Disclaimer:
A/N: This is in response to With A Midnight Smile's fruit challenge. It's a bit different to what I usually write, but I figured it could go well. The story below is based on the 1911 Encyclopaedia Britannica's account of the Persephone myth. This account of the myth is also found below.
"As she was gathering flowers with her playmates in a meadow, the earth opened and Pluto, god of the dead, appeared and carried her off to be his queen in the world below. ... Torch in hand, her sorrowing mother sought her through the wide world, and finding her not she forbade the earth to put forth its increase. So all that year not a blade of corn grew on the earth, and men would have died of hunger if Zeus had not persuaded Pluto to let Persephone go. But before he let her go Pluto made her eat the seed of a pomegranate, and thus she could not stay away from him for ever. So it was arranged that she should spend two-thirds of every year with her mother and the heavenly gods, and should pass the rest of the year with Pluto beneath the earth. ... As wife of Pluto, she sent spectres, ruled the ghosts, and carried into effect the curses of men."
She stooped over, pale fingers latching on to the lowest part of the flower's smooth stem before plucking the new bloom from the ground. Placing it in her basket, she continued on to the next patch of brightly coloured wildflowers, humming contentedly. Hermione loved to roam the hills behind her home, loved being close to nature in any way possible. A warm breeze pushed Hermione's linen shift against her bare calves and she smiled. The almost-silence was broken by giggling and Hermione turned to see her two favourite friends, Ginevra and Luna racing one another down the hill towards the valley.
"Hermione," Luna called as she ran. "Are you coming?"
"I'll be just behind you," Hermione yelled back, stooping down to pick another flower. As she was hunched over gathering some small lavender blooms, Hermione glimpsed something from the corner of her eye. Just ahead there was a large, blood red poppy, one of the most beautiful poppies she'd ever seen. Minerva would love this, Hermione thought to herself with a grin and quickly covered the few metres separating her from the flower. Without a second thought, Hermione reached down and grabbed the flower. It didn't budge. Planting both bare feet firmly on the ground, Hermione tugged harder, to no avail. Grunting unhappily, Hermione gripped the flower's stem with both hands and pulled until the flower finally was ripped from the ground.
Where the flower had been there was now a small hole. A small hole that was steadily widening into a much larger hole. Hermione's amber eyes widened as the hole grew. "Ginevra! Luna," she screamed frantically, but her voice was carried off with the wind. She glanced over her shoulder, praying to see her friends rushing towards her. Instead, she only saw the expanse of the grassy hill behind her, tall grass swaying in the gentle wind. The ground beneath Hermione's feet began to crumble and she shrieked, trying to backpedal away from the gaping hole in the earth. The earth was quaking and Hermione's bottom lip trembled as an overwhelming bout of fear overtook her.
Grasping the scarlet poppy tightly, Hermione tumbled down into the hole like a rag doll, where she was soon swallowed by darkness.
Her eyelids felt like lead weights and Hermione struggled to open them. Dim light seeped into her vision and Hermione quickly shut her eyes again. She had been expecting to awake to total darkness. Blinking open, Hermione found herself face to face with someone she'd only heard about in tales told to scare, only seen in nightmares.
"Don't be frightened," the death god spoke, his pale blue eyes icy and lifeless. "I don't mean to harm you." Hermione fought off her first instinct, to faint, and took in the sight of the god, someone she had only heard described around a fire under the stars. He was crouched down beside the pallet of furs she was currently lying on, but she could tell that at his full height he would practically eclipse her. The death god had a strong facial structure, with a prominent jaw and cheekbones. Loose black curls fell artfully across his forehead and around his ears. He was familiarly solid, much like the soldiers of her own city, and wore a black tunic that fell to just below his knees crouching as he was . All in all, the god of death was painfully perfect, as were all gods, and achingly beautiful.
"Have I – Am I – dead," Hermione asked curiously, dreading the answer. The god chuckled.
"No, you aren't dead," the god said, his voice low and smooth. It's rich sound caught her off-guard; she had expected something much more hollow. "Do you wish you were?"
Hermione scowled at the god's twisted manner of speaking. "Should I?"
