Disclaimer: I do not own any aspects of Harry Potter in any way, shape, or form. Do you think Sirius Black would have died if I did?!
Written for Round 4 of The Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition as Chaser 3 of the Chudley Cannons.
CHASER 3: Each member of the team must choose one creature - no double claims - as a prompt. You will be writing from the point of view of the creature you choose. (Dementor)
Prompts:
5. (quote) "Not all who wander are lost." ~ J.R.R. Tolkien
6. (word) Stygian
8. (dialogue) "Why am I crying? I'm so sick of crying."
The rest of the Challenges and Competitions are written at the bottom.
Huge thanks to my awesome friend, Ned, my fantastic Captain, Mary, and my wifey, Lils.
You guys are the best.
Word Count: 2475
The ferryman stares at me from beneath his threadbare cloak. It is no more than a fluttering scrap of tarnished russet cloth. It reminds me of dried blood; the thought makes me smile. The ferryman grumbles and coughs impatiently. He stretches his hand out, the gnarled, bony fingers covered by a thin layer of gray, decaying skin.
"Payment," he says, his voice rough and venomous like the turbulent waters of the river he sails across. He realizes after a few moments that I'm not going to give him anything. His eyes narrow as his hand disappears underneath his cloak. "Those who do not pay may not pass." He turns his back, dismissing me, and I feel an invisible force surround me, forcing my flickering wisp of a soul to fly out of line.
The shades stare blankly at me as I land on the edge of the shore. Their faces remain impassive as they glide around me; the ones with coins under their tongues drift towards the ferryman, awaiting their turn to cross the river of the damned, the ones without payment — like me — wander aimlessly, trying in vain to find another way.
The gentle waves of the river lap hungrily at the shore, the water twisting and swirling like it has a mind of its own. With the ferocity of an uncoiling viper, the water strikes, lashing towards me and wrapping itself onto the misty shadow of my arm.
My mouth opens in a silent scream as I scramble away. The water continues to lap at the shore, and the tendril curling around my arm tightens. The other shades look right past me, their eyes hollow. The ferryman ignores me: the river is hungry, and he would be a fool to stand between it and its next meal. My pleas for help fall on deaf ears.
My free hand digs into the ground as I claw for something to hold onto, something to help me rip myself away from the river and its lethal embrace. My frantic gestures are to no avail; the more I struggle, the more the water burns into me, shredding at the shimmering outline of what once was my body. I throw my head back, a guttural howl tearing out of my throat. Some of the shades turn towards the noise, but their interest fades when they realize it's just me. My eyes dart around, trying to meet theirs, in hope that maybe, just maybe, some of them still hold an essence of compassion, a shred of humanity.
My moment of hesitation encourages the river. It lashes out once more, looping a coil of murky black water around my leg. The water hisses against my quivering form, steam rising from the contact made between myself and the wretched river.
The water digs into me, sharp and unrelenting like a warrior's striking blow. The pain is unbearable, and I scream. I stop begging for mercy. The Styx is a merciless river, crafted out of hate and misery and lost human hopes.
The river rushes toward me, rising up into a great wave as it slams down upon me. The water is as cold as death's touch, and it burns. Every inch of me feels like I've been consumed by roaring fire. I scream.
My loose grip on the shore falters. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, finger by finger, my hands lose their grasp on the dark soil. The river gives an echoing cry of delight as it submerges me, claiming me as another one of its lost souls.
I hear her voice, clear and melodious like the spring birds she is so fond of. The water distorts her features, but I still see her face as it is: fresh and whole and young, like an elegant, pristine flower in full bloom.
Her eyes are green like the grass that grows in the realm above. They are piercing, so bright and full of life, another stark contrast to the dull existence that confines the shades of the Underworld. Her hair falls in beautiful ringlets the colour of gold, a shining beacon of light in our dreary land. Resting atop her luscious locks is a gleaming Stygian silver crown, crafted by the very river I reside in. The crown, embedded with all the jewels of the earth, is proof that this beautiful, innocent child is the Queen of man's worst fear: the Underworld.
