We materialized in a burst of flames at the edge of a rusted iron gate.
The air here was stagnant, heavy with the smell of damp earth, rotting leaves, and old death. A thick fog clung to the ground.
Little Hangleton graveyard. It was a miserable place. The darkness was absolute, save for the faint sliver of moon struggling to pierce the cloud cover.
Dumbledore drew his wand. He moved with silent, practiced steps, his eyes scanning the darkness. "Stay close, Harry," he whispered, his voice barely carrying over the wind. "This place reeks of black magic."
He was right. I could feel it-a greasy, cloying residue that clung to my skin. It felt like the aftermath of something foul. There was a big difference between dark magic and black magic. One of them couldn't be done without desecrating souls.
It was the latter, of course.
We moved through the rows of graves, stepping over tangled roots and fallen headstones.
"There," Dumbledore murmured, pointing with his wand.
In the center of the graveyard, the fog seemed to thin, revealing a patch of trampled earth near a massive, grim-looking angel statue. And there, lying on the cold ground, was a body.
Even though I knew it was coming, seeing it was different. We approached slowly.
Arthur Weasley lay on his back, his eyes staring sightlessly up at the dark sky. His skin was waxy and pale, drained of all color. His robes were torn and muddy, and his expression...
I clenched my fists. He looked terrified. He looked like he'd died begging.
Dumbledore knelt beside him. He reached out and gently closed Arthur's eyes, his hand trembling just slightly. "I am so sorry, Arthur," Dumbledore whispered, his voice thick with grief. "I failed you." He waved his wand over the body, muttering complex incantations under his breath. Ribbons of golden light spun from the tip of the wand, analyzing, searching. "The Killing Curse," Dumbledore said softly, reading the magical signature. "But before that... torture. Extensive torture."
My jaw tightened until my teeth creaked. "Cruciatus?"
"Yes," Dumbledore confirmed. "Repeatedly." He stood up, looking around the clearing. "And look here." He pointed to a large cauldron overturned nearby, and the blackened scorch marks on the ground. "A ritual circle. The grass is dead in a perfect ring."
He walked over to a specific grave-a large, ornate headstone bearing the name TOM RIDDLE. The earth in front of it had been disturbed, looking like a grave had been dug up and then hastily filled back in.
"...Bone of the father, unknowingly given," Dumbledore recited quietly, his face grim. He turned to look at a spot where the grass was stained dark. "Flesh of the servant, willingly sacrificed." He looked back at Arthur's body. "And blood of the enemy, forcibly taken." Dumbledore's face was a mask of cold fury. "Voldemort has returned, Harry. He used Arthur's blood to anchor himself back to this world. Arthur was the enemy... a blood traitor in their eyes, a man who stood against them."
"He killed a good man just to play dress-up in a new body," I spat, the demonic energy inside me flaring hot, reacting to my anger. The air around me shimmered.
The silence that followed my declaration was heavy, broken only by the wind whistling through the cracked headstones.
Dumbledore turned his gaze from the desecrated earth. "We cannot simply leave this place as it is, Harry," Dumbledore said, his voice low and grave. He gestured vaguely to the blackened scorch marks of the ritual circle and the disturbed earth of the Riddle grave. "The residue of such evil magic... It is a festering wound on the world itself. If left unchecked, this saturation of necromantic energy will seep into the soil. Before the next moon, this graveyard would be crawling with Inferi spawned from every resting corpse here."
My eyes widened in surprise upon hearing that. Even after months of knowing about magic and my true heritage, the concept of zombies literally rising from their freaking graves was scary as fuck! Especially considering there was a small town nearby...
I knelt in the damp grass, sliding my arms carefully beneath Arthur's shoulders and knees. He was cold-unnaturally so-and his body had already begun to stiffen with rigor mortis. I gritted my teeth, ignoring the twisting knot of guilt in my gut as I lifted him. I held him close to my chest, trying to offer some small measure of dignity to a man who had died terrified and alone.
"Let's go," I murmured, turning away from the center of the graveyard. We walked to the rusted iron gates at the edge of the cemetery. I stood there, holding Arthur's body, while Dumbledore stopped a few paces back, turning to face the rows of graves and the gruesome angel statue that loomed in the darkness.
He raised his wand-that strange, knobby wand I had noticed earlier-and held it high above his head. "For the desecration forced upon this resting place," Dumbledore spoke to the empty air, his voice projecting with a power, "I offer my deepest apologies to those who sleep here. May this fire cleanse the corruption and grant you peace once more."
