Harry Potter: The Golden Viper

0663 Demon

Tens upon tens of miles away from the picturesque village of Little Hangleton, in a vast wilderness that seemed forgotten by time, the barren landscape began to roll and ripple slightly. Amidst the wide, desolate farmland, stretching as far as the eye could see, a cluster of isolated hills stood out against the bleak horizon.

These rocky hills remained utterly desolate, resembling abandoned suburbs for the majority of the year, but the recent heavy snowfall had draped them in a slightly more presentable silver cloak.

The delicate, crystalline snowflakes, their patterns invisible to the naked eye, drifted lazily down from the dark gray sky that hung like a funeral shroud over the land. Their natural trajectories were visibly disturbed and twisted by an imperceptible distortion in space—a sign that magic had recently been performed.

Beneath this ominous canopy of threatening clouds, a lonely figure appeared suddenly in the neglected wilderness with a soft crack that echoed briefly across the empty landscape before being swallowed by the snow.

The visitor's slender body was completely shrouded in a midnight-black hooded cloak that seemed to absorb what little light remained in the gloomy afternoon.

The mysterious visitor displayed extreme vigilance that bordered on paranoia. The moment their feet silently touched the snow-covered ground, their wary gaze beneath the deep shadow of the hood swiftly swept across the surroundings with calculated precision, missing nothing.

A pale, unnaturally slender hand—no less white than the snowflakes that continued their silent fall—gripped a wand that flickered in and out of view beneath the hidden creases of the cloak.

Shh, shh, shh—

The accumulated snow on the ground was impressively deep, easily enough to cover past the knees of an average person, effectively blurring the boundaries between what would normally be distinguishable furrows and fields of the abandoned farmland.

However, as the cloaked visitor took a careful step forward, they left only the faintest of imprints on the soft snow—as if they weighed barely more than the air itself. Judging by the steadily increasing rate of the falling snow, even these shallow, ghostlike traces would completely vanish within few minutes, leaving no evidence that anyone had passed this way.

The black-robed figure moved toward the most imposing hillside, completely ignoring the zigzagging, steep, and rugged trail that local Muggles might have used. They moved with supernatural elegance, as if floating just above the surface of the snow, effortlessly reaching a position halfway up a particularly rough rocky hill to the western edge.

After pausing to discern their exact location for a moment, the black-robed figure extended a hand and delicately brushed away the thick layer of snow attached to the side of a peculiarly sharp, extending rock.

Revealed on the rough surface of the stone was an accurately carved image of a hideous, murderous-looking venomous snake, its fangs were bared and its coiled body looked ready to strike, that immediately caught and held the eye with its malicious artistry.

With precision, she tapped the small, carved snake on the rock with the tip of her wand, which emitted a brief, almost imperceptible green glow.

Suddenly, in the desolate mountain where all natural sounds had long since ceased under the muffling blanket of snow, a faint but distinct hissing noise arose.

The carved venomous snake on the rock seemed to come alive under her touch; it stretched its body, flicked out its thin forked tongue as if tasting the cold air, then with a powerful twist, it swiftly slithered along the rough surface of the rock towards the mountain face, disappearing into a nearly invisible crevice in the literal blink of an eye.

The response to this magical activation came with surprising quickness. Just a few dozen seconds later—during which the cloaked figure remained absolutely motionless—the small snake returned to its original position on the sharp rock. It coiled its body with precision and calmly closed its vertical pupils, once again becoming nothing more than an exceptionally realistic carving.

The deep, reverberating sound of massive, ancient rocks grinding against each other shattered the new silence as the sharp boulders rotated heavily to the side, revealing a fishy-smelling, pitch-black cave entrance within the black-robed figure's view.

The opening seemed to exude an aura of foreboding, as if warning away any who dared approach.

Whoosh! A violent gust of foul wind erupted from the darkness, carrying with it the unmistakable stench of death and decay!

An imperceptible dark shadow suddenly sprang out from the opening with terrifying speed.

It was an enormous venomous snake of a species unknown to most wizarding experts. It pounced with ferocious intent at the motionless visitor, its scales were scraping against the rough rock with a metallic screech that set teeth on edge.