Her bare feet dance along the shore, each step like the leaping bounce of a playful pup. The river churns, desperately wanting to devour her but wary and fearful of her husband's wrath.
Her foot snags on a rotting tree branch that had been washed ashore, and she gives a delicate cry of surprise as she stumbles and falls. The crown nestled into her hair tumbles out of place and splashes into the river. I feel myself move towards the silver object, my hand ― now sporting long, curved talons ― grasps it.
She flings her hand out, ready to plunge it into the river and retrieve her lost crown, when the ferryman suddenly speaks. "Do not touch the river, my queen. It is a demon in its own right."
She flinches, yanking her hand back as tears begin to gather in her eyes. They splash into the water, creating ripples that echo down the river. The rim of her eyes turn pink and then red as she wipes them away with a rough swipe. "Why am I crying? I'm so sick of crying." Her voice is harsh as she berates herself, but no matter how hard she tries, the tears keep coming. Her voice raises an octave as she yells. "Stop it, Persephone. Stop it!"
"I have to get it back. Hades will be so mad if I tell him I lost it."
I will myself to float upwards until I'm mere inches from the surface. She continues to ramble, clasping her hands together in a prayer to all the higher gods.
"I can help you." My voice is raspy from misuse, and it sounds more like a gurgle of the river than a coherent voice, but she hears me nevertheless. She jumps back, her hands flying upwards to form a protective shield, transparent except for a slight tinge of green. "My queen," I say with a gentle purr. I let my face emerge from the water, my eyes meeting hers. She trembles, but does not run away in fright.
"I can help you," I repeat. She gives me a wary look, slowly edging closer, her protective shield still up. "Nobody ever does anything for free," she says, her voice a quiet whisper. "What do you want?"
A grin creeps onto my twisted features. "I want to exist, forever at your side. I want to be whole again. I want to be free from this wretched river. I want to stay by your side and live for as long as you do."
She frowns. "That is forever," she says.
My grin widens. "Do you accept, my queen?"
Persephone avoids my gaze as she worries her fingers. "I agree," she says softly after a moment of hesitation.
"Swear it on this river," I say. She may be an innocent dove, but she is still a goddess, and immortals never keep their promises.
"I swear by the river Styx that I, Persephone, Queen of the Underworld, will free this shade from the river and let him be whole again." The river churns violently, glowing a misty, pale gray.
Satisfied, I let my hand rise. She snatches the crown from my clutches with a brilliant smile and hurried words of "thank you, thank, thank you so much!"
Before I know it, her footsteps start to fade away as she runs back to the obsidian palace that she reigns over. "Wait!" I yell, but my voice is washed away with the roaring of the river, with the howls of Cerberus the three-headed dog, and with the screams of the shades suffering eternal torment in the fields of punishment.
"Rise."
My whole being shivers in fear. I know that voice, that cold, deep voice that speaks of pain and hate and misery. I close my eyes and curl into myself, wishing I were somewhere else, somewhere away from the dreadful voice.
"Rise. Now."
His voice has hardened into a command; a command I must obey as a being of his realm. The shimmer that surrounds my transparent soul dims. My translucent body feels heavy and slow as I drift upwards, dreading what is about to come.
My head peeks out of the water, and my eyes are immediately drawn towards the two godly beings that stand before me. One of them is her, my Queen, the one I helped, and the one who promised me eternal life and freedom. She stands with her back straight and a cool mask on her face, although I can see a flicker of fear and guilt in her eyes. Despite the brilliant green Chilton she wears, her light is dimmed by the man ― no, god ― standing beside her.
His face is ageless, both young and old, beautiful and horrific. He is everything and nothing, he is my lord and god, and master of this dreary realm. An aura of darkness surrounds him, and I see that everything near him wilts and dies, except for the bride at his side, whose aura only subsidies a little.
"You were the shade who retrieved my wife's crown, correct?" I shiver again. His voice . . . his voice sends jolts of pain across my body, and I fear, I fear that if just his voice can do that, what could he do if he puts his mind to destroying me?
