Her fierce declaration left me breathless, my heart hammering wildly in my chest.
She pulled back just enough to stare deeply into my eyes, her fingers tangling possessively into the wet strands of my hair. Her gaze searched mine desperately, as though she was trying to memorize every detail of my face.
"I don't have the faintest clue how I'll explain this to Lord Odin," she admitted with a nervous little laugh, biting her lower lip in the most distracting way. "Or to my sister. Gods, Roseweisse is going to lose her damned mind when she finds out I pledged myself to a devil." Her voice softened, a tremor passing through her slender frame. "But I don't care. I won't ever give you up again, Harry Sitri. Not for anything or anyone!"
The sheer raw emotion in her voice struck me deep. But beneath her heartfelt vow, I caught a darker edge-a deeper pain lurking in the shadows of her gaze. It hinted at secrets still unspoken, burdens she wasn't yet willing or ready to share.
Something told me her words were more loaded than she was openly admitting.
But now wasn't the time to pry. That conversation would come later. Right now, all that mattered was the trembling Valkyrie in my arms, who had just agreed to stand at my side forever.
— Voldemort —
"...Finally, I have returned," Voldemort rasped softly, testing the voice of his newly resurrected body as he stretched the pale fingers experimentally, feeling the return of his corporeal flesh. He examined his limbs slowly, meticulously, taking in the pale skin, unnaturally smooth and unblemished. Yet, despite his return to the mortal world, dissatisfaction curled through his mind-a lingering discontent.
The body felt weaker, somehow diminished, and his blood simmered irritably at the very thought of the compromise he'd been forced to accept. He knew exactly what-or rather who-was to blame for this less-than-ideal outcome.
He shifted his gaze disdainfully toward the lifeless, cooling corpse sprawled inelegantly across the stone floor of the graveyard.
Arthur Weasley stared sightlessly up into the starless night, pale features slack in death. The man had died pathetically, whimpering for mercy, begging for his life as Voldemort ripped it away without remorse. He may have been an enemy by technicality, a thorn in Voldemort's side only through allegiance rather than direct confrontation, but the magic in the ritual required an enemy's sacrifice-and Weasley had fit the bill adequately, if disappointingly.
He scoffed quietly, nudging the dead man's body contemptuously with the toe of one bare foot. The skin felt cold, clammy beneath his touch.
Lucius Malfoy hovered nervously nearby, clutching the bloody, cauterized stump where his right arm had once been. Despite his obvious agony, there was a flicker of vindictive satisfaction burning in Lucius's gray eyes as he regarded the deceased patriarch of the Weasley family. Voldemort almost smiled-almost-at the petty spitefulness emanating from his loyal follower. Lucius might have been a cowardly worm at heart, but he certainly knew how to savor an enemy's demise.
Voldemort slowly turned his attention toward Wormtail, who stood trembling and deferential, clutching an ornate black robe in his hands. Fear radiated off the smaller man, a delicious perfume Voldemort relished.
"Wormtail. Robe me."
"Yes, my Lord," Wormtail stammered reverently, eyes downcast as he shuffled quickly forward.
Voldemort raised his arms slowly, allowing Wormtail to gingerly place the dark fabric across his narrow, newly formed shoulders. Wormtail carefully fastened the clasp at Voldemort's throat, his movements fawning and subservient.
"Have I pleased you, my Lord?" Wormtail breathed softly, eyes filled with desperate, cringing hope.
"For now, Wormtail," Voldemort murmured coolly, letting his voice drip with chilling disdain. "For now, yes, you've proven moderately useful." Voldemort allowed a moment of silence to hang between them, thickening the atmosphere with unease, relishing the way Wormtail visibly trembled beneath his regard. Finally, he continued softly, eyes narrowing in calculation, "I must admit, your three little pets at Hogwarts proved... unexpectedly useful, Wormtail. It appears you've at least learned the basics of manipulation."
Wormtail smiled nervously, a twitchy, simpering expression spreading across his rodent-like features. He ducked his head deferentially, as if Voldemort had bestowed upon him the highest praise.
"Indeed, my Lord," Wormtail simpered eagerly, rubbing his clammy palms together. "Dumbledore thought me finished-thought he'd chased me away. But the old fool never thought to look closer, never realized I had more than just Ronald under my influence at Hogwarts." Wormtail's watery eyes gleamed maliciously. "Young minds, so vulnerable, so very pliable..."
