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Dea Atra

Chapter Text

Cast in order of mention/appearance:

Hades – Voldemort/Tom Riddle

Zeus – Albus Dumbledore

Hera – Walburga Black

Persephone – Hermione Granger

Demeter – Minerva McGonagall 

Helios  – Horace Slughorn 

Apollo – Cedric Diggory

{He set fire to the world around him but never let a flame touch her}

The kingdom of the dead was ruled by one of the twelve great Olympians; Voldemort, as he was now called. It was a name he fashioned for himself – a name much more befitting for a god with a terrible reputation. The Dark King crafted this title, one which instilled dread and terror inside the hearts of men. Those who dared utter his name only did so in respectful, hushed tones in fear of evoking his anger and his wrath.

He was also known as Hades or Pluto, the Giver of Wealth, of the precious metals and gemstones hidden in the Earth. He had all the riches in the world. The Romans and the Greeks referred to him as Dis, the Latin word for rich. He was worshipped as the Dark Lord, God of the Dead, Lord of the Dark Realm, King of the Underworld, the Unseen One... even the Dreadful One. He was unpitying, inexorable, ruthless, and unmerciful – the Master of Death, himself.

His visits to Olympus or the Earth were a rare occurrence, for he did not leave his dark empire unoccupied for long. It was not as though he was urged to do so; his presence was not welcomed by god or mortal alike. A celebration was never made in his honor. He did not demand a festival or merriment in his name. Knowing the fear he inspired and the power he had over all living things were enough to keep him pleased, for eventually all must die and return to his realm.

The Underworld was often called by Voldemort's other name – Hades. It lay, as the Iliad said, beneath the secret places of the Earth. In the Odyssey, the way to it led over the edge of the world across the Ocean. No one was certain of its exact location, for this vast realm could never be measured by mere mortals or even the gods themselves.

It was a dominion undefined by the natural laws of physics, a place tangible and intangible on its own. It was a dark kingdom which never basked in the Sun's presence, buried underneath the Earth where no mortal could ever dwell. This was the final destination of the souls of the departed. The damned. The pure. The corrupted. The sinful and the innocent who were either punished or rewarded.

Time was nothing but a constant loop and everything was at a cataclysmic standstill, frozen at their last hour of death. This fearsome abode was governed by laws that even the mightiest of gods could not violate, and not one entity had ever triumphed in mapping out its infinite domains.

The Dark Lord had every kind of precious metal and stone conceivable and his fortune was beyond comprehension. Men laid offerings and prayed to him for wealth, wishing that whatever treasure remained concealed beneath the land would reveal itself to them.

He was the master of the Furies, who punished the souls for their sins, and ruled over the Fates, who granted each man his destiny. He had no use for the other gods. He was Voldemort, the all-knowing, omnipotent, and powerful. He was a cruel visionary with a purpose, bestowing his followers with the painful truth of death instead of the beautiful deceit of life. After all, what did love or light matter to the him when he had endless riches and power over all things?

Yet, as he sat on his throne carved from the finest of metals, and encrusted with thousands upon thousands of the most valuable jewels that formed a truly elegant and deadly coat of arms. Watching as the eternal inferno of flames devoured each and every life he claimed to join him in his kingdom for all time without end… a deep emptiness punctured his very being.

It was like a dark void; a bottomless pit. A never-ending black hole that consumed all that was of him, leaving an empty shell of a god in its wake. It was a foreign sensation that he dismissed tersely as a weakness. He despised the inexpressible emptiness, loathed the unwelcomed guest in his psyche. It unnerved the almighty Dark Lord in a way that nothing else ever could.

There was an unsettling silence inside his blackened heart, like fall leaves under frost. He felt the hostile chill flowing through his immortal veins; the coldness crept within him, bringing the synapses of his brilliant mind to a halt. And he knew at that point, he needed to expunge this looming hollowness once and for all, before it ruined him completely.

The King of the Underworld drummed his fingers impatiently against the armrest of his grandiose seat. Hades was a very handsome god. It was as though the Titans — also known as the Elder Gods, had created him for the sole purpose of spoiling the sight. Although, the Dark Lord was not known for his heavenly appearance, his masculine beauty rivaled those of the well-known males such as Narcissus, Adonis, and Eros.

He had tousled dark hair, thick and lustrous. His eyes were a mesmerizing, deep seductive grey with flecks of red evident in their depths. He had a Greek nose, and a thin pair of luscious lips. His beautiful pale skin matched the sunless world he ruled. However, at that moment, his devilishly handsome face was contorted to a terrifying scowl while he forced his mind to focus on other matters.

He thought about his brother Albus, the Supreme Ruler of Olympus, and the mad twinkling in his eyes. He was known as Zeus or Jupiter, the Lord of the Sky, the Rain God and the Cloud Gatherer – He Who Wielded The Awful Thunderbolt. Gods, goddesses, and every mortal alike worshipped the very ground he stepped on.

Voldemort recollected the countless tales of his 'so-called' heroic deeds; the gifts he bequeathed to men, and the many goddesses and maidens he wooed.

"Albus, the most glorious, the greatest…" he mockingly spoke as he examined the most magnificent, blood-red ruby ring coiled around his index finger. "God of the Storm Cloud, thou that dwellest in the skies whose rope he would bind to a pinnacle of Olympus and all would hang in air, the very Earth, and the sea, too."

His pale hands curled tightly into fists in anger. How could the gods and men be so naïve? Why would they succumb to the rulings of one vile, fraudulent Olympian? Albus never deserved the power given to him by the heavens. It was by sheer luck he drew Olympus to his favor.

The Lord of the Dark Realm considered him naught further than a manipulative, womanizing fool who engaged in incestuous sexual relations and forced himself upon thousands of women, thus resulting to an infinite string of affairs.

Albus fathered countless bastard children, which invoked the fury of Walburga, his wife and their sister. She was also known as Hera or Juno, the Chief Goddess and the Protector of Marriage. Her immense jealousy over her husband's infidelities made no difference to her on how innocent any of these women were. Her implacable anger followed them and their children because the scorned goddess never forgot a grievance.

However, not even his sadistic hatred for his brother and the perpetual despair of bedeviled souls, shrieking in agonizing terror could vanquish the abysmal feeling of the void that had been clawing his insides lately. What was that abnormal feeling of lacking? It clung to him like an aggravating itch that  just wouldn’t go away, and he had no idea what it could possibly mean.

His splendid grey irises swept over his infinite domain, which also encompassed the flowing waters. Indeed, he was also blessed with truly remarkable rivers. Acheron, the River of Woe, was the one in which his ferryman Charon, sometimes called Wormtail, rowed the dead across the river for a price of one gold coin.

There was also Lethe, known as the River of Forgetfulness, named after the Goddess of Forgetfulness and Oblivion. The Styx was the River of Pain and the River of Unbreakable Oath by which the gods and goddesses took vows. It was followed by the River of Fire or Phlegethon and Cocytus, the River of Wailing. And finally, there was Oceanus, the river that encircled the world. This last body of water marked the eastern edge of the Underworld.

Past the enchanted rivers stood a massive, unyielding gate made of the finest, gleaming diamonds that formed the entrance to the kingdom. It was guarded by a fearsome monster named Nagini. And deep within his kingdom lay Hades' vast palace, surrounded by a dark field of majestic, jet-black narcissus flowers.

Each of the conspicuous flowers had six petals, the color of the darkest coal, surmounted by a golden trumpet-shaped crown. They were truly a marvelous sight to behold, and the only kind of perennial plant he permitted to grow in the Upper World. He debated with himself on whether or not he should make an appearance above ground after more than a century.

Voldemort was not imprisoned in the confines of the Underworld, unlike the rest of his subjects. He was free to come and go as he pleased. He, and he alone, was the exception to the rule that applied to everyone else – gods, goddesses, and mortals who dared consume the food that flourished within his dark empire could never return again to where they came from.

His musings were brought to an abrupt pause when he felt a strong, peculiar pull to one of his flowers on Earth.

Normally, he would ignore a trivial action such as flower-picking. The immortals and mortals were all indubitably drawn to the breathtaking flowers he scattered across the light realm. They would merely admire from afar, hesitating as their careful fingers would caress the length of a narcissus, but too scared to pluck a single stem in fear of damaging a creation of the God of Death.

There were not many of these grandiose plants in the Upper World, nor could they be easily wrenched from the ground. His curiosity peaked immensely and his rage boiled up inside him. Who dared try to pluck one of his beloved creations?

"Nagini…" he spoke in the ancient tongue of the serpents, Parseltongue thundering through the heavy atmosphere around him.

