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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