed against the egg as much as possible.
The egg was chicken-egg sized but unnaturally smooth, almost glowing with a faint, wrong kind of paleness. If you looked closely, fine runic lines traced across the shell.
Voldemort, riding inside the toad's body, kept his presence tightly leashed. He sank his awareness into the creature and felt the faint, deep pulse coming from inside the egg. Not a heartbeat. Sothing older. Sothing from the root of life itself.
The thing inside was slowly taking shape, greedily drinking in every bit of nourishnt around it.
He had planned to reclaim Nagini. She would have made an excellent servant, bodyguard, even companion—clever, loyal, and bound to him by sothing deeper than magic. But Newt Scamander had ruined that. The ddling old man had shown up out of nowhere and taken her.
After the anger faded, Voldemort decided he would simply make his own protector.
He had chosen the Basilisk. It was powerful. Easy to control. Parseltongue gave him natural dominance over it, and as Slytherin's heir that gift ran in his blood. He wouldn't have to worry about it turning on him. Sothing he had raised himself felt safer.
He had known the improved breeding thods since his school days. They were faster and more secret than the old ways. Creating a Basilisk wasn't difficult for him.
Forcing the rooster to lay the egg had cost him, though. He'd burned through black magic he could barely afford. The rituals had drained what little active power he still possessed. He felt even weaker now.
But it was worth it.
Once the Basilisk hatched and had enough food, it would grow fast. In just a few months a tiny serpent could beco a deadly giant. Its venom, its fangs, its death stare—each one would terrify his enemies.
And the experience of nurturing life was… strange. He had torn his soul apart many tis, but he had never actually created life before. Feeling the pulse inside the egg, sensing the small being slowly forming, gave him ideas. Once he had a body again and more power, he could experint further. Maybe even use similar principles to strengthen himself.
Breeding the Basilisk was only the first step.
Voldemort kept his plans quiet while he waited. Once he had flesh again and real strength, he would find every interfering fool who had gotten in his way and give them the cruelest deaths he could imagine.
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