A frightening, colossal basilisk with silver scales that glimmered like the most beautiful pearls appeared that very instant. Its body, a smooth column of armored muscle, slithered into the charcoal light of the sunless throne room. The legendary serpent's pale belly moved silkily over the parched stone floor. Its silvery back reflected against the starless sky as it paused in front of Voldemort's feet.

"Yesssss, My Lord?" Its massive serpentine head rose and bejeweled emeralds gazed back at him as the Dark Lord reached out to stroke its scales.

"Keep a watchful eye over my kingdom until I return."

"Asssss you wissssshhhh, Massssster." The fearsome and beautiful monster flicked its long, forked tongue before nuzzling on Voldemort's hand and bowing in submission.

The God of the Dead rose from his throne and heard the tormented screams of the damned fleeing from Nagini outside the palace walls. A long cloak of dark velvet fell in graceful folds from his shoulders, and his brilliant black armor clung to him dauntingly as he glided away from his throne room, like a slinking panther ready to pounce in the dead of night.

He lifted one gloved hand as he beckoned his golden chariot, which was drawn by four marvelous, immortal, sable-black horses. He took the reins and whip in his hands and drove forth as the rocks from above started to tremble. They cracked open revealing a mighty, enormous chasm in the Earth as he ascended for the first time in over a century, toward the sunlight.

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The Sun’s rays touched Voldemort’s skin like an elixir after so many dark hours. In a universe with shades of truth, the Sun was the harshest of them all. It revealed every flaw and secret of the Earth in plain sight.

Still, there was an oddity to this sunlight, as though a layer of tinted filtering had been added in the sky. Curious, he removed his black glove and raised a hand through the air, watching his pale fingers as though the light had unexpectedly developed a thickness.

He placed the glove back on his hand as his eyes perused his surroundings. The soil was singed brown as if it was devoured by fire in a flash of scorching flames. The land was flat and barren. The Earth was so dry and brittle. The worms had surfaced from the cracks and the crows fluttered over them with their inky wings, as each of the birds began enjoying their sudden feast. The absence of trees and greenery was a sight he never became accustomed to in the Upper World.

Where was he and why was this place completely devoid of life?

“Life.” The Lord of the Dark Realm smirked wickedly as though he was sharing an internal joke.

Life was merely a looming shadow, a pitiable thespian. It was a tale imparted by foolish wit, full of noise and empty promises. It was just a woven string created by the Fates; a chaotic sequence, a continuous cycle. Every mortal and god was linked by a string but none of them could predict what came after. The mind was only allowed to take what was given and accept what was destined to happen.

He took slow, deliberate steps in this unfamiliar land. He was analyzing his whereabouts as he devised the ideal retribution against the ignorant fool who dared plucked his dear narcissus. Hades’ wrath was never to be tested. Each mortal knew of the deadly consequences that would ensue, the gods themselves were no exception. His temper was an inferno, like the blazing empire he ruled, burning so hot and pouring down with the fury of a hail storm.

“The Dark King has arrived,” a female voice spoke with a passion as though each syllable had been carved from her tongue. The words sounded strangely alluring, sweet and venomous like ambrosia dipped in poison. He heard her as clearly as though she had spoken from right beside him.

His head snapped up immediately toward the direction of the feminine voice. How dare this wretched cretin sneak up behind him?

His brow inched north from her audacious tone, though his gait had stiffened as soon as his eyes met hers. She was seated atop a throne carved from the finest wood no human could have ever created.

She had a blinding luminescence that radiated from her entire body, as if she was dusted with starlight. The celestial glow that enveloped her was shrouded by a type of darkness he knew all too well, and that itself intrigued him. He saw the demons in her otherworldly aura. This was no mortal woman. She was a goddess, an immortal, and an ethereal being he had never encountered before. She was the only bright thing in this sepia landscape.

The King of the Underworld was spellbound, ensnared in a heady trance like a butterfly drawn to the sweet nectar. He felt a magnetic pull, a static crackling in the air. It gravitated him toward this delightful creature that seemed to earn his attention by merely existing.

“Lord Voldemort, if you will,” he replied with an air of authority and status. His grey eyes dissected every inch of her face and her body as far as his eyes could see and ambled closer.

Her brown eyes shined like the hue of summer envy. It spoke of curiosity, beauty, and darkness. She stood up from her throne, staring amusingly at his reaction. He simply watched her – no, he assessed her. His cold stare was enough to freeze the River of Fire, Phlegethon, but it did not seem to bother this mysterious maiden for her features remained the same.

Like a serpent, a crown of flowers coiled around her hair and its color of narcissus caught his eye when she craned her neck.

Her hair was a lovely whisky, a vibrant brown falling in soft layers around her bare shoulders. The rich color of fallen leaves with the first rain of autumn. How could such a tint play with the light as though peering at the Sun through a jar of pine honey?

She wore a white gown made of soft satin fabric, long and loose. The creamy silk dress slipped onto her shoulders, lavishing her body with soft sensual kisses as she walked in his direction, hips swaying slowly. Like a lover, it seduced the senses and conveyed with utmost skill, the art of pleasing.

Now she was only inches away, a hair’s breadth from where their chests would be touching.

“And you must be?” Voldemort bent down. One glove cradling the maiden’s hand as he placed a chaste kiss on her knuckles, espying her Cheshire smile when he raised his head.

“I am Hermione. Persephone, Proserpine. The Goddess of Spring. The Daughter of Minerva, Demeter, Ceres. The Goddess of Corn, Grain and Harvest.” She responded silkily as her long, ebony lashes blinked like the wings of a seraph.

“Lady Hermione…” The Lord of the Dark Realm echoed as he felt his own mouth mimicked her smile in return. She was one of his brother’s misbegotten children.

How very… intriguing

“Shouldn’t the daughter of Minerva, the Goddess of Harvest, be watched over by the nymphs?” He inquired nonchalantly, lifting a dark brow as he gazed at her expression. They were the only two living beings in this dreadful scenery.

The unmistakable glee on her face and the sound of her bell-like laughter caught him completely off guard. “I never told you I was alone, did I?” She looked up from hooded eyelids. Her luscious lips were a rosy pink as she bit down to suppress a smirk from escaping.

He gave a her look as though she was mad. Frustration and wonder fused in the pool of his grey irises. The Goddess of Spring knew she should not anger the God of the Dead with such a vague response so she simply displayed to him her bare arms.

The Dark Lord was confused but his eyes followed suit. Her skin was the softest shade of honey which reminded him of the Sun she bathed in. It complemented the thick gold bands that materialized before him. It curled around her limbs as though they were vines. It travelled from her arms, all the way to her wrists and encircled each of her long, slender fingers. Its deep yellow color was one of the loveliest hue, decorated by an assortment of beautiful, priceless stones.

It was a ravishing spectacle for a mortal to behold, however, this was nothing for the god who made the Earth quiver under his grasp.

“Gold? Stones? My wealth encompasses the Earth, sky, and sea. The purest of its form can only be found in my kingdom.” Voldemort derided at her idle attempt to maintain his interest.

“This is not just jewelry, My Lord.” Hermione replied licentiously, unperturbed by the hostile change in his tone. “It requires your touch to fully enjoy it.”

He scowled when she purred as if to chastise him, although he did not miss the sexual innuendo her words had promised. Secretly, he was pleased with the attention she was giving him.

He marveled at her body. It symbolized the very Earth she ruled. The generous swell of her breasts – the nipples that went taunt through the thin material of her dress with every breath she took – the voluptuous rise of her arse with each step she made toward him…. every curve, every dip, every angle of her form both exposed and ensconced from him.

“Come here, My Lady,” he commanded. The God of Death yielded the goddess’ request, an act he was never benevolent to anyone before. He pulled the black gloves and allowed his pale fingers to graze her skin.

“With pleasure,” she stated, not a tremor in her angelic voice.

His fingertips ghosted over her glowing flesh, hovering over the golden cuff wrapped around her forearm. He could feel the warm heat seeping from her body, mirroring the eternal flames that burned in his dominion.

He made a light brush just across her arm. Her skin was the smoothest of silk. The delectation of the contact was an intimate treat for Hermione. He did not disrespect, he did not abuse, although it was evident he already stated his claim. She now belonged to him in everlasting life.

Voldemort touched the gold on her wrist and not a moment later, he was being swallowed by its clutches. It was as though he was transported to a different world. He witnessed the dwellers of this cursed habitat. Their sunken eyeballs, the hollowed faces, the dehydrated skin… the youth and vigor drained straight from their bodies.

The women were screeching. Numerous hands grabbed his robes, nails scratched him as they fought with each other, clinging to the only source of immortal power to save them from their cruel damnation. He was only a second away from punishing those filthy monsters when he was pulled out of the jewelry.