My devil instincts suddenly screamed in alarm!
I took an involuntary step back, clutching Arthur tighter, as the tip of Dumbledore's wand ignited.
It wasn't the orange of normal fire. It was white-gold.
"Sanctus Ignis Purgatio!" Dumbledore roared. A torrent of golden flames erupted from his wand, expanding outward like a tidal wave of liquid sunlight. It washed over the graveyard, roaring with the sound of a breaking storm.
I hissed, turning my head away and shielding my eyes.
Holy magic!
I didn't even know wizards were capable of wielding the Holy element, especially since they were basically barred from Heaven! Yet here was Albus Dumbledore, a mortal wizard, summoning a fire so pure it made my demonic blood recoil in my veins.
The golden inferno didn't just burn; it obliterated. The fog burned away. The oppressive, oily feeling in the air evaporated, replaced by a searing, sterilization heat.
The light faded as quickly as it had appeared, leaving the graveyard silent again. But it was a different silence now-clean, empty, and final. The grass was gone, the headstones scorched white, the dark magic utterly purged.
Dumbledore lowered his arm slowly. I saw him sway on his feet, his hand trembling violently as he tucked the wand back into his robes. He let out a long, ragged exhale, his shoulders slumping with exhaustion.
I walked back toward him, careful with Arthur's body.
"That..." I started, my voice sounding rough in my own ears. "That was really impressive, Professor. I didn't know human magic could touch the Holy spectrum."
Dumbledore looked up at me. Sweat beaded on his forehead. "Thank you, Harry," he wheezed softly. "Though I must confess... it was mostly the wand."
I glanced down at where he had stowed it. "The wand?"
"Yes," Dumbledore murmured, patting the pocket of his robes. "This wand is... very special. Unique, one might say. It amplifies, it facilitates... it allows for feats that might otherwise be beyond a wizard's reach."
I narrowed my eyes, thinking back to how it looked. It wasn't smooth or polished like the wands the other students used. It looked ancient, crafted from pale wood with clusters of berries carved along its length, resembling a piece of bone more than a tool. It radiated a subtle, heavy pressure that I hadn't noticed until now as well.
"I've never seen one like it," I admitted. "Though, considering I don't use a wand myself, I suppose I'm not the best judge of wandlore."
Dumbledore chuckled weakly. "Perhaps that is for the best. Some knowledge is a heavy burden." He straightened up. "But that is a story for another time. Tonight, we have a duty to the living, and to the dead."
He raised a hand into the night air. A moment later, a burst of flame heralded Fawkes' return. The phoenix swooped down, trilling a soft, mournful note as he landed on Dumbledore's shoulder.
"Hey Fawkes," I gave the bird a nod as I moved close with Arthur's body.
Dumbledore placed a hand on my arm, his grip firm despite his exhaustion. "Let us go home, Harry."
Fawkes spread his wings, and in a swirl of warm, comforting fire, the graveyard vanished, leaving the ashes of the dark ritual behind us.
....
The next afternoon...
I ducked instinctively as a jagged, spear-like icicle whistled past my ear, missing me by mere inches before shattering against a tree trunk behind me.
"You're lagging, Harry," Sona's voice cut through the clearing, cool and composed, though I could hear the strain of exertion underneath.
I didn't have time to retort. To my right, the air shimmered and warped ominously as a crimson sphere of pure annihilation hurtled toward me. Rias wasn't holding back. That was a blast of her Power of Destruction-small enough not to kill me, but potent enough to hurt like hell if it connected.
I planted my feet, gritting my teeth as I thrust my left hand forward. A dense, swirling wall of pressurized water erupted from the earth, intercepting the crimson sphere. The impact was deafening-a hiss of steam and a shockwave that rattled my bones as the destruction magic chewed through my water shield, dissipating just inches from my face.
"Come on, Harry!" Rias called out, her voice breathless but eager. "I know you have more than that!"
I growled low in my throat, channeling my frustration into my next move. I spun on my heel, drawing moisture from the damp forest floor and the morning mist, condensing it into two high-pressure whips of water.
With a sharp flick of my wrists, I lashed out at both of them simultaneously.
Sona didn't even flinch. She raised a hand, and a wall of ice instantly crystallized in front of her, catching my strike with a heavy thud. Rias was flashier-she swatted my attack aside with a wave of destruction energy, the water evaporating into nothingness before it could touch her.
