章 400: 0399 The Ruins

Magic follows rules!

If Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tried to bypass the rules and enter the lava lake below through sheer force, all the remaining defensive magic in this magical ruin would likely erupt instantly. In that case, the entire island of Azkaban might even be overturned into the sea.

Ravenclaw remained silent, her ice-blue pupils flickering with light as her gaze swept across the entire cave.

"Have you found anything, Rowena?"

Deciphering secrets was clearly not Godric Gryffindor's forte. After glancing around the cave a few times, he frustratingly gave up searching and placed his hope on Ravenclaw.

Bryan and Sirius both turned their attention to Ravenclaw. They knew she would certainly find a path to the boiling lava lake, but they were curious about how she would accomplish it.

As Bryan gazed at the profile of this powerful and beautiful legendary witch, his brow suddenly furrowed.

Since boarding the ship with the two Hogwarts founders, Bryan had been overwhelmed by one secret after another, leaving him no energy to properly observe the diadem worn by this legendary witch.

To outsiders, Ravenclaw's diadem might be considered a famous artifact with precious historical value. But In reality, none of the relics left by the Four Founders were simple. For instance, as Ravenclaw was immersed in thought, her Diadem of Wisdom constantly flickered with crystalline light, clearly providing her with some form of assistance.

Long moments passed, filled only with the ominous rumbling of the lava far below and the barely perceptible hum of magic that permeated the very air around them. Then, almost imperceptibly at first, a smile began to touch Ravenclaw's lips.

"I've recalled something Salazar once shared with me,"

Gryffindor's eyebrows rose in interest, his earlier frustration giving way to curiosity. "Oh? And what might that be?"

It was in this moment that Bryan realized the relationship between Gryffindor and Slytherin was far better than later historical accounts would have made people believe. There was no trace of the rumored animosity or disgust in Gryffindor's voice as he spoke of Slytherin, but he rather asked with great interest.

Ravenclaw's eyes sparkled as she continued, "Salazar once told me that the earliest recorded Parselmouth in magical history was none other than Herpo the Foul himself."

Gryffindor's expression shifted to one of dawning comprehension, tinged with a hint of regret. "You mean to say—" he began, before shaking his head regretfully. "I should have dragged that secretive old serpent out of his gloomy dungeon far earlier."

Bryan's brow furrowed as well, suddenly remembering how the Chamber of Secrets was opened.

"It's alright—" Ravenclaw blinked offering a reassuring smile. "I once asked Salazar to teach me some rudimentary Parseltongue. While I'm not fluent in Parseltongue, I did take the precaution of recording several key phrases and incantations."

Sirius, who had remained uncharacteristically silent throughout much of their journey, suddenly spoke up.

"Harry's a Parselmouth too, isn't he?"

Upon receiving confirmation of this fact, Sirius fell silent once more, muttering something under his breath that the Bryan couldn't quite catch.

Parseltongue was widely regarded as an eerie, dark, and obscure language – a tongue associated with some of the most sinister chapters in magical history. Yet, as the syllables flowed from Ravenclaw, they carried an almost ethereal quality. The hissing sounds, at first barely audible, grew in volume and intensity over the span of several seconds. Soon, the hissing overpowered even the thunderous roar of the lava lake below, filling the cave with a sound that was at once terrifying and strangely beautiful.

For a breathless moment, nothing happened. Then, with a sound like the world itself being torn apart, the churning sea of lava below began to move. The molten rock split open, forming a chasm so vast and terrifying that it seemed to defy the very laws of nature. From this newly formed gap rose two colossal lava waterfalls, their seething, surging magma emitting a light so intense that it rivaled the sun itself in its terrible brilliance.

The group found themselves momentarily blinded, forced to shield their eyes against the overwhelming radiance. As their vision slowly adjusted, they witnessed a sight that would be forever seared into their memories: amidst the blinding, apocalyptic glow, a staircase was slowly rising from the depths. Step by step, it ascended towards the edge of the cliff where they stood, presenting a path into the very heart of this lava lake.

