Ch314- Symphony of Destruction

Ch314- 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.

“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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