“I do apologize for the way my subjects treated you, they’re not used of having such esteemed company.” Hermione told him as she caressed the golden band weaved around her skin. “However, I could not risk the chance of you destroying them, for it would’ve been a permanent loss. Your power is transcending, even if your physical form was never there.”

He would have snapped at her for not warning him beforehand, though the irritation was overpowered by the strong curiosity of the things she was capable of doing. “Are those…”

“Nymphs?” The Goddess of Spring supplied for him as she cocked her head to the side. Then, she lifted an index finger and brushed it delicately over the Dark King’s robes.

“Well, they used to be. Mother said this was merely a phase. The drive of youth pulsating through my veins. If only... if only she knew, but she never listens. She just doesn’t understand.” Hermione shook her head and sighed.

Voldemort quirked a brow at her, he didn’t comprehend what she meant.

“I’ve been waiting for you, you see…” another Cheshire smile graced her lovely features as she twirled the loosened fabric of his robes in between her fingers.

“You summoned me?” The Lord of the Dark Realm was in utter disbelief. He was both affronted and astounded by her revelation.

“How else would I have you out? It's not everyday when you encounter a goddess who could pluck a narcissus without disturbing Gaea or one who would attempt to pick a flower made by Hades.” She answered him resolutely, the conviction loud and clear.

Her seductive ministrations tried to trample the aggravation he felt from her deceit. Although, he was still the Master of Death and he would not concede an act of dishonor.

Voldemort grabbed her chin with just enough force so she was now looking up at him. “Goddess of Spring, do not toy with me. You’ve earned my interest, so do not provoke my wrath.”

“Is that a threat, God of the Dead?”

“Simply the truth.”

“Then, this is one truth I never wish you have to fulfill.” Instead of pulling away, Hermione burrowed her cheek into his hand as her brown eyes swept over him once more.

“You’re playing with fire, child,” he warned.

“Teach me the ways of the dark, so I shall not be blinded by the illusions of the light.” A soft, sibilant hiss escaped her lips. She had spoken in the ancient tongue of the serpents. A talent exclusively bestowed upon the God of Death, himself. His Nagini would be pleased with her impeccable enunciation.

No words could have depicted the look on Lord Voldemort’s face as he gaped at her as though he was truly seeing her for the first time.

Hermione. Persephone. Proserpine. The goddess was both a blessing and a curse. She was lust. She was sin. She was his.

Chapter Text

The Lord of the Dark Realm did not speak as he offered the maiden his hand, although his grey irises bore right through her as he waited for a response. Hermione knew it was an extremely rare opportunity for Lord Voldemort to present an individual with an option – god or mortal alike.

What she did not know, however, that this was simply a test. The King of the Underworld was measuring her, deciding her worth and power to his cause.

He was giving her a choice. Remain like one of her mother’s naive, innocent potted flowers, caged in the delusions of light and purity of the world above… or join him in his kingdom down below. To learn of magic as old as time, to cultivate power freely without any fear or constraint.

She took his hand without a second’s hesitance and met his gaze boldly, sealing the fate she had created for herself.

“So shall it be done,” Voldemort quipped as he intertwined his hand with hers. The Earth started to quiver, cracking wide open as it revealed a mighty, colossal chasm underneath the surface. The God of Death accompanied by the Goddess of Spring, descended in the Underworld as the Dark Lord’s golden chariot sped away toward the darkness.

Voldemort’s arrival was duly welcomed at once. The Underworld bowed down to him as though it was a living, breathing entity itself. Every flower bent toward him, every river flowed to the direction of his form, every dead subject kneeled in his presence. No stone was left unturned, no matter was left unheeded he knew not about.

He was their Dark King, and now he brought forth a Dark Queen. Like the very empire he ruled, he had a side of him so cold, that even the Sun could not burn on it. And like the moon, she had a side of her so dark, that even the stars could not shine on it.

“My Hermione. My Persephone. My Proserpine.”

“Lord Voldemort, My King.”

Hermione stepped forward as soon as Voldemort motioned for her to come forth. The flower crown of narcissus glimmered beautifully on her head. In the world below, her radiance shone so bright like the Sun, and her veins emanated heat like the hottest of fire.

Perhaps in the Earth above, her hair was a rich, vibrant brown. Though here, in the darkest crevices of Hades, she stood bodaciously tall and commanding amongst the dead. Her long hair flowed in rivers of red, auburn flames as each rivulet of curls blazed brilliantly in the sunless domain.

She gazed into the Dark Lord’s eyes as though she was penetrating his very being; her brown eyes, he noticed, were no more to be found. What stood in its place were glorious pools of liquid amber. Like the Sun, she poured herself to him, showering him with beams of light that might have blinded him had he only been human. Those who stood too close were engulfed by her burning flames. She was the Sun. His Sun, and the Underworld orbited around her very presence.

“My Dear Sisters…” Voldemort cooed before raising his arms as he admired the view of his domain from the throne room in which he was standing.

"We welcome you, Our Lord," solemn voices began to speak in unison as Hermione saw three women materialized before them. They were accompanied by a magical spinning wheel that continued to spin endless supplies of luminous thread. The domestic machine instantly caught her attention as it spun without any aid. She had never seen the wheel before, but only heard of it from the tales told by those in the land above. She knew the King of the Underworld had summoned the Fates.

They were three sisters. There was Clotho, the Spinner, she was the one who spun the thread of life; then, there was Lachesis, the Disposer of Lots, who assigned each mortal his fate. And at last, Atropos, the one who could not be turned. She was the one who carried the ‘abhorred shears’ and cut the thread at death.

"What troubles afflict our Dark King?" The first woman, Clotho said as she held the strings of life in her hands while the wheel spun. She had transformed the magical thread from glittering, formless aether.

“Ask, and we shall answer.”

“Seek, and we shall find.”

“Bid, and we shall obey.”

“Their voices...” Hermione thought. It was like there was only one entity speaking and not three.

“I only bring glad tidings.” Voldemort answered with a pleased look on his face as he gestured toward the goddess beside him.

The sound of a harsh snip from the abhorred shears were heard as the three women simultaneously turned their gaze at Hermione.

“Ah, of course.” The second sister, Lachesis spoke as she measured the thread with her fingers. Her slender digits plucked the strings like the nimble legs of a spider, weaving each destiny into its grand design. “The beautiful, virgin Hermione.”

“The Goddess of Spring,” added the third Fate, Atropos after she snipped the thread and arranged it in the air. She peered closely at Hermione as though the goddess was an interesting specimen which action was then followed by her two other sisters.

“A perfect match. A perfect match, indeed.” They agreed in unison while they slowly encircled her person. Their hands were never resting from the eternal task given to them.

“Nagini…” Voldemort’s sibilant hiss broke the Fates’ mystic inspections as he beckoned his most trusted and magnificent beast.

“Ssssire?” Nagini emerged. The frightening and beautiful basilisk with scales that glittered like starlight pearls slithered into the throne room. Its piercing green, emerald eyes blinked at the god’s form. This legendary creature was a formidable monster, known for its fatal breath and deadly gaze.

“Fetch forth the adamantine dagger. A matrimonial blood ceremony must be performed.” The God of Death ordered as the colossal reptile lifted its enormous head, before bowing in obedience to both Voldemort and Hermione. The terrifying creature had already acknowledged the goddess as its Dark Queen.

“Yesssss, Masssster.” Nagini flicked its long forked tongue, then moved silkily across the parched stone floor to adhere the Dark King’s bidding.

Adamantine was a strong, rare metal that could only be found in the Underworld. It was known as the metal of the gods. This hard material was unlike any other because it was capable of penetrating the skin of an immortal being.

“Are you frightened?” Voldemort queried even if he did not need to ask as Nagini returned with an enchanted double-edged dagger. It was held in between its long, sharp, and poisonous fangs.

“Of a little blood?” Hermione scoffed at him as she offered to him her hands. No hint of fear or hesitation troubled the goddess’ face.

“No,” he corrected while he took the great dagger from the basilisk's mouth. “But for a lifetime of devotion and from here on, be known as the Dark Queen and wife of Hades.”

“Why would I fear a title created for me by Lord Voldemort, himself?” Hermione responded. Her celestial voice was unfaltering until the end. She knew this was a great honor and she was no fool to reject the proposal of the Master of Death.

Voldemort gave her a gratifying smirk and removed his black gloves. He opened his right palm and delicately made an incision across his ethereal skin. Bright crimson fluid trickled the blade. He allowed his immortal blood to flow inside the two golden chalices he produced with the blessing of the Fates.

He carefully wiped his palms with a special cloth followed by the ceremonial dagger before making a similar slice on Hermione’s palm. A sharp pain flashed up her hand while she watched the thin streak of blood seeped out of her skin. The discomfort was easily subdued as the Lord of the Dark Realm allowed the drops of vibrant red liquid to fall into the chalices.