He giggled unpleasantly, the sound sending shivers of revulsion even through Voldemort, though he refused to betray such weakness. Voldemort gave the sniveling man a sharp, assessing look.
"Indeed," Voldemort whispered, an edge of cruel amusement threading his soft, silky tone. "And now, thanks to your scheming, we also have Ron Weasley back firmly within my grasp. I hear his brothers and sister are close to Harry Stiri. That connection will prove most useful, especially when they find out what happened to their pathetic muggle loving father..."
"Oh? You're alive-and you don't look like a disgusting Benjamin Button baby anymore. Pity. I was growing rather fond of that wrinkled, pitiful little face," a woman's silky, mocking voice called out from behind him.
Voldemort froze mid-step, every muscle in his newly formed body tensing as a wave of irritation surged through him. His fingers clenched into tight fists beneath the sleeves of his dark robes, and a faint tic twitched visibly at the corner of his thin mouth.
He slowly turned around, his crimson eyes narrowing dangerously as he took in the provocative sight of the woman lounging casually against a weathered tombstone.
Raynare was breathtakingly, viciously beautiful-a twisted seduction in flesh and leather. Thick waves of lustrous black hair cascaded down her bare shoulders, framing an impossibly alluring face with darkly sensual lips curved into a mocking smirk. Her large, violet eyes glittered cruelly with amusement as she stared back at him, bold and unafraid. Her lithe, voluptuous body was barely hidden beneath tight black leather and lace that hugged her curves obscenely, accentuating the swell of her generous breasts and the sinuous line of her hips. Pale, flawless skin gleamed seductively in the dim light, and her every breath seemed deliberately slow, intentionally provocative-as if each small movement was designed solely to irritate him further.
But it was the two large, black wings unfurling lazily behind her that truly caught his gaze-their unsettling beauty a stark reminder of the creature she truly was beneath all that allure....
She cocked her head to the side, one eyebrow arching mockingly. "Oh, did I strike a nerve, Dark Lord?" she purred, voice dripping with insincere sweetness. "Careful now, I'd hate to have to explain to Kokabiel why I had to discipline his newest ally for getting... overly emotional."
Voldemort took a slow, deliberate breath, his new slitted nostrils flaring with barely-contained anger.
She was an insult-a walking, breathing affront to his pride. When Voldemort had first reached out to the legendary fallen angel Kokabiel to forge an alliance, he had expected power, respect, a representative worthy of his status.
Instead, he'd been given this-this arrogant, seductive, disrespectful creature. She mocked him openly, knowing precisely how limited his patience was, knowing he needed this tenuous alliance far too desperately to punish her insolence with death or violence.
That humiliation burned bitterly in his veins, searing hotter than dragonfire.
"Of course I'm alive," Voldemort hissed finally, voice controlled but sharp-edged, each syllable clipped with icy disdain. "A ritual I personally designed would never fail."
Raynare's full lips curved further into an infuriating, patronizing smile. "Oh, please. That's not what I meant, dear Voldy," she mocked playfully, straightening fluidly from the tombstone, stretching luxuriously as she took a graceful step toward him. "You really haven't been keeping up with current events, have you? Too busy slaughtering helpless middle-aged wizards?" She paused theatrically, giving Lucius's missing arm a pointed, amused glance, smirking wickedly as the wounded Malfoy shrank back, visibly uncomfortable beneath her cruel gaze.
Voldemort's teeth ground together audibly. "What nonsense are you spewing now, creature?" he demanded darkly.
She sauntered closer, hips swaying provocatively, leather creaking softly with each calculated step. Her violet eyes held his gaze boldly as she closed the distance between them, stopping mere inches away-close enough he could feel the tantalizing warmth of her body heat, mingled enticingly with her faint perfume. Slowly, tauntingly, she reached into her cleavage, retrieving a folded newspaper from between her lush breasts.
Voldemort's eyes briefly flicked downward despite himself, and his jaw clenched tighter at his involuntary reaction.
Her mocking smile grew wider. "Enjoying the view, Dark Lord?" she whispered seductively, her breath ghosting warmly across his face. Voldemort felt a vein in his forehead throb angrily, resisting the overwhelming urge to tear her throat out right then and there.
Wordlessly, she pressed the paper into his hand, her fingertips lingering just a moment too long against his knuckles, tracing lightly, teasingly before pulling away with a deliberately flirtatious laugh.
