Before I could fully stand, Odin raised one hand sharply, halting me mid-movement. His single blue eye pierced me with cold authority. "Be cautious, Harry Sitri," he warned solemnly. "Dark forces gather in this mortal country. Tread carefully, lest you share Arthur Weasley's fate..."
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HP x DxD: That's not Wizard Magic! Chapter 37 — 36 — WebNovel
67 — 85 minutes
I updated the R-18 scene at the end.
Chapter 36:
— Harry —
I sat there for a moment, blinking at the empty chair across from me.
One second, Odin-the Allfather, the ruler of Asgard, the one-eyed god of wisdom and war-had been sitting there. The next second, he was gone. It was simply as if reality had decided he was no longer necessary in this specific coordinate of space and time, and so he had ceased to be here.
Even the half-eaten sundae and the silver spoon he'd been holding had vanished with him.
"Show off," I muttered under my breath, leaning back in my chair. The magical barrier of silence he'd erected around our table dissolved the moment he left, and the ambient noise of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour came rushing back in-not that there was much since most customers ran away once Lilja's older sister started bawling her eyes out...
I ran a hand through my messy black hair, exhaling a long, heavy breath.
Two favors.
I had just promised two open-ended favors to a literal god in exchange for the location of a dead man's body. It was a steep price-maybe the steepest I'd ever paid-but as I thought about Ginny's face and the hope in her eyes when she asked me to find her father, I knew I didn't regret it. Even if that hope was going to be crushed once I told her the news.
I pushed myself up from the table, my chair scraping softly against the floor tiles.
Arthur Weasley was dead. Murdered. His body dumped in a graveyard near Little Hangleton. Before I could go tearing off to that graveyard to retrieve him, I had one loose end to tie up here.
I spotted the corner booth where I'd left Lilja and her sister.
The scene hadn't improved much.
Rossweisse was still a mess. The silver-haired Valkyrie-supposedly one of the strongest warriors in Asgard-had her face buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking with racking, dramatic sobs. Her pristine secretary outfit was rumpled, and I could see her back heaving with every wail about being a "leftover woman."
Lilja sat beside her, one arm wrapped around her sister's shoulders, speaking in low, soothing tones while stroking Rossweisse's hair. She looked up as I approached, her emerald eyes meeting mine across the room.
I stopped a few feet away from their table, shoving my hands into my robe pockets.
When Lilja saw the look on my face-her expression shifted instantly from sisterly concern to sharp alertness. She could read me well enough by now to know that whatever Odin had told me, it wasn't good news.
She glanced down at her sobbing sister, then back up at me, biting her lower lip. Her expression was apologetic, her eyes pleading for understanding. I can't leave her like this, her look said.
I gave her a small, tight nod. It's okay. Stay.
My gaze drifted from Lilja to Rossweisse. Even with her face red and blotchy from crying, even with mascara likely running down her cheeks, I couldn't deny the objective truth that Rossweisse was hot as fuck.
She had that mature, voluptuous build that drove me crazy-curves that strained against her blouse, hips that flared perfectly in that tight pencil skirt, and long silver hair that spilled over her shoulders like liquid moonlight. Seeing her next to Lilja-my fierce, fiery redhead with her own incredible body-did things to my imagination that were entirely inappropriate for the current situation.
For a split second, the "man" part of my brain took over. I could easily picture it-the two of them, sisters and Valkyries, naked and tangled together in my bed. I imagined Rossweisse's cries changing from sorrow to pleasure, her legs wrapped around my waist while Lilja rode my face. The thought of breaking the "spinster" Valkyrie, of showing her exactly what she'd been missing, sent a jolt of heat straight to my groin.
But then Rossweisse let out another loud, wet sniffle and wailed something about "discount vegetables" and "lonely dinners," and the fantasy popped like a soap bubble.
Yeah... no.
She was gorgeous, but she came with a freight train's worth of emotional baggage that I did not have the bandwidth to handle right now.
I caught Lilja's eye one last time and mouthed, I'll see you later.
She nodded, mouthing back a silent Be careful, before turning her attention back to soothing her inconsolable sister.
