Once upon a time, in the land of the ancient Greeks, in the lands of the mighty Spartan king Agesilaus and of the glorious Olympian gods, a beautiful baby boy was mothered by the water nymph Narcissa. The child was as fair as the sun God Apollo, with hair of finely spun golden thread and skin as pale as alabaster. His silvery blue eyes shone like the depths of Poseidon's kingdom, with wisdom no mere mortal babe would ever possess. Even within his first few days on Earth, the child exuded a silent power which foretold of many things to come.
His overjoyed mother named him Draco.
His childhood was a happy and blissful one. He was raised alongside water and forest nymphs within the untouched northern Greek landscape with its lush forests, sapphire ponds and undiscovered mountains. His mother made sure to keep him away from troublesome mortals until he was able to care for himself.
His childhood bliss did not last very long however, since Hera, Queen of the Gods, had set her jealous gaze upon him ever since his birth. For you see dear reader, our young Draco was not the mere son of a water nymph; he had been fathered by the King of the Gods himself, the almighty Zeus. The slighted Hera, wounded and bitter due to her husband's many indiscretions vowed her vengeance upon the water nymph that had lured her husband away, sadly turning a blind eye upon her husband's many faults. The vindictive Goddess realized, however, that the best way to execute her vengeance on the mother would be by hurting her precious son.
For eighteen years she watched the boy thrive and grow into a magnificent young man, befit of the envy of every God in Olympus and bathed in their every favour. Aphrodite, the Goddess of love and beauty had bestowed upon him to gift of charm, making it so no woman would ever be able to resist his allure. Ares, God of war had made the boy a skilled fighter, a worthy match even to the legendary Achilles himself. Athena, the goddess of battle had given him the gift of wisdom far beyond his years. Artemis, the virgin Goddess of the hunt had given him the gift of magnetism, so that no creature, mortal or otherwise, would ever be able to defy him. Lastly, Artemis' twin brother, the golden God Apollo had given the young Draco the gift of luck.
Thus, upon his eighteenth birthday, the goddess Hera finally gave him her divine gift as well. This was far from being any gift however, for she cursed him in the most savage of ways. Enraged by Draco's beauty and favour with mortals and Gods alike, she cursed him so that by the light of day he would turn into a horrendous serpent like monster who could only feed upon the souls of mortals so as to survive another day. Only by the light of the silent weeping moon would he return back to his mortal form and miserably await the coming of another day. She had forsaken him to roam the world of the mortals, his burning hunger never to be satisfied except by the hand of his true mate, a mortal, whom Hera wagered he would likely never find. Only if he found her would the curse be broken, transforming him back into a mortal.
The horrified Narcissa cried for many days and nights for the fate of her only child. She cried because she knew the innocent boy, now a man, had no fault in this. Rather, it was she that was being punished for lying with the God of Gods so many years before. She made her way to mount Olympus and upon reaching her destination threw herself at the feet of Zeus and cried until she could cry no more. She then retold him the sad story of her son, imploring the almighty God to vanquish the evil curse, for Draco was his son as well.
Zeus was saddened by the fate of his child and infuriated by the invidious nature of his wife, Hera. He sat in quite thought for many hours, formulating some possible solution to this problem. He knew that he could not remove the curse, for that would enrage his wife even further, thus leading to even more catastrophes within the realm of mortals as well as within that of Gods.
After much deliberation, he decided upon a final course of action, and thus gave Draco his final godly gift. Zeus first visited his daughters, the three Moirae who dictated the ultimate destiny of each mortal on Earth. He ordered them to spin a different thread for his son Draco, in which he would find his mate though ultimately, it would be his own task to gain her affection. His mortal mate could be only the purest maiden of the realm. The mighty Zeus then gave his son Draco the gift of immortality, which would elevate him to the rank of lesser God and provide all the powers associated with such a position, upon breaking the curse.
The great and powerful Zeus viewed this as a fair exchange. Draco's curse would serve as a test of sorts, and upon completing this challenge he would be able to take his rightful seat among the Gods of Olympus.
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Two Hundred Years Later
For many long and dreadful months, the majestic town of Corinth had been plagued by horrendous misfortune. The crops had failed, the majority of their cattle had been killed, and numerous men and women had been found dead within their own houses, some ripped to shreds while others lay with their eyes still open, a look of utmost terror upon their lifeless faces. Most shocking among all, however, had been the damage caused to the sacred temple of the divine Goddess Hera that now remained in ruins, its holy priestesses desecrated and slain.
After much deliberation, King Periander of Corinth, advised by the wise elders of the ancient city came to a final conclusion. It was clear that the only way to satisfy the beast attacking their magnificent city was by offering it a sacrifice. Thus, based on the killings that had taken place within the city, many having consisted of young maidens, the cunning king decided it would be best to offer the creature who plagued his people a virgin sacrifice.