In the bitterly cold air, the monstrous venomous snake bared its hideous, blood-stained fangs that glistened with venom. The utter indifference reflected in its vertical pupils was somehow even more chilling than the snow blanketing the surrounding mountains—the gaze of a perfect predator that felt neither malice nor mercy.

The snake dived at the visitor in the unmistakable posture of a predator delivering a killing strike to helpless prey. Its pale, lethally sharp venomous fangs went straight for the visitor's exposed neck with accuracy. Only when the glinting fangs were a inch away from the vulnerable flesh of the neck did the creature abruptly halt its attack, freezing in mid-strike.

Then, in a startling display of recognition, its forked tongue flicked out repeatedly and gently licked the black-robed figure's chin several times.

A wisp of emerald green hair slipped out from under the concealing hood, catching what little light remained. From the beginning of this potentially deadly encounter to its unexpected end, the black-robed figure had maintained a remarkably calm demeanor, never flinching or showing the slightest sign of fear.

Hiss, hiss—

The unmistakable cruelty in the venomous snake's terrifying vertical pupils vanished in a flash. It slowly retracted its massive, muscular body in a series of hypnotic ripples. After glaring at the black-robed figure with a hint of unwillingness, as if it had been denied a meal it had been anticipating, it disappeared back into the pitch-black cave entrance.

Tap, tap, tap—

The darkness of the cave entrance was like a heavy curtain, absorbing all light. After crossing this threshold between the natural and magical worlds, a faint, dim light gradually squeezed into view, barely illuminating the path ahead.

The tunnel, which tilted steeply downward into the earth, was surprisingly dry given the snowy conditions outside. Moreover, since it was located deep within the mountain, it was considerably warmer here than in the freezing wilderness outside.

Breath no longer left white traces hanging in the air.

There were numerous confusing forks inside the cave system. Each seemingly ordinary fork in the path concealed a hidden danger. If an unwelcome visitor took the wrong path, even by the smallest margin, the price paid would be one's life—and not a quick or merciful end.

The black-robed figure followed the almost invisible traces left by the venomous snake on the loose gravel under their foot. Two minutes later, the narrow, claustrophobic field of vision began to widen as the tunnel opened into a larger chamber.

Standing motionless in the mountain cave, a massive stone wall appeared before the practitioner of the Dark Arts. On the intimidating stone wall was an intricately designed circular stone door with seven lifelike carved venomous snakes lying in various threatening poses upon its surface, their heads were raised high as they seemed to coldly watch the visitor with intelligence that no carving should possess.

The stone door stood partially open, but the black-robed figure paused uncertainly before it.

Perhaps it was because of the faint but unmistakable chill that emanated from behind the partially opened door, or perhaps it was because of the sporadic wails that reached the ears like the cries of the damned. The black-robed figure, who had remained remarkably calm and composed since first appearing in the desolate wilderness, now displayed an unusual hint of hesitation, visible in the shadow cast upon the sandy floor by the flickering firelight that spilled from behind the door.

If fate truly existed in this world of magic and mystery, it was utterly unavoidable—a force that bound even the most powerful.

Blinking tiredly, as if resigning herself to whatever awaited, the black-robed figure took a step towards the stone door and then stopped again precisely at the threshold.

Out there lied a room with stone walls, floor, and ceiling—all bearing the marks of crude but effective magical craftsmanship. The furnishings in the simple room were exceptionally simple: a long, heavy wooden dining table of ancient design and several high-backed chairs neatly arranged beside it.

On the innermost wall of the room, a crude fireplace had been roughly carved out of the living rock. The wildly dancing flames in the fireplace and the simple wooden candlesticks placed along the length of the long table provided the only illumination for the otherwise gloomy room.

The room was extremely crude by any standard of comfort or luxury. The only thing worth mentioning in its favor was that it had been cleaned with fanatical thoroughness. Not only was the broad tabletop completely spotless, reflecting the dancing flames like a dark mirror, but not a single speck of sand could be detected on the stone floor—a remarkable achievement considering the underground location.