Six pomegranate seeds with pulpy crimson arils were crushed to create the tincture and Voldemort set Hades’ eternal flames to burn inside the cup. As their immortal blood blended with the seeds blazed with hell fire, accompanied by the benediction of the Fates, the wine was ready.

Voldemort lifted the golden chalice in his fingers. The grand gesture was a sign that symbolized the significance of this sacred ceremony. He could feel every ounce of jubilation from the Fates, the Furies, his Nagini… each of his followers kvelled with their utmost allegiance to their Lord. The Underworld rejoiced. He surveyed his vast dominion before his grey irises finally focused on Hermione.

He took Hermione’s injured hand with his own as he began reciting his vows. “With this hand, I will elevate your name above the highest heavens. Your cup will never be empty, for I will be your wine. With this eternal flame, I will burn the world for you. With our immortal blood combined, you are now mine.” The Dark Lord finished speaking as he imbibed the concoction in his hand.

“I am yours.” Hermione agreed as she took her chalice and drank the blazing wine of pomegranates mixed with their blood.

Chapter Text

The kingdom of the dead praised and glorified the inauguration of Hades’ Dark Queen. Like a single strand of wheat in the vast grassfields, Hell’s celebration, a symphony of caliginous colors and tenebrous music were both muted and unknown – obscured from Mother Earth.

As Voldemort and his dark empire rejoiced the eternal union with his new wife, a mother was left wandering the Earth and sea in search for her only daughter. Minerva, also known as Demeter or Ceres, the Goddess of Harvest, wore a golden crown of corn around her brow. She was the goddess exalted for the bountiful harvests that grew in the lands and bestowed the mortals the plough. And she like any mother, was in deep anguish over her child’s disappearance.

She gazed up above the heavens. The clouds were shades of white marble on blue satin, dove grey underneath and brilliant white on the surface. They were thin enough to let light pass through. The Sun was streaming through a break in the clouds in great vibrant shafts of gold. The flecks of golden sunshine mingled with the few wispy clouds in the sky. The radiant glow scintillated and beamed upon the light realm.

This was the legacy of the Sun God, Horace also known as Helios. Nothing could escape his line of sight until the fiery Sun shone over the horizon in clear view of everything in the Earth below.

"Horace! Helios! Come down here!" Minerva cried to the Sun’s unchanging brilliancy of light knowing he was riding in the heavens. “You frivolous Sun God!”

The Sun God drove down the land in his chariot with a blinding, blazing splendor as he guided his dazzling steeds by the reins. “Minerva, what’s with all these yelling? This is so unlike you. Your earsplitting voice has reached all the way to Olympus!”

“Where is she?”

“What on Earth are you talking about?”

“My daughter, Horace! Hermione – she’s missing!” Minerva’s shrill voice shook the Earth and made the Sun God reached up to cover his ears.

“Are you suggesting that I had something to do with it?” Horace asked her, nonplussed. He looked both insulted and wounded by the goddess’ accusations.

But Minerva was not having any of it; she was too distressed already. “I’ve sped like a bird over land and sea seeking for Hermione but no man or god would tell me truth. I know you know where she is. Nothing on Earth could escape the Sun’s eyes. Now, tell me.”

“W-well it’s none of my business, really.” Horace swallowed uncomfortably as he remembered the day Voldemort whisked Hermione away. It was quite obvious based on the Goddess of Corn’s agitated disposition that he would be unable to worm his way out of this unfortunate incident. Being the Sun God made him an accountable witness over every little event in the light realm whether he liked it or not. If only he could extinguish from his mind the intimate exchange he witnessed between the God of Death and the Goddess of Spring.

It was unnerving and he shuddered at the memory. He did not want to get on the Dark Lord’s bad side but he also did not want to compromise his relationship with Demeter. “I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. You know how it is in my radiant palace with a bird’s eye view.” He chuckled forcibly as his crown of burning light titled to the side with his movements.

“Answer me!” The Goddess of Harvest cut him off from all his senseless sputtering.

“A-alright, Minerva. No need to be hasty.” Helios jumped up involuntarily from the loud urgency in her tone. His brows crinkled as he tried to formulate the proper words to say. “Persephone is… down in the world beneath the Earth, among the shadowy dead.”



The abode of the gods was on the summit of Mount Olympus and its entrance was a great gate of white clouds kept by the goddesses known as the Seasons.

Each immortal being had their own separate dwelling place though when all were summoned, they gathered to the palace of the Olympian Chief King. It was also in the great hall of Albus’ palace that the gods feasted each day on ambrosia and nectar while they conversed on the affairs of heaven and Earth. They quaffed their nectar and delighted upon listening to Apollo’s golden lyre. He was also known as Cedric, the Master Musician, the God of Music and Light.

There were also women called as the Muses, who danced and sang in responsive strains to the god’s tunes. They were nine in number, possessing one mind with their hearts set upon song and their spirit free from care. But then, Demeter burst into Zeus’ hall while a feast was being held. Wild-eyed and frustrated, she announced with all her might. “Albus! My daughter has been abducted! She’s trapped in the Underworld with Hades!”

“Your daughter sits beside the King of the Underworld, himself. You should be proud.” Walburga jeered disdainfully before Albus could respond. The Goddess of Marriage did not appreciate her sister’s uncouth interruption on the day’s festivities. Her enmity was also a reflection of her own jealousy.

Proud? How can you scorn a mother’s torment?” Minerva furiously snarled at the goddess. She could not believe what she was hearing.

“The Earth was created for you to nurture it like your own offspring! Must you always want more?” Walburga agitatedly snapped back. The Goddess of Grain already had her way with Albus not so long ago and Hera was not going to let her steal his affections once more.

“Enough!” The God of the Storm Cloud bellowed as bolts of lightning started to shoot from his fingertips. The room fell silent and watched as Albus motioned with his hand for the guests to exit the hall. The crowd cleared almost immediately until he noticed Walburga hadn’t moved from the chair she sat in. He raised his brow at her and gestured for her to do the same.

“Surely, you don’t mean me.” The Chief Goddess spat in retaliation. She was offended he would ask her to leave. She could not fathom leaving her husband alone in the presence of a woman, much less one who was also the mother of one of his children.

“Hera, please. I don’t have time for this.” Zeus exhaled and massaged his temples. He was in no mood for her foolish jealousy.

A brief look of hurt washed over Walburga’s face before she lifted her chin in the air without even sparing a glance at Minerva. She left the room and slammed the doors shut in her stead with more force than necessary.

“You know how Walburga is... “ Albus shook his head as his eyes followed the door. “But she’ll get over it.” Then, he reached for his goblet of wine on the table.

“Zeus, bring back Hermione. Bring back our daughter.” The Goddess of Harvest placed emphasis on the last part even if she did not want to be reminded that he was the father of her child. She knew what happened between them was a careless and terrible mistake though, she never regretted giving birth to Persephone.

“I love all my children, Demeter.” Albus placed the goblet down after taking a long sip. “However, there are forces… powers, even I must answer to.”

“There must be something you can do!”

“The rules of the Underworld differ from the skies, Earth, and sea. The Fates have decreed Hermione’s freedom, unless she has consumed the food from the world below.”

Chapter Text

In a room that was filled with both twilight and shadow, the iron-bound door to their bedchamber was closed shut and every pretense shown to the world melted away.

Voldemort's heated gaze slid to the side as he watched her. Her nightgown was pristine white. It embraced her voluptuous curves like liquid silk. It emphasized her womanhood and revealed the delicate length of her thighs as she walked seductively toward him.

The Dark Lord was born for power, brutality and cold detachment until her smooth hand touched his bare chest over his beating heart. An insatiable desire stirred inside of him. The heat of her body could melt the frozen parts of his heart. The hunger took over his rational thoughts, banishing them into the far recesses of his mind as he felt a sudden hardness in his groin. He would walk through flames just to feel her warmth.

He pulled her on the bed and she let him. Her petite figure was pliant against his solid frame as his nose nuzzled her skin. "You’re so warm," he murmured.

“Mmmm…” The Goddess of Spring wrapped her arms around him as she breathed in his scent on the crook of his neck. He smelled of pomegranates, hell fire, and power.

One of his hands travelled along the small of her back, settling on the spot where her skin was exposed. The other hand wound itself around her hair, while he admired its softness and watched her flaming curls tumble over her shoulders as he released it. “Mine,” he simply stated. She was fire and he was ice. One glimpse of her could ignite his stone cold eyes.

"Hermione..." he said, inhaling the scent of flowers, sunlight, and Earth on her skin.