I prepared to follow up, gathering my magic for a heavier strike, when a sudden, sharp zzzt sound buzzed directly behind me.
Before my brain could register the threat, a jolt of electricity slammed right into my ass cheek!
"OW FUCK!"
I jumped a solid foot in the air, the spell in my hands fizzling out as I clutched my stinging backside, spinning around with a glare.
Standing near the edge of the clearing was Akeno Himejima. She had one hand covering her mouth, her violet eyes crinkled in delight as she giggled, her shoulders shaking. She looked entirely too pleased with herself.
"Ara, ara," she purred, her voice dripping with sadistic amusement. "Sorry, Harry-sama. But you were the one who said you wanted to train with both Rias and Sona this morning. It's painfully obvious your heart just isn't in it. I was simply trying to... properly motivate you."
I rubbed my ass, scowling at her, though there was no real heat in it. "Motivate me?"
"Just a little wake-up call," she teased, winking. "You were leaving yourself wide open."
I sighed, my shoulders slumping as the adrenaline faded. "Yeah... I guess I was."
This morning was rough... Having to break the news to Ginny and her brothers and seeing all of their reactions to the news.
Akeno giggled again. "You need a distraction, Harry-sama. Luckily for you there are three gorgeous devils out here in the forest with you!"
Across the clearing, Rias and Sona lowered their hands, letting their magical auras dissipate. Realizing our little afternoon spar was over, they walked toward me.
They had both worked up a sweat during our spar. Rias's Hufflepuff robes were clinging tightly to her body, the damp fabric molding perfectly to her voluptuous curves. I couldn't help but watch the way her heavy breasts bounced gently with each step, the white shirt beneath her robe turned translucent enough to hint at the dark lace of her bra underneath. Her crimson hair was slightly messy, sticking to her flushed neck in a way that made her look incredibly devastating.
Sona was just as distracting. Her Ravenclaw uniform was disheveled, the top buttons of her blouse undone to let her breathe. A sheen of sweat coated her pale skin, making her glow in the filtered sunlight. Her smaller, perky chest heaved as she caught her breath, and her glasses had slipped slightly down her nose.
Despite my mood, my eyes lingered on them. But even that view couldn't completely chase away the shadows in my mind.
"I'm sorry," I said as they reached me, running a hand through my hair. "I know I asked for this sparring session to clear my head, but... I can't stop thinking about yesterday."
Rias reached me first. She stepped right into my space and wrapped her arms around my left arm, hugging it tight against her chest. I felt the incredible softness of her breasts enveloping my bicep, the warmth of her body seeping into me.
"Don't apologize," Rias said softly, looking up at me with those vivid blue-green eyes. "We know why you're distracted. Yesterday was... difficult."
I looked down at the ground. "My first official contract... and I brought a corpse home to his family."
The memory of Mrs. Weasley's wail this morning was still ringing in my ears. Ron had just stood there with an almost blank look. The way Ginny had collapsed, the way the twins had gone silent and pale...
"That's not true," Rias insisted, squeezing my arm tighter, pressing her curves firmly against me as if she could physically push the guilt away. "You did your best, Harry. You found him, you brought Arthur Weasley home. His family has closure now. They can mourn him properly because of you."
On my other side, Sona nodded, though I caught the slight pout on her lips as she eyed the way Rias was monopolizing my left side. She adjusted her glasses, stepping closer until she was right in front of me.
"Rias is right," Sona said, her voice pragmatic but gentle. "You cannot save everyone, Harry. Not even devils can cheat death every time."
She hesitated for a moment, glancing at Rias's grip on my arm, before she seemed to make a decision. Sona stepped in and wrapped her arms around my waist, pulling herself flush against my front. I chuckled weakly, letting my free arm wrap around her shoulders. I pulled her closer until her smaller, firm breasts were pressed tightly against my chest, the sensation of her body against mine grounding me.
Sona's cheeks dusted with a lovely shade of pink at the contact, but she didn't pull away. She looked up at me, her expression serious.
"Not all contracts will have happy endings, Harry," she said quietly. "I learned that early on. I've taken contracts to cure humans who were terminally ill. I used the best healing items or magic I knew-short of Phenex tears, and sometimes, it still wasn't enough. Sometimes, you can't stop the inevitable." She rested her forehead against my chest, her voice dropping lower.