"Now that's a question only you can answer. Although, I think you'll be rather content in the underworld, alive." Hermione's eyes widened and her hand flew to cover her mouth. "I'm staying here," Hermione asked incredulously.
"Of course," the death god said matter-of-factly. "As my queen. Queen of the Underworld." Hermione gasped. The already odd situation became overwhelming and Hermione promptly fainted.
When Hermione came to, she was still on the fur pallet that she had woken up on the first time, but this time she was all alone. The room was dark and without windows, the only source of light being a small wall sconce. Was she really stuck here? It couldn't have been a dream, because this was the second time she had woken up. What about her friends? What about her family, her mentor, Minerva? Hermione felt the familiar burn in her nose and throat that warned her of the impending tears. A loud sob escaped her lips and racked her body. This couldn't be happening, not to her. This was impossible. She just couldn't believe it was true. The young, curly-haired girl was reduced to tears, crying until, exhausted, she fell into a deep slumber.
"You'll learn to like it here, you know," were the first words Hermione heard when she woke. The death god was once again in the room with her, but this time he was pacing at the end of her pallet. "I heard you crying."
"I would like to go home," Hermione whispered quietly, pushing herself up into a sitting position.
"Yes, well, I'm afraid that isn't going to be happening anytime soon." The god of death stopped his pacing and fixed Hermione with a cold stare. "Once you enter the underworld, you can never return to the world above." Hermione felt tears prick in her eyes again, but she would not allow the god to see her cry. It was bad enough that he had heard her tears.
"I don't believe you heard me correctly," Hermione spoke, more confidently than before. "I would like to go home, now." She stood up from her furs, brushing imaginary dust from her shift. The god advanced on Hermione, towering above her petite figure. His long-fingered hand shot out, gripping her chin tightly in his fingers. Hermione whimpered, blinked, and a tear slid down her cheek mutinously.
"No, I believe it is you who did not hear me correctly. There is no going back now that you are here. That is the way things are and always have been. You are my queen, and you have no say in that matter." The god growled angrily and stormed towards the heavily bolted door only to be stopped by a small hand grasping his elbow.
"Dumbledore will not let you do this," Hermione said lowly, her grip firm on the god's elbow. "He won't let you do this to me, a mere mortal. Minerva will see to it that I'm returned. Trust in that." She released him and turned away, returning to her pallet, hands balled into fists, face contorted in grief.
Hermione turned at the sound of the door creaking open, quickly sitting up on her pallet.
"Yes, who's there?," she called out, watching as thin pale fingers wrapped themselves around the edge of the door. It was so difficult trying not to be frightened in this place, this hell. Hermione had been alone in the same room for at least two days, without food, and only a small cask of water to drink from. The figure that floated through the door was skeletal to say the least. Bone-thin and gaunt, a girl, who, at one time, may have been a nymph, walked through the door, carrying an empty wash basin. Following her was another girl, who looked much the same, carrying two buckets of steaming water.
"Who are you?," Hermione bit out, pulling her linen sheet around her body.
"We are servants of the death lord. We've come to bathe and dress you for your evening meal," the first of the two girls spoke, her dark eyes dull and sunken into her skull. Setting down the basin, the second of the two girls poured the steaming water into the bowl with thin arms. Hermione stood and walked to the basin, stepping into the water still in her shift. As she soaked, one of the girls left only to return with an armful of fresh grey cloth to be wrapped into a peplo. Hermione stood from the basin and stared expectantly at both girls until, silently, they retreated from the room to let Hermione dress in peace. She was familiar with making the rectangle of linen into a loose robe herself, and she removed her shift easily, dropping the wet cloth to the floor with a resounding slap
At that very moment, the door to the room was flung open and Hermione was greeted with the sight of the death god, angry and fuming, standing in her doorway. "Which deity do you think you are, scaring the Lampades away?" With an ear-splitting shriek, Hermione scrambled to cover herself with her hands. The death god merely stood there, darkened eyes glaring at Hermione, drinking in the sight of her naked form greedily.