The sheer magnitude of the magical display before them was almost too much for their minds to process.

Sirius, already pushed to his limits by the trials they had endured, felt his grasp on this world of memories beginning to slip. An intense wave of dizziness washed over him, causing his body to appear translucent and ethereal for a moment. It seemed as though the overwhelming sensory input had triggered signs of awakening in his real consciousness, threatening to tear him away from this world of memories.

Bryan patted Sirius on the shoulder, but his own complexion was equally grim.

Herpo the Foul – a name that still sent shivers down the spines of witches and wizards a millennium after his reign of terror. He was the only Dark Wizard from ancient Greek times whose infamy still persisted in the world. Beyond the creation of the first Horcrux and the development of blood curses that still plagued magical bloodlines to this day, Herpo's shadow loomed large over the entire field of dark magic. In the current wizarding world, those immensely powerful and extremely evil dark magic of unclear origin were still habitually attributed to Herpo's head.

From this, one could imagine how many lives this character must have destroyed during his active years.

Gryffindor's face was contorted with rage as he drew his sword. His overwhelmingly powerful aura even pushed back the pervasive heat. He was about to strike when Ravenclaw suddenly stopped him.

"Stop, Godric—"

Facing the enraged Gryffindor, Ravenclaw gently shook her head.

The staircase that now stretched from their position at the top of the cliff down into the roiling sea of lava was not constructed of stone, nor was it formed from any precious metals or rare magical materials. Instead, the hundreds of steps – each easily ten feet wide and descending towards the molten depths below – were crafted entirely from severed pairs of hands.

These hands, unnaturally lifelike and somehow maintaining a disturbing moisture despite the intense heat, were immediately recognizable to the horrified onlookers.

They were not the hands of wizards, but those of house-elves!

As if this gruesome display were not enough, the sides of each step floated a head—house-elf heads!

Most horrifying of all, these severed heads still bore the humble, servile smiles they had worn in life. Their mouths were slightly open, with heads tilted slightly downward as if bowing to the owner of the ruins!

Herpo the Foul had used the hands of house-elves to create steps and their heads as handrails!

How utterly contemptuous of life this person was!

House-elves, while not universally treated with kindness, were still an active and integral part of the wizarding world. Many served pure-blood wizard families, passing from generation to generation as prized (if often mistreated) possessions. Others, like those who staffed the kitchens of Hogwarts, served larger magical institutions.

These little creatures took pride in serving wizards, considering it the meaning of their lives. This distorted notion was imprinted on their very souls, which is why they were viewed as property rather than living beings by the wizards who used them.

But Bryan was certain that even in today's wizarding world, those pure-blood supremacist families who had inherited such harshness and prejudice would find it hard not to be moved by this sight!

"Kreacher..."

With Bryan's comfort, Sirius's complexion finally improved somewhat, but he still covered his mouth.

"What would Kreacher say if he saw this?" Sirius whispered, breathing heavily. But then he shook his head answering his own question,

"Kreacher would probably consider this the highest honor. He dreams of having his head cut off after death and hanging it next to my mother's portrait."

Fierce anger flashed in Bryan's eyes.

House-elves were not unfamiliar magical creatures to him, but in the past, he had indeed not paid much attention to these beings. However, this horrific scene laid out before him had served as a brutal awakening.

Wasn't this too absurd?

Look at the goblins, the centaurs, werewolves, vampires, leprechauns, veela, and even gnomes!

What other species would embrace such an extreme philosophy of existence? What twisted circumstances could lead an entire race to consider absolute slavery to another species as the highest expression of their lives's purpose?

"Helga would likely be driven to the brink of madness if she were to witness this atrocity,"

Gryffindor's voice was thick with emotion. He had sheathed his sword, recognizing that destroying the staircase would only trap them at the top of the cliff. Yet the act of restraint seemed to pain him physically, his hand still resting on the hilt of his weapon as if longing to strike out against this monument to cruelty.