The task of selecting a girl was a daunting, thus the king decided it would be best to first consult the famed Pythia, priestess of the Temple of Apollo at Delphi. Though her wise words were vague, they made it clear to the king that only the daughter of noble birth would be suited to satiate the beast's hunger. The oracle also explicitly stated that the girl had to be of the purest virtue, both in mind and body, otherwise they would insult, rather than satisfy the daemon.
The noble families of Corinth were terrified by this prediction, all wishing to shield their daughters from such a cruel fate. Thus, it was with a collective sigh of relief that they accepted the final sacrificial choice, Hermione, daughter or the famed military general Ariesteus. The shrewd king had made what he believed to be the wisest decision, for he realized the young girl would not be missed by many apart for her father, who would likely be brought to his knees by the impending fate of his only child, thus no longer posing a threat to the throne.
For you see dear reader, it was common knowledge among the people of the time that the fair lady did not make the best of impression. She was stubborn and viewed by many as quite arrogant. Her father had always wanted a son, thus upon her birth, he made the choice of raising his young daughter as a boy. She was provided with the best tutors of the time to cultivate her young mind and shape her ideas. She was instructed in philosophy, mathematics, history and culture, as well as in the art of combat, a privilege rarely extended to young women. Though female, she achieved in making her stern military commander of a father a very proud man, though he only rarely showed it.
Thus by the age of seventeen, the young Hermione had an education that rivalled that of many male heirs of the noblest families and her analytical mind did not put this knowledge to waste. Her upbringing had shaped her into a formidably critical and logical person. Unlike the girls her age, she was not concerned with young poets and soldiers, but rather with her precious scrolls. The only people whose presence she did bare, apart from that of her father, were philosophers, with whom she would proceed to start heated debates over the most minute of things as exercise to her keen mind and sharp wit.
Many disapproved of such display from a mere girl as they continued to believe that academia was not the proper field of study for a young daughter of favourable heritage. Hermione's icy demeanour and aloof nature further incited this disapproval. Unlike the other young girls of her age, she was not a sweet and caring creature, but rather cold and often even rude, aspects which could only be outshined by her formidable beauty, a feature which she was thoroughly unaware of. Many young boys had begged for her hand, confessing their passionate love in the most ridiculous ways, though they had all been dismissed away by the girl's stern father or by her own cruel words.
She had no time for men, or so she stated. She was not blind to the many disadvantages posed to her by her unfortunate gender, and so she had no desire to further these disadvantages by placing herself at the mercy of a man. Her father was the only man who understood her, and he offered her the degree of freedom which she desired. Thus, she saw no advantage in becoming a slave to the whims of another. Especially not for the pure purpose of love, a sentiment which she was highly sceptical of, and which in that day and age would likely last a few years at most, after which she would be replaced by a mistress, forced to lead the remainder of her days in isolation, tending to unwanted children.
Thus our story leads us to the fateful day upon which the sacrifice was to be held. The royal guard was expected to arrive once the sun reached its highest peak within the cerulean sky to escort the young Hermione through the streets of Corinth to the temple of Aphrodite, patron Goddess of the ancient city. Though this was meant to be a tradition of high honour depicting the courage and virtue of the sacrifice, Hermione knew better. It was meant to pacify the people, while the royal guard was in place so as to make sure she would not run.
She sat on a low stool in her chamber, awaiting for her maid to finish coiffing her hair. Her father stood silently, leaning against a wall, a grim expression on his face as he gazed at his stoic daughter. As per custom, she had been clothed in the utmost luxury so as to depict that she was of noble blood and social standing, though she highly doubted the creature would care what colour her chiton was as he ate her.
Once the maid had finished detailing her hair, Hermione dismissed her and stood so as to survey her appearance in the polished silver mirror opposite her. She wore a chiton of pure white made of the softest silk and draped delicately around her slight body. The long rectangular piece of fabric had been draped so as to accentuate her womanly figure, though only slightly, and pinned above her right shoulder, left to drape delicately around her arm. A gold, braided griddle was tightened around her mid section, accentuating her tiny waste. Her golden brown waves were intricately braided and pinned in an elaborate fashion atop her head while a simple golden band was pinned within her curls.
The clothing was far more extravagant than she usually wore; however, it was tradition that the sacrificial virgin be clothes in the style of a bride. She considered this a rather ironic fact as they were sending her to her death, but she had no will to complain at the moment. For the majority of her life, majority had represented a sort of death for her, thus it was almost fitting, in an unusual way.
She turned around so as to face her quiet father whose anguished gaze had never once left her figure. She approached him slowly, silently.
