Symphony of Destruction
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A sudden realization hit Harry hard. "Holy Fornication!" he muttered under his breath, too caught up in the moment to even care. This wasn't a language Rowena had crafted just to be "evolving and ever-growing." No—Rowena had created a language that could weaponize the world around her. The idea hit Harry like a bolt. This wasn't some whimsical experiment in spellwork. Rowena hadn't been interested in fancy language structures for the sake of it. She wanted a way to turn the entire environment into a tool, using sound itself as a conduit for magic.
Harry pictured it in his mind: a battlefield, creatures everywhere, each one making its own sound. Rowena, positioned right in the heart of the chaos, could take any one of those cries and with a perfectly timed cadence, use it to cast a spell. Each cry, roar, or shriek would become a part of her arsenal. She created a language that wasn't just complex; it was alive, able to draw on the sounds of the world around her.
All Rowena had to do was to add a sound or cadence, and she could complete a spell borrowed from any creature around her. But was that even possible for a human? It required a mind capable of processing dozens of separate rhythms, sounds, and their magical effects—all in real-time. He knew Rowena was brilliant, maybe even the smartest of the Four Founders, but this? Even with the help of the System, Harry doubted he could reach that level. This wasn't just an advanced language; it was a whole approach to magic that had no margin for error.
Harry sat down, shaking his head slightly, still absorbing what he uncovered. Rowena had developed a way to use magic that was beyond what most wizards could even imagine. To her, spells weren't limited to words or wand movements; they were woven out of the environment itself, pulled from the natural cadence of life around her.
But then he remembered Salazar's warnings in his letters. had Hogwarts been under such heavy threats back then that Rowena herself resorted to this kind of magic? The Four Founders were all immensely powerful wizards, and yet, they gone to incredible lengths, creating magical defenses like the Chamber of Secrets and now this bizarre language spell system. What had they been so afraid of?
Days slipped into weeks as Harry pushed himself to make sense of it, going through every option Rowena had laid out. This wasn't typical spellwork. Most wizards crafted spells by focusing their intent through a wand; Rowena, it seemed, had pushed that concept further, weaving intent through an entire environment. She fused magic and language into a pattern of sounds that, when combined just right, could apparently influence anything around her. It wasn't only complicated—it was almost reckless, like she turned the entire world into one massive spell waiting to go off at a moment's notice.
Harry tried adding new variables, pairing sounds, adding pauses, drawing in animal calls and environmental noises to match the symbols. Nothing worked. He found himself muttering in frustration more than once, and by the end of each attempt, the idea of Rowena wielding this spell in a chaotic, real-world setting seemed less and less plausible. There was no way anyone could get it right.
But he kept at it, determined to understand. Rowena had clearly put her mind to a level of magic that not even Salazar had tried to replicate, and Harry needed to know why. If he could crack this, he might be able to take her methods and adapt them, make them more practical and maybe useful—if that was even possible.
One evening, frustrated after another failed attempt, Harry tossed the parchments aside and paced the room. Shoving the chair back, he decided to go back over Slytherin's notes for any clues about what kind of dangers they faced. Salazar's records were less direct than Rowena's, often hinting at enemies in cryptic terms or recounting only fragments of battles. But one phrase stood out as he skimmed through them again: "A danger, unlike any seen, that challenged not just skill but the very fabric of magical strength."
Harry frowned. That didn't sound like any creature or dark wizard. It sounded… more abstract, like something beyond human magic itself. As the thought sank in, he picked up Rowena's notes once more, flipping through the pages to see if he missed anything that might explain what the Founders were preparing for. But all he could see were the same endless symbols and rhythms he'd been failing to crack.
Harry spent the next few weeks trying to unravel Rowena's intricate language. He stayed up late, studying every rune, pulse, and pause, trying to find the hidden connection between the various sounds. Each attempt, each theory led him to one frustrating result: nothing. Even with the System's perfect simulation of every creature's cadence, even when he managed to mimic each sound flawlessly and insert the "key sound" in the exact place Rowena's notes suggested, the magic simply didn't work.
Rowena's method wasn't just hard to crack; it bordered on impossible. And as Harry grew more immersed, he began to question whether she ever actually succeeded with this approach or if it was just a theoretical experiment. If she did succeed, who on earth did she think she be using it against? And was she secretly a super computer?
As exams rolled around, Harry found himself still without a clue on how to unlock the secrets of Rowena Ravenclaw's language. Each time he tried, it ended in frustration, the runes twisting themselves back into indecipherable patterns. Realizing he was getting nowhere, he decided to take a break from Rowena's maddeningly cryptic script and turned his attention to Salazar Slytherin's Parselrunes.
At least Salazar's work made a little more sense. The runes were challenging, sure, but they followed a logical structure, each symbol layered with meaning yet still readable to someone who understood Parseltongue. After a few attempts, Harry found himself making steady progress, recognizing some of Salazar's more complex spells and theories. Unlike Rowena's language, which seemed more like an art form than an actual language, Salazar's notes were pragmatic and straightforward.
Over time, he managed to piece together bits of Salazar's work. Each rune seemed tied to specific intentions and actions, and he saw how the ancient wizard had woven them into layers of protective spells and charms. He wasn't about to start casting them right away—Salazar's magic was powerful but untested in modern times. Still, studying it gave him a welcome distraction from the frustration of Rowena's unreadable language.
Between study sessions, Hogwarts was its usual chaotic self, with students chattering about the upcoming holidays or nervously preparing for exams. Harry felt unsurprisingly relaxed compared to his classmates.
What mattered was what he could actually do with his knowledge, not some grades on a parchment.
One afternoon, he sat in the common room, scribbling notes on some of Salazar's simpler spells. He was interrupted by Tracey, who flopped down next to him, raising an eyebrow at his stack of notes.
"Studying?" she asked, eyeing his pile of parchment.
"More like deciphering," he replied with a smirk, shoving some of his notes aside to make space.
"Maybe you should stick with student work. Those runes seems like a headache."
"More than you know," Harry replied, glancing down at the Parselrunes again.
Then came another problem entirely: Hagrid, the gamekeeper, had been spotted lurking around the castle with a strange, tense look on his face. Harry noticed it first during a break between classes, catching sight of Hagrid shuffling awkwardly through the halls, his large frame sticking out like a sore thumb among the students.
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