"My Lord," she let out a tiny gasp. Her face was flushed as she felt his lips softly lavished her slender neck. His tongue was swirling while he sucked and nipped on her flesh gently.

At that moment, the only thing that mattered to him was her. To touch her... to taste her... to claim every part of her mind and body she willingly offered to him. He tried to be gentle and not to rip her gown, although it was more difficult than he anticipated. His hands were made for ruthless punishments and stern discipline not for thin, feminine clothing.

His grey eyes glimmered with flecks of red in the darkness. His head angled slightly to the side as his lips came closer and closer to hers. Suddenly, she was looking at him as clearly as though he was bathed with sunlight from the Earth above. His irises were filled with swirls of lust and desire that mirrored her own.

Time was all but forgotten as the side of his thighs pressed against hers. Hermione watched him; this powerful immortal being, and how she surrendered to him.

The expression on his handsome face revealed so much more than words could possibly express and she was surprised to find her own rosy lips parting in response. In that moment, Hermione felt her innocence consuming her as though she was one of the Children of the Sun again. Her heart fluttered inside her chest as he drew his lips to hers.

At first, it was a delicate brush of lips. A chaste contact that sought permission instead of intrusion, but then Voldemort’s grip tightened as his hand found her hip. He crushed her body to his, gentle yet firm. He slanted her head further, deepening the kiss. He slid his tongue inside her mouth while his other hand began to explore the skin underneath her gown. She met his tongue with her own as she traced his lips, using her teeth to nibble his bottom lip and suckled.

Hermione never wanted anyone like this before. It was as though every part of her body was on fire. She craved for him in ways no words could ever explain. Her spine tingled as his tongue tasted her breath. Her right hand kneaded the hard planes on his bare, sculpted chest. The muscles were smooth and went taut with her every caress. Her creamy leg brushed up against him and she felt his hardened length brought by the contact. Hermione smirked against his mouth with a wicked gleam in her eyes.

Her other hand began greedily searching to feel his hard erection beneath the loose robes. He hissed when she shifted as her fingers wrapped itself around the base of his shaft, rubbing his length up and down repeatedly over his clothing. Hermione could feel his bulge growing stiffer and larger by her ministrations.

Their lips parted only for a hair’s breadth before connecting onto one another once again. It was a newly added pressure as their mouths locked tighter with each other. Heat began flowing throughout Hermione’s body as she felt his hands slide and cupped her naked breasts. His fingers brushed over her nipple followed by a low, throaty moan erupting within her.

He pulled her closer. Their bodies were twisting and turning, then the process would repeat itself all over again like a cycle. They were both caught in the moment, as if there was this intense magnetic field between them – it was electrifying.

Voldemort was on the verge of combusting from her scandalous reactions as he ripped her nightgown to pieces. His steady gaze bore a burning path to her creamy skin. From her face, to her neck, and down to her shoulders. His hooded eyes lingered longer on her supple breasts, then it travelled to her flat abdomen... to her waist, and then to her hips… all the way to her legs.

Using both of his hands to knead her breasts, he slowly explored the entirety of her chest before taking one nipple in his mouth. His tongue swirled, sucked and flicked her pebbled center. Hermione arched her back from the sudden ecstasy while his other hand paid attention to her other breast. “Ohhh…” she moaned in pleasure.

The Dark King positioned himself in between Hermione’s thighs as she lay on her back. She wrapped her legs around his waist, nails scraping his spine while she couldn’t stop herself from thrusting into his body.

“I want to see you come undone,” he spoke. His voice heavily intoxicated with passion. His pale fingers began stroking her already wet folds as he eased her undergarments aside.

Hermione bit her lip to prevent another moan from escaping her mouth. She dug her nails hard into his shoulders as he pumped a finger in and out of her, driving her insane. Although she wasn’t satisfied with just his fingers, she wanted more from him, she wanted to feel him, now – inside her.

“Your clothes, My Lord,” she panted breathlessly as she tried tugging the garment concealing his erection.

“Tell me what you want,” Voldemort commanded as he removed the remainder of his clothes. He positioned himself in her opening while he rubbed his large erection all over her wetness, teasing her.

“You.” She groaned in anticipation, dreading the fact that he was going to make her beg for it.

“My sudden intrusion can hurt you and you may bleed from it.” He reminded her but it did not deceive her from hearing his lust-coated tone.

“Then, please be gentle.” Hermione swallowed hesitantly and looked away. She was a little peeved at herself for her lack of sexual experience – a result of her virtue, intact.

With a gentle finger, he reoriented her face toward him. He held her gaze, stealing the doubt from her amber eyes in a way that only amplified the spark between them.

“As you wish, My Queen.” He kissed her mouth once more, savoring the taste of his wife on his tongue before he obliged to her request. There was no smile on his face when their lips had parted. There was only the hot intensity of his desire. This was the start of a burning inferno to come as he then thrust himself inside her, marking the beginning of a lifetime.



“May I?” Hermione queried as they both lay naked on the bed amidst the tangled sheets. Her head was resting contentedly on the Dark Lord’s shoulder as she slung her arm around his waist.

“May you what?” Voldemort lifted a dark brow as his hand reached to stroke her tangled curls. His grey eyes watched the way she was tracing lazy patterns on his bare chest with her finger. He could see how she loved running her hand on its smooth, muscled surface.

“Call you by your name…” she turned to her side and buried her nose on the crook of his neck, inhaling. Her lips curled into a pleased smile on his pale skin. He smelled even better after a night of blissful love-making.

“You’ve already managed to propagate all of my reputable names in the confines of our bed chamber. None of which you had the patience or gall to complete when your attention is otherwise concerned,” Voldemort reminded her as he recalled how the Goddess of Spring had redefined his many names and made it all synonymous to orgasm.

“Mmmm…” Hermione did not even deny it while she pressed her lips to the area where his neck met his shoulder. “Those are all but regal titles, epithets worthy for a god as powerful as you.”

“They are still names, nonetheless.” His hand travelled from her hair to the curve of her arse cheek that was peeking from the black sheets.

“Would you rather I call you Uncle then, and scream that while you make love to me?” Hermione answered in a teasing tone while her nose rubbed his shoulder.

She wanted to give in to the insatiable thirst she felt for him that led to their previous night of passion together. She was entranced by the sheer pleasure on his handsome face as they finally became one. One mind and one body with the same goal and purpose. Each utterly and perpetually intoxicated for the other. Every gasp and ‘ungh’ that came out of his lips would be forever engraved in her memory.

“I’d rather you not. It’s already bad enough you were sired by Albus but your mother also happened to be one of my sisters,” the God of Death retorted with revulsion and loathing, snapping Hermione out of her trance.

Although, his obvious displeasure was not enough for him to stop running his hand down her chest. He cupped her supple breast under the black silk sheets and shifted closer on the bed. He lightly pinched her nipple until his mouth found her ear.

Hermione shivered as he nipped and sucked on her earlobe. Then, his lips feathered sensual kisses on the side of her jaw.

“Your abhorrence for my father is interesting.”

The kisses on her face ceased and he looked at her carefully. “Does it bother you?”

Suddenly, the intensity of her emotions became palpable. Her brilliant auburn hair flared to life as though it was burning in flames and her amber eyes blazed with a feeling he knew all too well – hatred.  It painted a person's soul, spreading throughout one’s entire system. It shut down all other feelings until there was nothing left.

In truth, it was no more to the mortals than wood was for fire. More hate guaranteed increased enmity, pain, and death. Hatred as strong as hers which rivaled his own was a product of love that was betrayed or destroyed in some manner.

In a way, he could understand her hostile reaction. Albus was not the ideal paternal figure for a child growing up. With his convoluted beliefs for the greater good of mankind, accompanied by his numerous infidelities, and that damn twinkle in his eye... Zeus, the Chief God was just – justly evil.

Voldemort did not know why Albus would mask his maleficence into something such as deceptive benevolence. The Dark Lord embraced his true nature without any reservation. One of the traits, he surmised, that made him far more superior than any of his siblings.

Minerva, on the other hand, was a different case altogether. She was a woman more substantial than their brother. But in no means was she classified as the perfect goddess nor the perfect mother.

Dear Persephone had mentioned how her mother would smother her with her overprotectiveness and strict nurturing. She had trimmed the child’s branches even before they had a chance to grow. The Goddess of Corn maintained a firm hold on her daughter as though she was one of her little flowers that needed to be sheltered and cared for.

He wondered just how long before his sister would notice the sudden disappearance of her only daughter. It was without question that Minerva would already be on her way to Olympus, seeking the assistance of Albus and the other gods.

If the Goddess of Grain knew Hermione was in the Underworld, she would definitely throw a fit and demand to the God of the Dead to release her child. A proposition he would most certainly disagree upon. Did he do it out love for the Goddess of Spring?

