Chapter 117: Ritual 1

Harry, in his Zehir form, was summoned into a wide room, its architecture reminiscent of the early 19th Century. It's mostly constructed of stone and wood and looks of quite luxurious design.

Interestingly, it was mostly empty, but Harry could feel the magic in the surroundings and recognized the wards placed surrounding this room. He had read about them in one of the older tomes at Hogwarts. Its purpose is quite fascinating, and they were quite spread and common around a hundred years ago.

Officially, no one should have one of them anymore, since they were legally of no use. After all, Ritual Magic is highly illegal in most magical communities in the world, besides a few primitive ones without proper magical government. This is a Ritual Room.

Unofficially, most old Pure-blood families still have them. Since the room itself isn't illegal, only performing rituals are. Most old families kept them and declared them as the legacy of their ancestors, and kept them as a memento, nothing more.

Well, most old families don't care about such laws, and with the corrupt government in Britain, they wouldn't be even properly prosecuted. They kept up with their traditions and still perform the most rudimentary rituals, like the ones for Yule or Samhain. These were mostly unharmful, and they were not dangerous. You had to be a big idiot to screw one up. So they were unofficially accepted.

But the ritual room he was standing in right now was quite a different sight. It had been used for more than a simple Yule Ritual out of tradition. The sight in front of him was quite gruesome.

Blood, animal sacrifices like snakes and goat heads, some esoteric magical herbs, and a complex summoning circle drawn with animal blood below his feet. Zehir right now stood in the center of it, with the magic of the summoning circle giving off a black mist and an intense dark aura of magical residue surrounding him. The stench of sulfur filled the room.

Zehir, with his long black hair, dark eyes, and his muscular shape, gave off quite the imposing sight with the magical effects surrounding him. This was all by design; he wanted to look intimidating to his summoner.

"Mortal, why have you called me Zehir, Lord of the Underworld?" He greeted with a deep voice, his dark eyes glowing with the help of illusion magic.

This show had clearly affected the summoner as he gulped nervously, hesitating for a few moments before he regained his bearings and replied with a steady voice. "I am Lord Nott, one of the Sacred Twenty Eight families, Devil. I have called you to gain your assistance."

"My assistance?" Zehir replied in a mocking voice, "What makes you believe you could ask anything of me, lowly mortal?" He said with his deep imposing voice as he stepped forward to the edge of the summoning circle right in front of Lord Nott.

Sweating from being so close to a powerful devil, his wand ready in his hand, Lord Nott stepped backward, creating some distance between himself and the supposed ancient devil.

"I.. I.. Am a Noble Lord of the British Wizarding World. I possess power and influence. I can pay you handsomely, Lord Zehir." He replied nervously, attempting to win the devil over with a different approach, as he realized that his Pure-blood status didn't mean anything to a devil.

"For your sake, I hope this is true. If a mortal like you is wasting my time, the consequences will be dire. I will take your soul and punish you for the next ten thousand years in the deepest circle of hell. Slowly cooking your soul over the black flames of the Underworld." Zehir threatened, his gaze threateningly, as he supposedly didn't give a shit about who Lord Nott was.

"Of course, Lord Zehir. I will pay any price. My wealth should be enough for your services." The Pure-blood Lord nodded; this whole situation reminded him of his time in the service of the Dark Lord. His mood was similarly fickle and didn't accept no for an answer. And the magical pressure was quite similar, but even darker than the dark Lords and so pure.

Lord Nott was clearly intimidated by the slight amount of demonic power Harry was emanating. It was far more potent than a similar concentration of magical power that wizards possessed, and it naturally felt darker. This darkness would remind anyone of a Dark Lord since their cruel acts and negative emotions left a permanent change on their magic.

This difference in potency between the two energies made devils naturally more powerful than a wizard. A low-class devil was two to three times magically stronger than a low-class wizard. Magical energy was nothing more than a lower concentrated neutral form of demonic energy.

"Good mortal. This is what I want to hear. You may tell this Devil Lord what you require of my mighty self." Zehir stated, staring down at the Pure-Blood Lord with his glowing eyes.

"There is only one thing I wish for. I want to return to the old ways. The time when we Pure-bloods were the rulers of wizardkind. Mudbloods and Blood traitors clearly below us. Our traditions and ways get more and more forgotten since the times of our ancestors. We had a Champion, someone who would bring our people back to the glorious times. But through a fluke, a toddler somehow managed to beat our Champion, the Dark Lord. He had vanished since then. All I wish is for you, mighty Lord Zehir, to bring the Dark Lord Voldemort, Champion of the Old Ways and Pure-Bloods, back to life." Lord Nott explained while staring down onto the floor, not daring to look directly into the eyes of the imposing devil. His gaze steadily fixed onto the floor in front of him.

"So your wish is for me to bring a so-called Dark Lord back to life so he can once again become the leader of your cause. Fulfilling the dreams of you Pure-bloods." Zehir asked.

"Yes, mighty Lord Zehir." Lord Nott nodded eagerly.

"And what do you intend to pay me?" Zehir asked bored.

"I have a vault filled with millions of Galleons. They can be all yours, Lord Zehir!" offered Lord Nott.

"Gold? What should I do with gold? I am Devil Lord! Over the thousands of years of my life, I gathered enough gold. No, you wish me to bring someone back from the death. A life for a life, a soul for a soul. The price for bringing your Dark Lord back to life is nothing else than your own life." Zehir stated coldly.

"T-this is…" Lord Nott stammered, still looking at the floor, while being unsure of what he should say. He didn't expect that the price would be so high. Millions of Galleons were a lot for any wizard. This was the fortune a family collects over many generations.

He didn't expect that the price for the Dark Lord was his own life. Money? Sure. Family treasures? Why not. But his own life made him hesitate. Until his gaze stopped on something on the floor that he didn't notice in his nervousness before.

A nasty smirk spread over Lord Nott's face, "I don't think so."

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