"Go," Hermione shouted at the god of death, backing up into the shadows of her room. The death god nodded and slammed the door closed again. Hermione felt her own hot blush at being caught in such a vulnerable state. Grabbing the dark cloth, Hermione wrapped it haphazardly around her petite body, securing it with a gold cloth sash, before storming from the room to find the dining hall.
"You look absolutely breathtaking," the death god spoke as soon as Hermione managed to find the room where she was to eat.
"Said as if you're still breathing. Don't waste your pretty words on me," Hermione growled out, angrily taking her seat at the opposite end of the rectangular table. "You've already trapped me; there's no convincing to be done." Hermione moodily picked at the food in front of her, her voracious appetite nearly gone from her anger.
"Would you rather, then, that I say I much prefer you without any clothing at all," the death god spoke, one dark eyebrow arched in question. Hermione choked on the piece of pheasant she had been chewing. "Please, if I must stay here, do not be so crude in my presence," Hermione said, folding her hands in her lap. The death god glared at her, and Hermione returned his strong gaze.
"You will learn your place soon," the god said, his eyes downcast as he ate.
"My place? My place?" Hermione looked outraged. "I have no place here. I belong with the living, not here with the soulless dead." Hermione spat out the last word, looking directly at the death god himself.
"You may see it that way now," the dark-haired immortal said, "but you will change your ways. You will. You'll see soon enough that you have always belonged here, with me. The fates have made it so." Hermione, incensed, stood up, slamming her chair under the table before fleeing the room in near-tears.
Sighing, Hermione stared at the carved stone ceiling above her sleeping pallet. How long had she been here now? A few months, maybe? She wasn't sure; there was no way for her to tell the passing of time without the passing of the sun. To be honest, Hermione was a bit worried that she was still stuck in the underworld. Minerva, her mentor, was particularly close with Dumbledore, a demi-god in the living world. Both Minerva and Dumbledore had the same kinds of powers that Hermione discovered she had from an early age. Why hadn't either of the two rescued Hermione from this hell yet? They both had an infinite amount of power among the gods. It couldn't take more than a few choice words to the death god to force him to free her.
"I've been sent to tell you that the death god requests your presence in the Great Room," one of the Lampades spoke, her bony form coming through the door.
"Well you can tell him that if he'd like to see me he can retrieve me himself!" Hermione returned her stare to the ceiling as the nymph of the underworld slunk back through the door. She doubted that the god of death would be pleased with her response, but she didn't think she really cared. Soon enough, Hermione heard the familiar sound of the death god as he stormed down the hall in the direction of her room.
"Do you find it amusing to be so difficult," the god exploded as soon as he walked through the door.
"Didn't you learn your lesson last time," Hermione asked boredly, sitting up. "Knock first." The god growled.
"You wanted me to retrieve you myself. Here I am," the god spoke sarcastically, flinging his arms out to both sides. Striding over to Hermione, he yanked her roughly up from her furs. With a firm grip on her bicep, he tugged her towards the door. Hermione planted her feet as firmly as she could on the cold stone floor, but her strength was no match for the god's, and she found herself being dragged down the corridor in an unknown direction.
"You'll be quite surprised to hear that I actually have a gift for you," the god said through gritted teeth. "You would've known sooner had you not decided to be a horridly ungrateful little wench." Hermione rolled her eyes.
"A gift," Hermione asked snidely. "Perhaps it's a dead animal, or better yet, a human skull! I just adore being part of the underworld." The god tightened his grip on Hermione until she yelped. Hermione was positive her pale skin would bruise from the god's hold.
"I suppose you'll just have to see what it is for yourself," the god said, thrusting Hermione in the direction of a dark, wooden door. She wasn't sure where she was now, and had gotten quite confused by the amount of corridors the god had taken her down. There was no point in making a run for it now. Hermione cautiously extended a hand to the door and pressed it open gently. She bit her tongue at the sight she encountered.
Sprawling in front of Hermione was what appeared to be a garden, albeit a dying one. It appeared to be some sort of a courtyard, though when Hermione looked up she only saw complete darkness. Small wall sconces were attached to the walls that surrounded the courtyard, and there were tiny windows through which Hermione could see other corridors. Hermione took a step into the 'garden' and took in the dark, wilted flowers. They were dying without light. A small fountain sat in the middle of the courtyard, sputtering crystal clear water.