Love,” Voldemort thought in distaste. The single word in his mouth left a rancid taste on his tongue. Invisible and weightless, it held even the most powerful men helpless in its clutches. His brother Albus was a favorite victim, for he fell in love every time with almost every woman. Although, his methods of courting were immoral and unorthodox as lies and trickery played important roles in his success. Therefore, the Master of Death had concluded a long time ago: love was simply a chemical reaction that compelled animals to breed.

“My Lord, are you even listening to a word I said?” Hermione asked him in mild vexation. He was aware that the goddess did not like being ignored most especially when she was speaking.

What was she rambling on about? Oh, yes. “We were discussing names,” he swiftly replied once he got to his bearings.

She seemed to be satisfied with his answer so she carried on. “I want to call you by your birth name – your given name. The one in which your parents, Cronus and Rhea named you after," she whispered in his ear, the ghost of her breath plunging into his very core.

“Haven't I given you enough?” He questioned her in exasperation. This was a part of himself he had chosen to forget. It was a name that resembled the son he never came to be. His brothers and sisters may have kept their birth names – an act of honor rather than petty sentiments. He, however, held no thought or affection for the Titans who birthed him. For his father was a monster who devoured his children while his mother idly watched by.

“Just so much as I would have given you.” The Goddess of Spring countered his refusal and lazily kissed the inside of his palm as she took his hand.

When he decided not to respond Hermione continued speaking, “You are an immortal being, powerful and capable of many things. The gods and men all cower before you. But I want the man behind the mask you show the world. Let me have this as your wife. The one thing I don’t have to share with anyone else.” She raised her hand. Using her slender fingertips to softly trace the contours on his handsome face and brushed the lock of dark hair away from his grey eyes.

Voldemort fell silent as his gaze landed on her amber eyes. The pools of fire in their depths bared her naked soul to him – lovely as ever, while they stared at each other without even speaking. In that instant, he knew he was fighting a losing battle. Every fiber of his being knew he could never refuse her. This elegant and dark goddess, mysterious and alluring in every way. He would lay the world at her feet on a whim if that was what she wanted. His only response to her was a sigh of defeat as he closed his eyes.

The look of pure rapturous glee emanated from her beautiful face. She encircled her arms around his neck and murmured softly in Parseltongue, “Thank you, Tom.”  Then, she straddled him and kissed him slowly on the lips. They made love once again as passionately as their first night together.

Chapter Text

“My Lord.” Someone had spoken from outside their private quarters. It was then followed by a solid knock on the door.

Hermione moved her legs to the side of the bed and stood up. The black silken sheets fell from her waist and exposed her naked arse to her husband as she walked barefooted inside the room. Her amber eyes swept over to the scraps of white fabric on the floor – the remainder of what used to be her nightgown before Tom had shredded it to pieces.

She caught him staring at her and at the strips of cloth with a smug look on his face while he admired the view in front of him. He wasn’t ashamed of his actions and neither was she, as she stood there in nothing – confident and appealing in all her natural glory. She broke their eye contact and shook her head at his cocky demeanor.

She had a strong feeling he would rip her clothes once more if they had resumed the night’s activities. So, she reached for her silk robe hanging by the lounge chair and slipped into it as she tied the knot in place. Voldemort had followed suit, donning his robe after pulling on his loose trousers.

“You may enter,” he replied to the direction of the voice once Hermione had finished securing the garment around her body.

A man with a black cloak over his head hesitatingly stepped foot inside the room. He wore a menacing mask, the shade of ash. It was decorated with intricate silver patterns that covered his face while he bowed in submission before the Dark King and His Queen. The dead mortal was a Death Eater, Hermione had learned – a title designed for Lord Voldemort's loyal servants. These were the souls who pledged their allegiance to the God of Death, bound to serve and obey him for all eternity.

“Amycus, I assume this matter is of importance. Otherwise, heed my words. I am greatly unforgiving as you have disrupted me and my wife’s moment of solitude.” The Lord of the Dark Realm spoke in an even tone. His steely gaze did not disguise the grave consequence that would follow if his servant’s ignorance was proven true.

Amycus flinched but maintained his composure. “There are two living men in the kingdom, My Lord.”

Tom contemplated this information – it certainly was not new. Many mortals sought their deceased loved ones in the Underworld, time and time again only to fail miserably. The reason was simple. It was not in their power to resurrect the dead and bring the body back to the world of the living. But still, it did not dampen their spirits nor their drive, woe to those who had been cursed by the power of love.

“Such foolhardy fellows,” he sighed to himself in disinterest. “Who are they and what do they want?” The Dark Lord inquired even though he was already prepared for the answer.

“They are known as Theseus and Pirithous, My Lord – followers of Minerva, the Goddess of Harvest. They came for Our Queen.”

A wicked smile graced Voldemort’s lips when his assumption was proven wrong. This was an interesting turn of events . His sister was quicker than he had anticipated. Although, devising the next course of action was turned into a halt as Hermione broke his train of thought.

“Mother thinks she can persuade me by sending mere mortals to escort me back to the Upper World?!” Hermione’s agitated voice filled the chamber. “How dare she make a mockery of my abilities as a goddess??!” She was beyond enraged upon this discovery. When would Minerva stop treating her like a child? Her insults would not be tolerated any longer. She should learn never to underestimate her daughter.

Hermione felt the golden bands warmed her skin as it materialized on her arms. Her eyes made a trail to the beautifully woven metals encrusted with stones. It snaked around her limbs, peeking from the sleeves of her robe. Her slender fingers reached up and absentmindedly began stroking her jewelry. This was just a taste of the cruel damnation she could produce with her power.

Unlike the Goddess of Grain, who was the Bearer and Giver of Life… The Dark Queen was destruction – the Purger and Destroyer of Life. Much like the dismal fate that had befallen the nymphs, who were transformed into nothing more than a part of her accessories. Perhaps taking the lives of those meddlesome pests wasn’t enough to prove a point to her overbearing mother.

“Shall I handle this matter?” Voldemort titled his head to the side as his gaze settled on the goddess. He could feel her unblinded fury sinking into his bones. Her rage held all the power of the scorching Sun and it swallowed him. He saw the murderous flames roaring in her amber eyes, ready to ignite anything she came in contact with. In her veins flowed a dark, puissant force of energy that complemented his own. He marveled at the sight – this smoldering, majestic creature that was his wife.

“No, My King.” Hermione knew there was no need for him to seek her permission. Nonetheless, the gesture was greatly appreciated. “But, if you’d be so kind as to welcome such remarkable guests, while I make myself presentable before I come and join you.” No one missed the rich sarcasm her lips had uttered as her nostrils flared and her breathing became labored. She was trying to diffuse the fires of wrath and hatred that were combusting inside her.

“Very well, My Lady.” The King of the Underworld nodded at her decision.

He turned to his servant. He had almost forgotten about him, while he looked at the man who appeared uncomfortable with their presence. “Prepare a banquet for our visitors and inform them of my arrival as Hades is always a gracious host.” He ended his words and a predatory smile lifted the corners of his mouth.

“As you wish, My Lord.” Amycus bowed and exited the chamber at once.



Hermione retreated into Voldemort's private bathrooms. The light inside was soft and artificial, lacking the warmness of the Sun she was used to. The walls were lined with large tiles of the most exquisite onyxes and the floors were made of the loveliest jades. The vanities were crafted from gold and white gold and the counters were created from the most brilliant aquamarines. It was a beautiful symphony of different colors. Like the Dark Lord himself, the bathroom was just as she had expected – functional and bare of any frills or unnecessary comforts.

She stared into a wall-mounted looking glass. It was encircled by strands of silver and bronze, interlaced together like vines. She extracted the robe from herself and watched the material pool on her feet. Her empyreal flesh shone like a beacon and without the garment concealing her body, there was nowhere to hide.

The mirror showed her not as the pure, innocent child her mother had always known before. The traces of that girl never lingered anymore. In its place was the image of a confident, beautiful woman and inside she was filled with rage, allure, destruction, power, and ambition.

She ran a finger over the frame, feeling its cool ridges and smooth grooves as she continued to gaze at her own reflection. Slowly, she slipped into the white dress she had worn when she first met Tom. Somehow the soft, loose garment felt foreign on her skin and Hermione strongly despised it. The gown clung to her shape in a way that did not resemble the goddess she had now become.

To the world, there was a time when she was just little Persephone. The apple of her mother's eye with the exuberance of youth in her veins. Oh how she vividly remembered that day when Minerva was especially hard on her and how angry she was at her domineering mother.

"Hermione! Hermione!" Minerva feverishly shouted as she tried to keep up with her daughter's quick steps. "Don't you dare turn your back on me!" She scolded, gathering the hem of her long gown in her hands to keep herself from tripping.