Irritated, Voldemort unfolded the newspaper brusquely, his blood-red gaze immediately snapping downward, scanning the bold, sensationalist headline that screamed across the front page:
"BREAKING NEWS: THE DARK LORD VOLDEMORT RETURNS FROM THE DEAD AND ATTACKS HOGWARTS! THE DARK LORD ONCE AGAIN SLAIN BY OUR HERO HARRY SITRI!"
For a long, agonizing heartbeat, he could only stare at the blasphemous headline.
"What...the fuck is this?"
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HP x DxD: That's not Wizard Magic! Chapter 36 — chapter 35 — WebNovel
58 — 73 minutes
Chapter 35:
— Ginny —
"Thanks, Harry," she murmured softly, her voice genuine and filled with appreciation. "I really appreciate your family helping me look for him..."
Stepping closer to him, she lifted herself slightly onto the tips of her toes and pressed her soft lips against his, her slender hands settling firmly on the solid warmth of his strong, muscular chest.
Harry's lips curled slowly into a possessive smirk as she pulled back slightly, his brilliant blue eyes sparkling with gentle amusement. She knew that look well, and it always caused a pleasant tightening in her stomach, sending a rush of warmth straight to her cheeks and, embarrassingly, other places.
"Of course, Gin," Harry told her softly, his voice low and commanding. His fingertips brushed along the curve of her waist, settling lightly but possessively at her hip. "My family will do everything possible to find your dad. Besides," he added, his smile deepening into something almost wicked, those mesmerizing blue eyes locked onto her with unhidden intent, "you're MY contracted witch, after all. And this is going to be my first official contract so I won't screw it up!"
His words washed over Ginny, and she felt herself blush fiercely at the possessive growl lacing Harry's deep voice. Merlin, she adored that sense of possessiveness from him. Harry always made her feel valued, desired, and protected-completely safe in his embrace. She swallowed against her dry throat, unable to suppress a pleased, shy little grin at the declaration.
Ginny playfully tapped his chest, feigning casualness even as heat blossomed across her cheeks. "Careful, Harry Sitri," she teased softly, her voice trembling slightly with barely-concealed excitement. "That almost sounded like you're staking your claim in public."
Harry leaned closer, his breath hot against the shell of her ear. "Maybe I am," he purred teasingly, his voice dripping with sensual promise. "You don't seem to mind."
Ginny gave him one last mischievous smile and reluctantly stepped away, forcing herself to turn and walk back across the cozy warmth of the Gryffindor common room toward her brothers.
Even now, she could still feel Harry's gaze burning into her back, his eyes tracing every subtle sway of her hips beneath her snug-fitting jeans.
Fred, George, and Ron were sprawled comfortably around one of the low tables near the fireplace. Ron had two separate wizarding chess boards in front of him, moving pieces expertly and casually demolishing both twins simultaneously.
Ginny approached quietly, hesitating for a moment to appreciate how much better Ron looked now. St. Mugos really worked miracles with him.
"Hey," she began softly, drawing her brothers' attention toward her. "Listen, I've asked Harry to help us find Dad. He and his family have... resources that can help. Mum's really worried." She didn't mention anything about devils or contracted witches to her brothers. Not yet.
Ron looked up from his chess boards and frowned thoughtfully. "I still think it's nothing serious," he muttered, reaching out lazily to slide his knight across the board. "You know how intense Mum can be. Maybe Dad finally cracked and decided he just needed a little time alone. Merlin knows I'd want a break, too."
Fred and George exchanged sly, mischievous glances, their faces lighting up with barely-suppressed laughter.
"Or," Fred drawled theatrically, leaning back with exaggerated thoughtfulness, "perhaps dear old Dad seduced some attractive new intern at the Ministry-"
"-and they ran off to a romantic tropical island together," George concluded with a wicked grin.
Fred leaned forward eagerly, dramatically cupping his chin. "I wonder what his opening line would be. Maybe something irresistible about his thrilling collection of Muggle trinkets?"
"Oh, I've got it," George added enthusiastically, grinning widely. "He probably leaned in close and whispered, 'Ever seen a man with an impressive collection of rubber ducks, love?' Instant panty-dropper, that."
Ginny rolled her eyes in exasperation, shaking her head at their nonsense. "Honestly, you two," she scolded mildly, though a reluctant smile tugged at the corners of her mouth despite herself. "Our father is many things, but a romantic seducer isn't exactly one of them."
George shrugged helplessly, grinning. "You never know, Ginny. Stranger things have happened."