"I know you like being out of doors," the god spoke, his eyes directed at his feet, his hands connected behind his back. "The underworld is a difficult place to grow a garden," he chuckled self consciously, "but it was the best I could do."
Hermione pursed her lips at the conflicting feelings warring through her body. Undoubtedly, this was one of the sweetest things that anyone had ever done for her, but it was slightly off-putting that the one person she hated most had done it. Hermione wasn't sure whether to be happy, or whether to cry. How could such an awful creature, the god of the underworld, have done something so thoughtful, so caring? Hermione turned to face the god and sent him a weak smile before running from the courtyard. She'd find her way back eventually.
The days went on, and Hermione found herself attempting to make her stay in the underworld better. She tidied up her small room, and shared more meals with the god. The meals were still silent, but at least they occurred more often than before. Hermione found herself returning to the dining hall for the second time in one day. Two meals with the god in one day? What was the world, or underworld for that matter, coming to?
Hermione took her usual seat opposite of the death god and began to eat her evening meal in silence. She was quite shocked when the god broke the silence, and jumped visibly in her seat.
"I'm at a loss, Hermione," the god spoke, his voice low and calm. "You hate me. I do not know what else I could possibly do to gain your trust." Hermione swallowed the bite of food she was currently chewing.
"Blaise."
Hermione's eyes widened. Had he – Did he honestly just – No, it couldn't be.
"My name is Blaise, Hermione. Or rather it was, before I assumed responsibility as the god of the underworld." Hermione fought to control her breathing. The gods never revealed themselves to mortals, ever. If they came to the mortal world, they came in the form of animals, or disguised in some way, so that no human would ever find their existence more than folklore. By giving Hermione his name, he gave her himself. She had complete control over the death god, now that she could call him by name. She knew his greatest weakness, his greatest secret.
"Please don't make me suffer your dislike any longer, Hermione," Blaise said quietly, his pale eyes boring into her own. "Please." Hermione stood from her seat slowly, walking over to stand next to where Blaise was seated. It was almost as if she'd lost control of her body's movements. The death god stared up at her questioningly from where he sat, bringing himself up as well.
Hermione gazed up into Blaise's eyes, feeling for the first time the sense of destiny that the god always spoke of. She felt a sense of belonging, something she had never felt in the underworld before. The god leaned closer to Hermione, bringing his lips mere inches from her own. Hermione felt her breathing increase rapidly and she tried to hide her fear from the god. After what seemed an eternity, Blaise closed the small distance between Hermione and he, pressing his lips gently to hers in a perfect kiss. Hermione gasped at the contact, and the god took advantage of her vulnerable state to plunder her mouth with his tongue.
Without realising her own actions, Hermione's hands gripped tightly onto the front of Blaise's tunic, pulling him even closer to her own body. She had never been kissed before, but she had never expected it to feel anything like this. It was like hundreds of little stars were shooting across her mind, bouncing off of her skull in a continuous, non-stop motion. She couldn't think, she couldn't breathe. She really couldn't breathe. Pulling away from the god, she sucked in a harsh breath, concentrating on avoiding thought about what had just happened.
"Now you know," Blaise said, leaning his forehead against her own. "I know you know; I could feel it. You know we belong together. This is the way the stars have aligned." Hermione exhaled roughly at the god's passionate words. As much as she wanted to deny what Blaise had just said, she knew doing so would be untruthful. Instead of responding to the god's comments at all, Hermione found herself once again fleeing his presence. Why did it always end this way with him?
Hermione stretched lithely as her eyes slowly blinked open. She had slept better than ever before and she hated to think that it may have had something to do with the god's, Blaise's, tender kiss the night before. Her stomach growled with hunger, and Hermione smiled at the thought of fresh fruit for breakfast. There was also another sort of hunger Hermione felt, one that was very unfamiliar and mildly perplexing. Hermione was acutely aware of the fact that she very much wanted to kiss Blaise again. She needed too. More than that, she wanted to explore the planes of his angular body with her small hands, find the spots that made him moan with even the softest caress of her lips. It was disconcerting, having these sorts of thoughts about someone she felt compelled to hate.