Gryffindor's eyes took on a distant look. "Helga has always wanted to remove the vicious curse on these little ones. If she saw the torture these little fellows endured, she'd probably go mad with rage."

Bryan found his mind wandering to the wizarding world he knew - a thousand years ahead from this time, but in many ways still grappling with the same prejudices and injustices. While the treatment of house-elves had undoubtedly improved in some respects, it was still far from what one might consider humane or just. One can imagine what kind of life these little ones lived in the closed wizarding society of a thousand years ago, where honor and bloodline were still mainstream.

Among the four close friends who had founded Hogwarts, Helga Hufflepuff had always been renowned for her gentle nature and boundless kindness. It was not difficult to imagine that she alone might have extended her compassion to these humble, pitiful creatures that others overlooked or disdained.

"The origins of house-elves have long been shrouded in mystery," Ravenclaw said, her eyes never leaving the grotesque staircase before them. "Since the earliest days of organized wizarding society, these creatures have been serving wizards. Yet almost no one in our time has thought to find about their true origins.

Now, faced with this abomination, I fear we may have stumbled upon a truth more horrific than we could have imagined. It seems likely that they were created here, brought into existence as slaves."

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章 401: 0400 Evil

Herpo the Foul—to Sirius, it was just another name from the dusty pages of magical history, albeit one that sent shivers down the spines of those who truly knew its significance. His name was etched in faded ink on the yellowed title pages of numerous dark magic tomes, hidden away in Hogwarts's Library's Restricted Section. But why should anyone worry about a dark wizard who died two thousand ago?

However, as Sirius followed the memories of two legendary Hogwarts founders through this nightmarish underworld, he realized just how terribly wrong he had been!

Horcruxes—the very word tasted like ash in his mouth. The concept of splitting one's soul, tearing apart the very essence of one's being to achieve a twisted form of immortality—could the human soul truly be divided like a piece of parchment?

That's what Godric Gryffindor himself had said with a grave expression. Sirius's mind reeled, unable to fully grasp the horror of it all. But the earth-shattering revelation that Dementors—those soul-sucking abominations that had tormented him for over a decade in Azkaban—were once wizards who had excessively split their souls... it shook him to his very core, leaving him feeling as though the ground beneath his feet had turned to quicksand.

And then there was Rowena Ravenclaw's chilling claim that house-elves were likely Herpo's creation. To create an entire race of intelligent life through the sheer power of magic—Sirius couldn't begin to fathom the level of magical prowess and twisted ambition required for such a feat.

"Bryan?" Sirius's voice was barely more than a hoarse whisper, heavy with the weight of these terrible revelations.

They finally stepped onto a staircase that made Sirius's stomach churn with disgust. Each step was crafted from the twisted hands of house-elves, their bony fingers interlocked in a parody of unity.

Walking on such a grotesque path, it was impossible for anyone sane to maintain even a semblance of composure. They did their utmost to avoid gazing at the sides of the staircase, where the faces of the elves, frozen in death maintained their characteristic expressions of humility and fawning subservience. The group descended in a silence so thick it was almost suffocating.

Sirius, his face now ashen and drawn with a mixture of horror and dawning realization, suddenly broke the oppressive silence.

"You've been investigating Herpo all along, haven't you?"

Bryan, caught off-guard by the directness of the question, was momentarily stunned into silence. After a long silence, he nodded gently.

"But—could it be!" Sirius began urgently, his words tumbling out in a frantic rush. However, the memory of the earlier conversation between the two Hogwarts founders suddenly flashed through his mind, causing his face to grimace with a new level of horror.

"This... this monster is still alive?!" The words came out as a strangled gasp, as if Sirius's very breath had been stolen by the terrifying possibility.

"I suspect so," Bryan said expressionlessly, seeming to be in a bad mood.

