WARNING: This does not follow the timeline of characters in canon and Voldemort's physical appearance resembles that of Tom Riddle (no snake-looking/ baldheaded/ sans nose Dark Lord). DARK HERMIONE. Tomione Fest 2017 WIP ENTRY Runner up for Best Smut (All The Lemons)
I'd like to thank HaveALoli, Reyna Sea Flame, and especially Aima D. Duragon (thank you for staying with me until the end). All you ladies are awesome and I was honored to have you on board to help me. I would also like to thank the amazing Maloreiy for making the cover for this story.
My utmost gratitude to the phenomenal CultofStrawberry aka M.M. Kin. She was my inspiration to write this piece and this lovely person has also allowed me to borrow some of her elements from her fanfiction entitled: Darkness Becomes Her (Hades/Persephone). This marvelous work is already a published trilogy – Seeds by M.M. Kin. It has three books in the series and it tackles the love story of Hades and Persephone with amazing twists and turns featuring the other famous gods in Mythology, as well. I devoured all three books and not long ago I read Moonshadows which is also another fantastic mythological story written by this wonderful woman! Please check it out!
References: Greek Mythology by Edith Hamilton, Bulfinch's Mythology & M.M. Kin aka CultofStrawberry
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.