"Leave me be, Mother!" Hermione irritatedly shouted back and continued her swift strides, ignoring her mother's protests. "I don't want to do this anymore!"

"How can you even utter those words?" The Goddess of Grain questioned while she followed Hermione into the forest. "Our gift is both an honor and a privilege. You are my daughter, whose light step upon the dry, brown hillside is enough to make the soil fresh and blooming. This is your destiny!"

"I am old enough to make decisions for myself, Mother!" Hermione retorted with all the rage she could muster. She did not want Minerva or anyone else to dictate her life any longer. "I am not like you. I don't merely wish for the flowers to bloom at my feet, for the Earth to bear fruit at my touch, or for the soil to become fertile at my will. I dream of things much larger than myself or you."

"You are blinded by your innocence and youth." Her mother spoke with disappointment and shook her head, dejectedly. "You must stop these illusions of yours, at once! Why do you disobey when your mother knows what’s best for you? What is it you plan to achieve?"

"Power and the freedom to create my own fate," Persephone boldly replied as her vibrant brown eyes fixed pointedly at Demeter.

Although, the goddess was not impressed with her daughter's growing disrespect. She raised a brow at Hermione. "You are the Goddess of Spring, born of the Earth and the Child of the Sun. If you will not embrace your destiny now, someday you will."

"No, Mother. In time, it is you who will understand." Hermione disagreed with her words and promised this to Minerva, eager to put this discussion to an end. "Now, if you would please give me a moment to myself. I know you must be thinking of sending the nymphs to come and collect me but I am no longer a child. Their deaths will fall in your hands if they decide to meddle in our affairs once more."

Minerva was taken aback. Never had she imagined that her own daughter… the child whom she cared and nurtured, birthed from her womb and suckled from her breasts would threaten her in such a way a girl as sweet and loving as Hermione. The Goddess of Harvest did not know how respond so she decided to leave. The expression on her face was unfathomable. Her heart grew heavy and she became terribly afflicted with what had transpired.

Now, Hermione was in her isolation. Free to do as she wished with no hesitancy or uncertainty clouding her vision as she took away nature's gifts. One by one, she poured her animosity and fury, sending a grievous famine upon the Earth. The dry seed remained hidden in the soil. The once green lands of the Upper World were no more than ashes and coal. The air was heavy with the smell of burning smoke that hung in a haze, obscuring the blistering heat of the Sun. The sight was an enormous, spine-chilling, monochromatic canvas.

All that remained was a bed of jet-black flowers that appeared unharmed. Curious, she stepped closer toward it. The peculiar plants continued to stand tall and proud as though the goddess’ anger had no effect on them, whatsoever. The petals were a shade of the darkest coal and each were surmounted by golden, trumpet-shaped crowns.

"Why are you unaffected by my wrath?" Hermione asked the flowers in genuine interest. She brought her knees to the ground and lifted a slender finger to caress the stem. She knew that neither she nor her mother had created such a plant.

A spark of dark magic unlike anything she had ever experienced before, tingled her fingertips when she came in contact with the petals. Like an eager parasite to a willing host, the ominous aura latched itself onto her body. She let the darkness corrupt her, allowing it to destroy the light and purity of her very essence. She felt the foreign magic fused with her own. Just a taste of its power left her invigorated, refreshed, and whole. The majestic black flowers were like an open invitation to the wondrous things Minerva had hidden from her all this time and Hermione craved for more.

"These are the Dark King's creations…” Hermione concluded, “...the narcissus flowers.” Her face broke into a wide, Cheshire grin. Her hands moved of their own accord, plunging into the soil of Gaea and pulling the narcissus from the Earth.

Chapter Text

The two mortals, Theseus and Pirithous, ambled forward as Amycus ushered them inside a dining hall. The room was truly exquisite – it was nothing they had ever laid eyes upon before. The walls were painted with a shimmering liquid gold and in the middle of the ceiling, above a long marble table hung a magnificent chandelier. The ornate lighting fixture resembled the bejeweled corpse of a giant spider, molded with the best-cut diamonds and made from the most splendid white gold.

"Wait here. The Dark Lord will be with you shortly,” he said when both men were seated, then left. The long table was a sturdy, monstrous design. Solid with engraved cabriole legs, inlaid with different shades of marble and sanded to perfection. Down the center was a narrow, decorative cloth. The remarkable fabric had a Greek design woven in gold, silver, and bronze. At each place stood a tall empty wine glass and beautifully folded napkins.

Laid on the long table was an amount of food that on any normal occasion, would have lasted several more days for these men. There were pheasants and geese, bowls of roasted root vegetables and creamy sauces with garden herbs. A whole roasted deer with sprigs of rosemary was stuffed with fruits and rye bread.

There were mounds of fragrant wild rice, potatoes and diced pumpkins smeared with butter and spices baked on hot stones. On the far corner stretched the finest cheeses, paired with baskets of biscuits and bread rolls while a waterfall of wine and a champagne fountain sparkled to life.

The sight of the delicacies made their tongues water, for these kinds of cuisines were not readily available to them in the world above. Their eager fingers picked up a heavy polished silver cutlery. The silverware shone brightly against the perpetual evening light of the Underworld as their mouths opened wide… excited to sample the excellent dishes that were prepared in front of them.

“Welcome to my kingdom,” the Dark Lord said as he materialized at the head of the long table. He was dressed in the most splendid suit of black armor, and on his head was the most magnificent golden diadem encrusted with eminently valuable gemstones.

The men dropped the silverware with a loud clatter on the table, snapping themselves from their reveries as they finally regained their senses. Theseus and Pirithous remembered Minerva’s warnings as clearly as if the goddess’ voice was right next to their ears. “You mustn't consume any of the food in the Underworld. You will be trapped therein amongst the dead, forever. Never to witness the Sun rising in the east nor feel the lush grass at your feet.”

Their eyes widened in alarm as they gaped at the God of Death. They felt sick to their stomachs as their bodies became numb and immobilized from the overwhelming fear that threatened to consume them. They tried to focus on their rapid breaths and their erratic heartbeats, although the growing dread was already making its way in their system.

“Go on…” The Lord of the Dark Realm urged the two in mock courtesy, as though he was not seeing their frightened expressions. With a gloved hand, he gestured to the generous servings of dishes spread aplenty. “Help yourselves to the food I have graciously prepared.”

The man, Theseus gathered all of his courage and replied when he finally found his voice. “That won’t be necessary, Volde-”

The Dark Lord’s expression shifted. He turned to face this insolent being, the golden diadem glistened gloriously atop his head. He fixed his murderous gaze intently on the man, daring him to finish his sentence.

L-lord Voldemort,” he enunciated as he corrected himself, immediately. He was swallowing the bile that became lodged at the back of his throat and dreaded the aftermath of his ignorance.

But before he could ponder about it, Pirithous had already spoken ahead of him. “W-we are under the orders of the goddess, Minerva. And it is with her guidance and protection that we have come to rescue her daughter – the Goddess of Spring.”

“What foolish creatures.” Voldemort’s lips pressed tightly together. The displeasure was clear on his features. It emphasized the disapproval and ire that mingled in his voice. “You turn down the King of the Underworld’s hospitality and dare use a god’s name to threaten him in his own empire? Your bravery is almost admirable if not moronic.” A mirthless chuckle erupted from his throat. These obtuse, frail beings should be taught a lesson.

The God of the Dead lifted a gloved hand and made a slashing motion through the air. Theseus and Pirithous were startled as Lord Voldemort’s harsh movements sent the large marble table flying across the room along with the platters of food. The unsightly view resembled the aftermath of a vicious tornado as everything landed in a broken, haphazard mess.

Then, his fist clenched firmly and the two mortal men watched in unbridled fear as one by one, the vacant stone chairs that surrounded them, slowly disintegrated into a large pile of rubble.

The anxious men made haste to get off their chairs and flee from Hades’ wrath. But they found it was an impossible feat as deadly snakes began to coil tightly around their necks and their appendages – binding them to their seats.

Theseus began to panic. The anxiety was evident on his face, willing his mind and his body to find a way to break free. He wriggled with all of his might, trying in vain to escape the serpents’ shackles. His neck and arms were already forming bruises from the strong bindings that had imprisoned them.

“The Goddess of Harvest vowed to protect us! You shall not harm us!” Pirithous barked while he prayed for Demeter’s divine intervention to save them from this plight. However, the reptile’s grip began crushing his vocal chords, blocking the passage of air in his lungs.