Hermione shook her head in hopes of ridding herself of her racy thoughts and stood from her bed, reaching for her discarded tunic. Donning her shift, Hermione quickly left her room to find breakfast.
Hermione was quite shocked when she entered the dining room and did not find Blaise. Eyebrows furrowing, Hermione turned from the room and peered down the corridor in both directions. No Blaise. Then, as if the devil knew she were thinking of him, Hermione heard the death god's raised voice coming from a room to the right. Following the corridor and the sound of Blaise's voice, Hermione found him, as well as another, in the room at the end of the hallway.
Dumbledore was stood complacently by Blaise, looking on calmly as the younger man ranted. His blue eyes twinkled, and the hint of a smile curved his lips.
"No, under no circumstances will you take her from me," Blaise said angrily, his eyes darkened with wrath. "Not now. She's beginning to like it here, to like me," Blaise trailed off, his voice going thoughtful. "And I'll be damned if I let you steal that from me!"
Dumbledore merely smiled gently at Blaise, his hands clutching one another in front of his robes. "Blaise, I'm not here to steal anything from you. Minerva and I decided that it was in the girl's best interests to return to the world of the living. She is still alive, after all. It's only right that she return to where she belongs." Blaise glared at the older man angrily.
"This is where she belongs! Why can't you and Minerva see that?" Blaise began pacing angrily, pausing at a small desk, resting his hands on it, his back to Hermione in the doorway. "Even she sees it now. Why do you always feel the need to go against what the fates have decided?" Blaise closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, still leaning into the desk.
"Blaise," Dumbledore began, approaching the man, "in cases such as this, it's only necessary. You may have her as your queen when she's passed on. For now, though, she's full of life! She has so much yet to do. You don't want to take that away from her, do you? You wouldn't want to hurt the one you love most, would you?"
Blaise's shoulders shook once, as if he were holding in a sob. "I'm not hurting her," the god said quietly, almost questioningly.
"You're not," Hermione spoke up from the doorway, approaching Blaise. She rested her small hand against his shoulder and Dumbledore merely raised his eyebrows at her presence. Blaise visibly calmed at Hermione's words, and he turned to face her, grasping her tiny hand in his own larger one. "But I would like to go home. To see Minerva, to see my family, my friends." Much to Hermione's surprise, instead of getting angry, Blaise merely looked hurt. "I'm sorry, Blaise," Hermione whispered, bringing his hand to her cheek, gently pressing a kiss to his palm. "I miss my world."
Blaise turned from Hermione again, eyes downcast, shoulders slumped. "One night," he said softly. "Let me have one night with her, Albus, and then I'll let her go." Dumbledore looked at Hermione questioningly and she nodded her assent.
"Tonight, Blaise, and then she must go home."
Hermione was pretty positive that she knew what would be happening when Dumbledore left. She followed Blaise silently and at a safe distance through the winding corridors, distracting her mind from thoughts of what would happen when they reached their destination.
"I can practically hear your thoughts, Hermione," Blaise said, amused, as he continued walking down the hallway. "Don't be nervous, please." Blaise opened a wide door to his left. "I won't do anything that makes you uncomfortable." Hermione peered around Blaise's solid form and into the room, noticing that he must've lead her to his bedroom. The room was dimly lit, as were all the others, but lavishly decorated. Hermione noticed the perfection with which the sconces were gilded, the sturdiness of his own washing basin. Hermione also noticed a writing desk situated in the corner of the room, the legs carved intricately with different scenes of the underworld. She spied the thick furs that Blaise used for sleeping and paused in her thoughts. Was that where they were going to – going to...?
"Stop," Blaise's voice broke through Hermione's thoughts. "If it's upsetting to you, we don't have to do this." Hermione let loose a breath that she hadn't known she was holding. He'd finally confirmed her suspicions. Stepping into the room, Hermione turned to face Blaise.
"I want to," Hermione said, warm golden eyes eagerly meeting Blaise's sapphire stare.