However, the faint yet unmistakable lingering smell of freshly spilled blood permeating the air could not be dispelled by any amount of cleaning.

There was another, smaller door set into the right wall of this chamber, and the miserable howls heard earlier clearly came from whatever lay behind it.

Staring at the door, the black-robed figure seemed slightly dazed.

"Ah, the honored guest has finally arrived—"

A light, unnaturally icy voice that seemed to slither rather than sound came unexpectedly from a high-backed armchair positioned with its back to the main door, reaching the black-robed figure's ears with perfect clarity despite its soft volume.

A pitifully thin house-elf kneeling beside the chair trembled violently upon hearing the voice, as if it had been struck by an invisible whip. Its face were hidden in the deep shadows cast by the flickering firelight, making it impossible for the newly arrived black-robed figure to see clearly the extent of its fear.

The terrified elf shakily stood up on its legs and came timidly behind the back of the chair. As it slowly rotated the heavy armchair to face the doorway, it kept its body deeply bowed in submission.

Only in that fleeting, brief moment of movement did the black-robed figure caught a glimpse of the excruciating pain and bone-deep fear overflowing in the elf's enormous, tennis-ball-sized eyes.

Sitting with unnatural stillness in the specially-made chair that uncomfortably resembled a child's high chair was a creature so monstrous that it defied easy description.

Its entire body looked red and festering as if severely burned in some catastrophic magical accident, the skin was peeling in places. Its facial features also appeared grotesquely melted and distorted beyond recognition of anything human. It could barely be described as resembling a hairless three- or four-year-old child, though no child had ever looked so humanly wrong.

The moment their eyes met across the chamber—emerald green meeting blood red—an uncontrollable feeling of nausea welled up from the depths of the black-robed figure's heart.

This instinctual reaction was not simply due to the monster's undeniably hideous appearance, but rather, in the invisible world of magical perception, the ink-black corrupted dark magic rippling around the monster like a toxic aura and the lingering, ceaseless wails of its victims made her feel a deep, instinctive disgust that reached to her very core.

In the silence that followed, Cliodna slowly lifted her concealing hood, though her cheeks appeared slightly paler than usual in the unsteady firelight.

"Come in, come in, Miss Cliodna—"

Voldemort slowly put down the copy of the Daily Prophet clutched in his hand and stretched out a skeletally thin arm towards Cliodna, who remained standing uncertainly outside the door. He made an inviting gesture with his unnaturally long fingers. He smiled, but the expression never reached his snake-like eyes, which held the unfathomable coldness of the void between stars.

"Welcome to my humble abode, Miss Cliodna. Do come in and rest for a while after your long journey—"

Cliodna pursed her full lips and walked into the room without uttering a single word.

"So, Winky?"

Seeing Cliodna finally enter, Voldemort nodded in evident satisfaction. He turned his head slightly and called out to the trembling house-elf kneeling respectfully behind him.

"Great Dark Lord, Winky is immensely honored to serve you—"

The clearly terrified elf behind the chair crawled and rolled its way pathetically to the front of Voldemort's chair, its wrinkled forehead was pressed firmly against the cold stone ground as it sobbed softly.

"You see don't you think we should bring our distinguished guest Miss Cliodna a cup of hot tea?"

Voldemort's tone was as courteous as a gentleman's.

"I think Miss Cliodna must have traveled a very long way through this dreadful weather—"

"Winky obeys your orders, Dark Lord—"

Under Cliodna's gaze, Winky quickly crawled across the floor to the fireplace and took a silver teapot and matching delicate teacup from the dusty mantelpiece with trembling hands.

Noticing Cliodna's stare at the elf, Voldemort chuckled softly. His laughter was filled with a cruel undertone that echoed unnaturally in the stone chamber.

"Perhaps you recognize it, don't you, Miss Cliodna? Before coming into my service, Winky worked at Hogwarts. I must admit, these little vermin can occasionally serve some practical purpose, wouldn't you agree? At the very least, since it came into my possession, I've finally been able to enjoy hot, properly prepared meals..."

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