"Alive for two thousand years?!" Sirius's voice cracked, distorted by disbelief and fear. "And when we first arrived, Ravenclaw and Gryffindor mentioned Merlin— what's all this about?"

But this time, Bryan offered no response. His gaze was fixed intently on the roiling sea of lava below them, his eyes narrowed as if he had spotted something significant in the molten inferno.

"Fine—" Sirius began, realizing that Bryan was clearly unwilling to answer these pressing questions. He reluctantly fell silent, biting back the torrent of inquiries threatening to spill forth. But after a few seconds of tense silence, he couldn't help but mutter under his breath,

"Looking at the nightmarish situation here, I'm starting to think Voldemort isn't quite so dangerous after all. Merlin's beard, what have we stumbled into?"

There were indeed objects floating in the lava—the bleached bones of creatures whose flesh had long since been incinerated by the intense heat. Most of them were unrecognizable. But Bryan could still discern that one massive set of remains belonged to a dragon. The bones of this beast were far thicker and more robust than any dragon species he had encountered before, implying at some kind of primeval dragon ancestor that time had forgotten.

It became apparent that Herpo was using this vast lake of lava as a kind of magical incinerator, a place to dispose of evidence or failed experiments perhaps. Everyone's attention was drawn to the various remnants bobbing in the bubbling lava, most of them mercifully incomplete. Considering that these creatures' remains had been soaking in the molten rock for well over a dozen centuries without being completely consumed, one could only imagine with a sense of dread how formidable and terrifying they must have been when alive.

They descended to a level even with the lava, separated from the churning molten rock by only a thin, shimmering magical barrier. As the lava flowed in hypnotic patterns, unmelted creature bones constantly struck the barrier with sickening thuds, carried by the fiery waves. Even though they knew that the barrier would hold, it still made their hearts race and their palms sweat.

Gryffindor and Ravenclaw no longer conversed with each other They quickened their pace forward, and finally, after what felt like an eternity but was likely only about ten minutes, they stood before a massive jet-black door at the very bottom of the lava lake.

The door was an imposing monolith of obsidian-like stone, its surface adorned with several colossal snakes that seemed to writhe and coil across its face. The serpents' eyes, inlaid with some sort of glowing gemstone, gazed down at the intruders with an unsettling intelligence. Their mouths gaped open, revealing rows of venomous fangs that seemed to drip with ghostly poison, sending shivers down the spines of all who observed them.

"Basilisks—" Bryan murmured softly, his voice barely audible over the bubbling of the lava. He didn't want to dwell on the implications, knowing all too well the deadly power of those mythical serpents. And, he also knew how to open the door.

Hiss—

Ravenclaw once again used Parseltongue. As she spoke, Bryan's eyes flashed keenly, his sharp mind carefully memorizing every nuance and strange intonation of the sounds. He knew this knowledge might prove crucial in the future.

Hum—

With a heavy rumbling sound, the darkness that bloomed before them quickly swallowed the dazzling light emitted by the lava.

The difference on either side of the threshold was as stark as night and day, like crossing between two entirely separate realms of existence. The chamber they entered bore an eerie resemblance to the entrance hall that come first of Hogwarts' Great Hall.

In this cavernous, gloomy room that seemed to stretch endlessly upward, they felt no hint of the scorching heat that had assaulted them moments before. Instead, the damp air carried a bone-deep chill—a chill that had been perfectly preserved in Gryffindor and Ravenclaw's memories, which Bryan and Sirius could now feel as if they were truly there, transported across the centuries.

"There are Dementors here!"

The trauma from his over a decade of imprisonment in Azkaban proved too great for Sirius to bear. Upon feeling this horribly familiar chill seep into his very bones, he instinctively curled in on himself, shivering uncontrollably. His eyes darted about, seeking escape, and for a moment he seriously considered transforming into his Animagus form.

Clang!