Hermione bit her lip to keep from groaning. Every single one of her nerve endings was on fire, tingling erratically with the most intense feeling. With the sconces blown out, Hermione could only feel what was going, her sense heightened by her impairment. Blaise's warm lips placed open mouthed kisses along her strong jaw, trailing down her neck to tug gently at her earlobe with his teeth.
With both of their tunics discarded, Blaise had taken to exploring every single dip and curve of Hermione's lithe form. One hand cupped her breast, alternating between squeezing pleasurably and tweaking her hardened nipple. The other hand grasped firmly onto Hermione's hip, pulling her gently against his erection. Hermione gasped with realisation. Blaise looked up from her neck, trying to find Hermione's eyes, trying to see if she was alright, but could only make out a shadow.
"Don't," Hermione breathed out softly. "Don't stop."
Blaise brought the hand from Hermione's breast to her face, his thumb gently sliding over her cheekbone, caressing her full bottom lip. He placed the gentlest of kisses to Hermione's lips before sliding down her body, nibbling and licking, pausing to dip his tongue into the indent of her bellybutton. Hermione thought she'd scream when she felt his tongue there. Blaise licked leisurely at her arousal, paying special attention to her swollen clit. The fingers on one hand grasped Hermione's pale thigh while the other hand's were put to a more pleasurable use. Hermione whimpered at the first intrusion; absolutely no one had ever touched her in that way before. After a few moments discomfort, the feeling was replaced by the fiery need for more, and faster. Soon that feeling was replaced by something completely new to Hermione. Two long fingers thrusted into Hermione's core painstakingly slowly as Blaise's tongue worried her clit. She was sure she was about to burst.
Breathing harshly, Hermione panicked at this new feeling. What was this? As if sensing her worry, Blaise calmly whispered, "Let go, darling, just let go."
With the speed of a comet, Hermione's first orgasm hit her hard. Eyes clamped shut, Hermione moaned lowly, ending with the sputtered whisper of the death god's given name. Hermione was coming down from the ultimate high. Was that it, then? Was it over?
Most definitely not.
"How can I possibly leave you now," Hermione spoke quietly, her head resting on Blaise's solid chest. "How can I possibly stay away for so long?" Hermione spied, for the first time, the hourglass resting on the writing desk. So that was how the god told time. Only a small amount of grains were left in the top half of the glass, and Hermione had the feeling that those grains signified the amount of time she had left in the underworld.
After making love with Blaise all night, Hermione was beginning to have her doubts about returning to the world of the living. Would she truly have to wait until she died to be reunited with her lover? How different would it be then, deceased? She couldn't go that long, she knew she couldn't. When she'd given him herself, it was like the two had sealed their fate. They belonged to each other now, connected by some invisible bind, magnetically pulling them together.
"I shouldn't have been so greedy," Blaise murmured and Hermione could feel the vibrations of his voice. "I should have waited for you to come to me naturally." Hermione fought off the instant reaction of hurt.
"Well, I don't regret it," Hermione said in an almost biting tone.
Blaise sighed, "Neither do I. I just don't want to give you up."
"Isn't there any way I could stay?" Hermione brought a hand to her cheek to swipe away a stray tear.
"I could kill you," Blaise joked, though neither found it very funny. "Though that would kill me." There was silence in the room as Hermione's breathing slowed and became restful. "Hermione! Hermione, are you asleep?," Blaise practically yelled.
"Obviously not," she yawned, nuzzling into his chest.
"I know how you can stay. We have to hurry though; our time's almost up."
Hermione sucked the pomegranate seed from Blaise's finger into her mouth. It was the third seed he'd offered to her, after hurrying around to find the mysterious fruit. When he'd returned to the bedroom, still naked, he'd eagerly cut the pomegranate, hurrying through an explanation. One seed was one month. Eating them one at a time, she needed to eat twelve before the grains of sand ran out. She swallowed down that third seed hurriedly, opening her mouth to receive another when everything went black.
"I don't think I can go another nine months without you," his familiar voice said warmly, blue eyes smiling.
For three months, she was his queen. She was his. And then it began all over again.