“By the River of Styx, Minerva made no such oath.” Voldemort mocked as he strode closer toward the mortals, reveling in their horror. His magnificent suit of black armor clung to him ominously like a second skin.  “Your human lives hold as much value to her as the abundant plants in her garden. You will be taken care of, to grow and bear fruit until you have served your purpose... but once you wilt, you will be easily discarded and replaced.”

“You can’t do this!” Theseus bellowed. His chest ached and heaved as the snakes coiled tighter around him. He strained to inflate his lungs, gasping for air as his head spun out of control with raw terror.

“I am the Master of Death, and you shall be punished severely for your insolence and transgression.” He said simply with an air of finality, vindicating their much awaited demise. He lifted both hands in the air and a miasma of powerful, dark magic oozed from his fingertips.

From the black cloud of smoke he had conjured, a gigantic, deformed creature emerged. It was a grotesque mass of tangled limbs. Its skin was sallow green with three sets of protruding eyes that wept tears of blood and its hair was made of countless poisonous scorpion tails. Every scale on its body was plated with thick black, gelatinous goo that seeped from its pores and gave off the foulest stench.

Theseus and Pirithous froze in place, staring in mingled horror and despair as the thing shambled toward them. It opened its mouth, exposing rows of long, jagged teeth, each equally as sharp as the adamantine dagger. Its rancid saliva was incredibly toxic, dripping on the ground and melting the stone tiles like acid. This thing was a monster composed of three beings. They were the ones who punished the sinners. Those who were known to walk in the darkness.

“Not even the Sun will transgress his orbit but the Furies also known as the Erinyes – The Ministers of Justice, can overcome him.” Lord Voldemort remarked with arrogance as he addressed the gruesome creature in high regard. “My Dear Sisters, the Furies… Tisiphone, Megaera, and Alecto. How lovely for you three to join us.”

“N-no! No! Please! Please, have mercy!” Theseus and Pirithous repeatedly begged in unison. “We ask for your forgiveness, Dark King!” And each time, their pleas for mercy would be accompanied by desperate cries fueled by great exertion. These two grown men, who braved the unknown horrors of the Underworld merely to fulfill a goddess’ delusional orders – reduced to nothing more than a pair of pathetic cowards. The Dark Lord observed salty tears spilled onto their cheeks, but it made no difference. They were still dirty, useless vermin in his sight.

It was an unnerving spectacle for the humans to witness how Voldemort's grey eyes transformed into a potent red. Then, his irises morphed into the slits of a serpent's. One bereft of remorse and devoid of conscience. "Fear is part of being human," the Lord of the Dark Realm fleered in disgust at the terrified men who remained imprisoned in the stone chairs. "So feel it, own it. Let it ignite your thoughts, because this is not the last emotion you will experience, but pain... "

Hades raised his gloved hand once more and pressed his thumb and fingers together. He made a downward motion in the air, conjuring a long, sharp blade with his power. The knife had a large, steel serrated blade with a bronze handle and its ridges fit his hands as though it was designed for only him.

The fine, pointed blade scintillated menacingly in the pale moonlight. Cold and ruthless – a weapon without kindness. He held the knife in between his fingers, examining it in the charcoal light of the dining hall. He could already imagine these two worthless mortals in a pool of their own blood and his face split into a long, horrendous grin.

Their dread was in the form of a sadistic demon – the God of Death, who was joined by the Furies. Their faces became gaunt as sweat pooled on their foreheads and the tremors in their bodies had begun. There was nothing they could do but wait on their seats while they screamed for salvation from their inevitable torture. Theseus could feel the snakes’ vicegrip dug into his wrists and his ankles as he and Pirithous shouted so hard, “No! Please, don’t!” They were shrieking repeatedly until their voices became hoarse and they could barely speak while they writhed to be free.

For any sane individual, a chill would run up their spines if they were to hear Theseus and Pirithous’ desperate screams for help. Although, the men’s screeching voices that were like freezing, icy wind could not make Voldemort shudder nor his immortal blood to run cold. Instead, the Dark Lord became irritated from the piercing sounds that were ripping from their throats. These foolish humans were being too noisy and it grated his nerves for he did not even lay a hand to any of them, yet.

With his patience already thinning, he growled at the two. “Silence, you fools!” Then, he took away their senses. Their sight, their smell, their hearing, their taste, and their touch – rendering them incapacitated completely. Resulting to an absence of the physical feeling through which one would receive information about the world around him. The curse of lacking the specialized function essential to receive and respond to a given stimulant.

Silence, at last. The Dark King pinched the bridge of his nose to calm himself and decided to let his wife have her way with the mortals before he would commence his own enjoyment.

“Am I too late for the festivities, My Lord?” A female voice spoke from across the lavish dining hall; the familiar melody of wind chimes tinkling, reverberated in his ears.

“My Queen…” The Dark Lord was breathless and in awe as he drank in her appearance.

Her soft, honey-toned skin was breathtakingly flawless as she wore a form-fitting dress made of the finest silk. It was not like the white gown she had worn in the Upper World which had symbolized her innocence and her purity, no – this one had the color of the loveliest ebony. Its exquisite black fabric had the darkest hue, engulfing any source of light that stood in its path. She was a vision to behold. There was no ethereal being as lovely as she. A Dark Lady. The Dark Goddess. His Dark Queen.

The flower crown of narcissus sparkled majestically on top of her head while her auburn curls tumbled gently down her back. Her plump lips were stained blood-red as it curved into a smile and her lustrous amber eyes beamed like twin moons inside the grand room. Then, she walked toward him as her hair fluttered wildly in the air and her gown clung to her figure, following her every movement. With each stride she made, her mind became clearer. Her body more determined, and her heart more resolute.

“It cannot be called merriments without your presence,” he replied as she now stood in front of him and he bent down to lay a kiss on the back of her hand.

“You indulge me too much...” Hermione uttered in adoration and whispered his name, “Tom.” A gesture that was meant to be heard by him alone.

“I can burn their bodies under the blinding heat of the Sun for Minerva to watch,” the Dark Lord murmured against the shell of her ear as Theseus and Pirithous’ frenzied actions and loud cries both came to a standstill – destitute of any feeling or sensation.

She furrowed her brows and gave him a skeptical expression. “You don’t have that kind of power over the Sun.” Though, a Cheshire smile soon replaced her disbelieving look. She was thrilled with the prospect of her mother’s horrified reaction when she would soon discover what would be left of her noble followers.

The Dark Lord cupped her face and rubbed her cheek with his thumb, before lifting her chin to face him. His steely gaze was steady as he met her amber eyes. “Actually,” he said, “I do.”

And Hermione believed him as she pressed her lips on his gloved hand. She ambled toward their two prisoners after giving her respects to the Furies who were amongst them.

She stood in front of the seated men who were motionless as Tom’s snakes continued to coil around their bodies. Without even uttering a word, she waved her fingers through the air, allowing her magic to burst forth from her fingertips. She returned their senses and banished the serpents that formed unbreakable shackles all around their limbs.

They smelled of decaying plant matter as though their souls would have left their bodies if the Goddess of Spring hadn't intervened. Slowly, Theseus and Pirithous opened their eyes and blinked. Their vision was hazy but it was not because of the tears that had welled up in their sockets. It was simply the mind and the body's way of adjusting to the senses they had previously lost. Their consciousness floated through an empty space filled with a thick static as though to get hold of all these sensations. Their heartbeats pounded loudly for this newfound energy surged freely through their veins.

They breathed in and out, savoring the rich air that filled their lungs once more. Then, they shifted on their imprisoned seats in search for an ounce of comfort. They were astounded to see that the serpents' restraints no longer impeded their every movement. They were free!

Quickly, their eyes searched for their savior and it landed on the living deity whose beauty and radiance did not belong in the caverns of the gloomy Underworld. It was just as they had hoped for the Goddess of Spring to save their lives. She would now come with them to the world above! Oh how their hearts rejoiced! Minerva would reward them with innumerable gifts and riches!

Theseus and Pirithous swiftly scrambled up from their chairs, eager to shower Hermione with gratitude and praise. But then, they faltered with their steps. Something did not seem right. It was as if they were hit by a newfound fear they could not quite place. They felt the hairs on the back of their necks standing and the sensation of a terrible dread chasing up their spines. It was a type of fear that did not shut the mind down but would fully awaken it.

The mortals watched as Hermione stepped closer and closer to them. She encircled the two in a way a predator would hunt its prey. Something was odd about her. There was this dark, malicious energy enveloping her body that was never there before when she was on the Earth. Her hard gaze towered over them while they stood there, rigid and afraid. Their faces were drained of color and their eyes remained fixed on the goddess, unable to avert them. Every inch of their bodies refused to move and they could not even force their lips to speak. Time felt almost like an eternity as their lungs had forgotten how to breathe.

And with just a single command, Hermione shattered the silence.