Stepping out of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, the cool evening air of Diagon Alley hit me. The sky above was a deep, bruised purple, the sun having dipped below the horizon while we were inside. I moved quickly, keeping my head down. I didn't want to be recognized. I didn't want to stop for autographs or photos or questions about the tournament.
I needed to get back to Hogwarts.
I bypassed the Leaky Cauldron entirely. Instead, I ducked into a narrow, dimly lit side alley between a cauldron shop and a robe emporium.
I checked to make sure I wasn't being followed, expanding my senses outward. Satisfied I was alone, I raised my hand. The blue Sitri clan crest flared to life on the back of my hand, glowing with a soft, pulsating light in the shadows.
"Teleport," I muttered, pouring my demonic energy into the seal.
An instant later, the cool, fresh air of the Scottish Highlands filled my lungs.
I materialized in a secluded alcove near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, just outside the main wards of the castle. My mum, Serafall, had set up this anchor point specifically for the devils here at school.
I broke into a jog, heading straight for the main gates.
I needed to talk to Dumbledore.
...The stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmaster's tower leaped aside the moment I approached, almost as if the castle itself sensed the urgency rolling off me in waves. I didn't even have to utter the password.
As I reached the heavy oak door at the top of the stairs, voices drifted through the wood. They were raised.
"-absolute madness, Albus! Madness!" It was Professor McGonagall, her voice pitched high with that distinct Scottish lilt she only used when she was truly losing her patience. "Bringing nesting mothers this close to the school? After everything that happened with the Dementors? After the basilisk rumors? We are inviting disaster onto these grounds once again!"
I hesitated for a fraction of a second, my hand hovering over the brass knocker. Nesting mothers?
"Minerva, please," Dumbledore's calm, placating baritone rumbled in response. "The precautions are absolute. Charlie Weasley and his team are the best in Europe. The students will be perfectly safe, provided they don't wander into the enclosure."
"Safe? What type of school do you think we run here? We have a bunch of hormonal and reckless teenagers and young adults. That's the opposite of safe," McGonagall snapped back. "And you want to put six fully grown dragons in the Forbidden Forest? The noise alone will keep the castle awake, let alone the fire risk!"
I pushed the door open and strode inside.
The office was as cluttered and eccentric as ever, filled with whirring silver instruments emitting puffs of smoke and portraits of snoozing former Headmasters lining the circular walls. Fawkes the phoenix let out a soft, musical trill from his perch, greeting me, but the atmosphere in the room was thick with tension.
Professor McGonagall was standing by the desk, her posture rigid, her lips pressed into a thin, severe line.
Dumbledore sat behind his desk, looking weary, his fingers steepled in front of his face.
Both of them froze as I walked in.
McGonagall whipped around, her eyes widening behind her square spectacles. She looked from me to Dumbledore, then realized exactly what she'd just been shouting about. Her hand flew to her mouth, a flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck. "Mr. Sitri," she gasped, quickly smoothing down the front of her robes. "I... we didn't hear you knock."
That's because I didn't knock...
Dumbledore cleared his throat, shifting in his chair. "Ah, Harry," he said, his voice carrying a note of awkwardness I rarely heard from him. "Do come in. Although... I must ask, how much of that did you overhear?"
I stopped in the center of the room, looking between the two of them. "Enough," I said flatly. "Dragons, is it? Nesting mothers?"
McGonagall let out a sharp hiss of breath, closing her eyes briefly. "Albus..."
Dumbledore held up a hand, offering me a strained smile. "Harry, my boy, I must ask you to pretend you didn't hear that. The details of the upcoming task-are supposed to be strictly confidential. It wouldn't do for one champion to have an unfair advantage."
I looked at the old man, then let out a short, humorless laugh. I shrugged, rolling my shoulders to work out some of the tension that had been building since I left Diagon Alley.
"Don't worry, Professor," I said, my tone dry and laced with cheekiness. "I have a terrible memory. Dragons? What dragons? I've already forgotten all about them..."
McGonagall let out a long, suffering sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose.
Dumbledore's smile grew a fraction more genuine, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Thank you, Harry. I appreciate your discretion." He gestured to the empty chair opposite his desk. "However, I suspect you didn't come here at this hour to discuss magical creatures. Your arrival feels... heavy."