After they had all crossed the threshold into the hall, the massive door swung shut behind them with a sound like a funeral bell. There was no visible light source around them, except for the faint, ghostly starlight that filtered down from the domed ceiling high above. Opposite where they stood, another tall stone door loomed ominously. Its cracks and the gap beneath it continuously spewed forth tendrils of white, mist-like vapor that carried that bone-chilling cold.

Gazing directly at this door, everyone shared a moment of grim realization— they had probably reached the core of this underground ruins.

As they approached, the large door opened automatically, finally revealing a room as grand as the temple hall on the Isle of Avalon.

Gryffindor raised his sword for the third time since landing on the island, but once again, Ravenclaw stopped him.

"It's pointless, Godric—" Ravenclaw's voice was heavy with resignation, her beautiful face marred by lines of exhaustion and gloom. "We've already tried, remember? We cannot destroy these... these abominations."

"What on earth is this?"

Sirius's voice was barely above a whisper, his eyes wide with astonishment as he stared into the vast hall. His chaotic thoughts whirled unable to form any rational judgment.

Sigh—

Bryan heaved a deep sigh, his face heavy, "I suppose... this is the Dementors's processing plant'—"

The sight that greeted them in the enormous hall was as beautiful as it was terrifying. From the stone door where they entered to as far as the eye could see on the opposite side, every few steps floated a mesmerizing, pearly white halo. These ethereal rings hovered a few feet above the ground, pulsing gently with an inner light. Like a vast field of dazzling nebulae suspended in the cold, desolate expanse of the cosmos, they were hypnotically beautiful.

While nebulae nurture the stars, the halos before them vaguely revealed the outlines of incomplete human forms.

Gryffindor, his face set in grim determination, stretched out a hand. It passed through one of the nearest halos, disturbing the luminous particles that drifted lazily through the gloomy air like playful stars. But there was nothing playful about the founder's expression as he turned to his companion.

"Are these... the soul energies stolen from the living beings in the nearby seas?" Gryffindor asked, his voice heavy with the weight of terrible certainty. After Ravenclaw confirmed this chilling conclusion with a solemn nod, Gryffindor shook his head and sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging beneath an invisible burden.

"Beautiful souls becoming the cradle of evil. We must stop Herpo from manifesting, otherwise all magical and Muggle civilizations alike will face utter annihilation."

Ravenclaw seemed to see deeper connections. She sighed as well; her melodious voice tinged with sorrow. "These soul energies... they come from the Dementors we encountered above. Those foul creatures slaughter sentient beings, absorbing their power, only to transmit it here to nurture more of their kind."

Sirius's face had gone from ashen to nearly translucent, the blood draining from his features as the full horror of the situation dawned on him. At a glance, there appeared to be about a thousand Dementor embryos suspended in the vast hall, each one a ticking time bomb of malice.

If all these Dementors were to be born, to surge forth into the world above... it would spell certain doom not just for the wizarding world, but for all of humanity.

The thought was almost too terrible to consider.

As they ventured deeper into the chamber, the broken souls within the halos grew increasingly defined, more closely resembling the familiar and dreaded form of fully-formed Dementors. When they reached the innermost sanctum of this unholy nursery, the black shadows within the halos were already moving about restlessly in their 'eggshells,' like chicks preparing to hatch. Sensing the approach of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw—they eagerly struck at the boundaries of the hotbeds that nurtured them.

Ravenclaw halted her steps, coming to a stop before a nearly mature embryo. Her ice-blue gaze, sharp as a razor's edge, continuously analyzed the origins and nature of these budding Dementors. But as her observation continued, her expression grew increasingly gloomy.

"Herpo—he cultivated these colorless, fragmented souls in this manner to create virtually indestructible beings. Through this perversion of nature and magic, he has ultimately given rise to such a unique evil species."

Ravenclaw turned her penetrating gaze to Gryffindor.

"And for us, our path is clear. We must destroy every single individual of this species, down to the last embryo. If we leave even one alive, if a single Dementor escapes to propagate anew... we will have failed completely, and the world as we know it will be lost."

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