"Answer me."
I bite back my scream. His two words rip at my transparent flesh, tearing and shredding with the brutality of Cerberus' fangs. "Yes." His eyes narrow and I feel another wave of pain overtake me. "My lord! Yes, my lord!"
The pain subsides. "I also heard," he pauses, and I shudder again. " . . . that you made my wife swear an oath on this very river, correct?"
"Y-yes, my lord," I stammer, wishing I could submerge myself under this river and never emerge again. Hades grins, and I know he has read my mind. "Tell me this oath," he says, his tone a low drawl. He smiles a sinister smile, like a cat playing with his prey.
"I . . . I asked her t-to swear an oath ―"
He raises an eyebrow, cruel amusement glinting in his eyes. "Yes, I knew that much."
"I- asked her to swear an oath saying that she will free me from this river."
"Anything else?"
"And that I'll be whole again."
Silence.
She stands by his side, still and motionless like the statues that line the courtyard of the palace. She doesn't look at me and instead stares out into the river, where Charon is rowing another group of shades towards the gates.
At last, Hades speaks again. "Very well."
My eyes snap back to him the same time hers do. The grin on his face sends a shock of fear throughout my essence. Still, I feel a flicker of hope. "I shall free you from the river, and make you whole again."
My mouth opens, readying to mumble blessings and prayers of gratitude when Hades raises his hand, and I feel it.
Every inch of my spirit freezes, my arms and legs clench as all the transparent blue veins in my body go taut. I am lifted from the river, floating a few feet above it. As quickly as it came, the frozen sensation disappears, and I'm able to control my movements once more. I lift my hand, ready to steady myself into a standing position when I feel it again. This time, I don't freeze.
My veins all snap at once, and before I can scream, they dissolve into molten, liquid fire, blazing through my body, tearing and ripping at me until I am a burning, undead corpse.
My eyes roll back and my mouth opens, but no words come out; my throat was one of the first things that melted into ash.
I can feel my legs burn away with agonizing slowness. Every second is torture as I feel my limbs melt off one by one.
The last thing I see are her bright green eyes, the colour of spring grass and priceless emeralds, before my eyes liquify, turning into a pile of mush in my crumbling sockets.
It has been years. Decades, perhaps millennia.
My lord has kept his promise in the most horrifying way. I am free from the cursed river, at least, but it has cost me. I am whole, but in the worst way. I have a body, a fully functional body with arms that can be touched and legs that can run. I still prefer to glide, however. I have a heart. The fact that it does not beat doesn't matter to me. I have a mouth, or at least, a gaping hole where my mouth would have been. And I have eyes. Eyes that cannot see, but can sense. Eyes that can not look at anything, but a person's aura. But still, I have eyes, and I am grateful.
I drift about from here to there. Sometimes I see someone, a person, sometimes they glow with the blessing of the gods: magic. Most of the time, they don't. Either way, they all make a good meal. Their happiness gives me pleasure, and I feel my arms solidify and my eyes brighten. Their happiness feeds me, empowers me. The more I eat, the more I crave the taste of their joy. The more I eat, the more . . . human I become.
And so I keep eating, in hopes that one day I will be human again.
But that is not the only reason I wander. No, to wander like that would be to drift aimlessly, to be lost. I am not lost. Not all those who wander are lost.
No.
I am looking.
I am looking for her. For her green eyes and her gentle smile and her innocent beauty.
I pass by a place, a place inhabited only by the blessed, the ones with magic. And I see. I see green eyes as bright as emerald. I see a smile as gentle as a dove's wing.
It does not matter that it is a boy. It does not matter that his hair is like a raven's feather and not newly spun gold.
I glide closer and he sees me.
Dementor. Is that what he screams?
It doesn't matter. I have found her. Her bright emerald-green eyes.
I drift closer, my mouth open and my whole body thrumming with anticipation. At long last, I shall get to taste the beauty of Spring.
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