"No," I said quietly. "I didn't." I walked over to the chair but didn't sit. I gripped the back of it with both hands, my knuckles turning white as I looked at the Headmaster. "I've just come back from a meeting," I began, choosing my words carefully. "I was consulting with a certain source. Someone very old, very powerful, and very knowledgeable about things that happen beyond the veil of the living."
Dumbledore's eyes sharpened instantly. He sat up straighter, the air of the eccentric grandfather vanishing, replaced by the powerful wizard who still lurked underneath. He didn't ask who the source was. He knew better than to pry.
"And what did this source tell you, Harry?" he asked softly.
"I was looking for Arthur Weasley," I said. "Ginny... she's been worried sick. He's been missing for over a week. No letters, no word, nothing. She asked me to find him."
McGonagall took a step forward, her expression softening into concern. "We assumed he had simply taken a leave of absence from the Ministry despite how frantic Molly has been as well..."
"He wasn't working," I cut her off, my voice cold. "And he isn't missing anymore." I looked Dumbledore dead in the eye. "Arthur Weasley is dead, Professor. He was murdered."
McGonagall let out a sharp, strangled gasp, her hands flying to her chest as she staggered back a step, bumping into a bookshelf. "No..." she whispered, her voice trembling. "Not Arthur. He's... he's such a good man. He has seven children, Albus!"
Dumbledore closed his eyes. He didn't look surprised, not exactly. He looked like a man who had been expecting a blow and had finally been hit. He let out a long, tired sigh that seemed to deflate him, aging him ten years in a span of seconds. "I feared as much," Dumbledore murmured, opening his eyes again. They were filled with a profound, ancient sadness. "When he missed the last Order meeting... I feared the worst. But to have it confirmed..." He looked at me again. "Do we know who? Do we know why?"
"My source told me he was used," I said, my voice tight with suppressed rage. "He was sacrificed in a ritual. A dark one. I don't know more than that."
"A ritual..." Dumbledore repeated, his gaze drifting to the side. He looked back at me. "Voldemort."
It was a statement, not a question.
"That would be my guess," I nodded grimly. "The snake-thing I fought in the Chamber... that was a clone at best, not the real Voldemort."
McGonagall let out a small sob, pressing a handkerchief to her lips. "Albus... if You-Know-Who has returned... if he killed Arthur..."
"Then the war has truly begun again, Minerva," Dumbledore finished for her, his voice grave.
"There's more," I said, interrupting their moment of despair. "I know where the body is."
Dumbledore's attention snapped back to me. "Where?"
"A graveyard," I said. "Near a village called Little Hangleton..."
Dumbledore stood up slowly. He moved, rounding the desk to stand before me. "Little Hangleton," he murmured. "The Riddle House. Of course. That is where his father lived. That is where he killed his muggle family." He looked at me, his expression hardening into resolve. "Thank you for bringing this to me, Harry," he said, placing a hand on my shoulder. His grip was firm, grounding. "This is... terrible news. Arthur was a good friend, and a better man. He did not deserve this. But because of you, we can at least bring him home. We can give his family closure, terrible as it may be."
"I'm going with you," I said instantly. Dumbledore opened his mouth to object, but I cut him off. "Don't try to stop me, Professor. I promised Ginny I'd find him. I'm seeing this through. Besides, if Voldemort is there, or his followers... you might need the backup."
I let a bit of my demonic aura leak out, just a fraction, enough to darken the room and drop the temperature by a few degrees. It was a reminder. I wasn't just a student. I was a Sitri.
Dumbledore held my gaze for a long moment, then nodded. "Very well. I suspect I could not stop you if I tried." He turned to McGonagall, who was wiping her eyes, trying to compose herself. She looked pale, shaken to her core. "Minerva," Dumbledore said gently but firmly. "I must ask you to stay behind."
McGonagall took a shaky breath, straightening her spine. She was a Gryffindor through and through, like us, she would do her duty, no matter how much it hurt. "Of course, Albus," she said, her voice regaining some of its usual steel. "I will... I will secure the castle. Go. Bring Arthur home to his family."
Dumbledore put his hand on my shoulder right as Fawkes flew over to us. Flames that didn't burn wrapped around our body as Fawkes let out a sad sounding trill, and we were teleported out of the castle!