"Dear father, do not be distressed by my fate," she finally said, careful in choosing her words. "It is the gods' will and a great honour for our family."
At these words, her father snorted in disgust. "Yes, a terribly important honour especially since it offers that coward Periander the chance of ruining me. Make no mistake child, this is not fate, it is politics," he said in disgust.
"Even so father, you must not allow this to break your spirit. If it is politics as you wisely maintain, then he shall get what he deserves, for I feel that the father of the sacrificial daughter that saved Corinth will certainly be held in high regard by many," replied Hermione. "An advantage that shall allot you much power which can be used against the tyrant king."
"But at what cost, dear child?" he replied, his weariness overcoming him as he sat on a nearby stool. "It is not power but peace that I want. I have lived my life successfully, fighting for the glory of Corinth and yet this is how my family and I are repaid?"
"That is precisely what he wants of you father. He wants to break you, he wants you to give up, but you shan't give in to his provocation!" exclaimed his enraged daughter, a fire sparkling deep within her eyes. "If not for your own self, than at least for me, your only daughter. I shall not be peaceful even in death knowing that that tyrant is allowed to continue his bloody reign. Many have been slighted by him in much the same way that he slights, you father. Do not allow him to go unpunished. You are the greatest military leader to ever have fought for Corinth. People are bound to join your cause, and under your rule and wise leadership, the battle may yet be won."
"You are wise beyond your years, child. Yet as I have said before, it is not power that I want. What parent could ever trade the life of their only child for power," he replied, his dark eyes swimming in a sea of anguish. "However, if this is you dying wish, I shall do as you ask of me and shall avenge your name in the only way that I can."
"Dear father, you have always taught me to be strong and fearless in the face of adversity. I have not forgotten your many lessons. Though I know my fate is unfair, perhaps it is indeed what the Gods will. I only ask that you do not allow the tyrant king to further bestow such "honour" on other innocent souls," she said, her words were soft though full of meaning. Ariesteus came forth and embraced his daughter tightly, a rare display of affection.
"May Zeus have mercy on you, dear child," he said as he let her go. At that instant, a curt knock was heard, denoting the arrival of the royal escort. Hermione held her father's gaze a minute longer, for the first time feeling her courage falter, though she did not allow him to see this. She was his strength and if she were to give up, she could not bear to think what would happen to her dear father.
She opened the door of her chamber, glancing around the medium sized room that had been her sanctuary for the majority of her life. This would be the last time her eyes would fall upon its painted walls, the dark wooden desk with scrolls spread upon its surface and the medium sized recliner bed. She immediately tore her eyes away, willing for her courage to come back as she walked towards the courtyard where the guard awaited.
The trip through the streets of Corinth had been agonizingly hot as the midday sun mercilessly shone upon her uncovered shoulders. Hermione did not allow her discomfort to show, however, as she walked with her back straight, head held high and eyes cold and unfaltering. Her challenging gaze pierced anyone who dared hold it for a second too long, whether out of pity or mere curiosity. She was certain that she was not the sight expected by many people. They would have anticipated a whimpering girl being dragged through the streets, begging to be released from such a cruel fate. Hermione was the exact opposite of that, her icy demeanour suggesting confidence and aloofness rather than hysteria.
They finally approached the temple of Aphrodite on the outskirts of the city after what felt like hours. The ceremony was long and boring, with many prayers being offered to the Olympian gods before the high priestess finally focused her attention on Hermione. One she had been blessed and anointed, she was ready to be presented as the holly sacrifice. They first tied her wrists together, securing them behind her back before tying her to the outdoor alter as she lay on it.
She viewed the entire process as tiring and rather barbaric as she had no intention of running, however, she kept her sharp words to herself, praying for it to be over soon. By that point in time, the young Hermione felt that even facing the beast would be more pleasurable than what she was being put through. Her arms were burnt from the prolonged exposure to the scorching July sun and her legs ached from walking all day.
The setting sun announced the finish of the ceremony. The crowds began to clear away from the temple and back to their dwellings, a strange collection of emotions having washed over them. Though they hoped the attacks would now stop allowing them to go back to their regular way of life, they had all been strangely affected by the stoic young girl tied to the altar, courageously, almost defiantly, awaiting the fate bestowed upon her. They felt admiration, mingled with a strange envy. Many had expected a show today, but had not received one as the girl refused to react at all. It seemed as if she had almost come to terms with her fate.
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I'm working on my two other stories right now as i want to finish them before I continue posting so I don't make you guys wait forever in between chapters. This is just a little something I cam up with that's been plaguing my mind for the past little way. It will be a short three or four part story. I got inspired by the Psyche and Cupid story so I decided to write it Draco and Hermione style. Hope you enjoy it, drop me a line and tell me what you think. Oh, and it's rated R for a reason, so be warned ;).