From the author of "Harry Potter and the Dream Book"
HARRY POTTER AND THE ARCHWAY OF THE DEAD Chapter twenty-nineAt first, he thought that he was dead. It was utterly dark around him. There was no sign of an explosion, or of the heap of rocks that should be on top of him. He knew that he had not Disapparated at the last moment because he had not experience the pulling sensation that he had come to associate with it. All that he knew was that he was laying flat on his belly on a dark, cold, sharp and wet surface. As his eyes got accustomed to the darkness, he also saw that the palms of his hands were badly scratched, but somehow he had managed to hang on to the Resurrection Stone. His body was also aching all over as it had a few minutes ago. Not dead? He thought hopefully. What is this place then?
As though answering his question, the space around him suddenly lit up of a pale green glow which seemed to be coming from the ground and not from the ceiling. He got to his feet as best as he could on the slippery floor and the room around him became clearer. His heart sank as soon as he saw the dark rocks and the ghastly greenish water. The cave in which he was standing had a lot in common with the one where he and Dumbledore had fought hundreds of Inferi while recovering a locket in a stone basin. He seemed to have landed on a small isle composed of a single flat rock and there was nothing but water around him. As he peered into the deep, he could see moving pale lights far below and the undulating shapes of dead corpses. They're not bodies, they're souls, he thought immediately.
"What did you expect? Fields of gold? A tunnel and a white light? They always think that they've got it figured out."
It took him a few moments to find the speaker who was hiding in the shadows, but when he saw him, Harry had a hard time containing his shock. The man was tall, dark-haired, handsome, and his traits were all too familiar. Yet, there was such a sneer on his face and an air of pride and arrogance about him, that Harry felt that the facade had to be a deception.
"You're not Sirius," he concluded before the other could speak again.
"Very good!" laughed the all-too familiar voice.
He took a few steps closer so that Harry could fully appreciate his appearance.
"I do like this body, though," he added with a self-satisfied smirk. "I think it makes me more lovable, less frightening."
Harry felt disgusted to see so much smugness on his godfather's face, but it wasn't very surprising, considering who he was talking to.
"You're Hades."
"What did you have in mind? Big red man with horns and a pitchfork? Please. I have a lot more style than that."
He was now circling around Harry, appraising him.
"Yes, there is a little of Peverell in you. The resemblance is there."
"But I'm not the heir. I mean, I am a descendant, but I wasn't worthy."
The words had escaped him rapidly, and he bit his lip afterwards, thinking that he ought not to be so straightforward.
"Not worthy, huh? Perhaps. But you are quite interesting, though, aren't you?"
"Am I dead?"
The man in Sirius' body laughed.
"A lot of people want you dead. A lot of people want you to live as well. If death was a popularity contest, there wouldn't be anyone here. That's why I have the Fates; I let them decide. It's a lot easier on my nerves."
With his finger, he pointed at an opening in the wall that had been concealed moments ago. It was far from where Harry was standing, but in it he could see the shape of three old women in black dresses. The first woman was manipulating a fine silvery cloth, the other was weaving thread on a spinning wheel, and the last one was holding the string in one hand and a pair of scissors on the other. The first one looked up and Harry met her stare; her eyes were white lights which seemed to see right through his soul.
"The Weird Sisters," Harry whispered in wonder.
As he spoke, the last of the three women took up the line and cut it with a metallic snap.
"That's another soul for me. She cuts, and I collect. It's a lot less tedious than having to choose who lives and who dies."
Harry couldn't help throwing him a disgusted look, but the Lord of the Underworld seemed unabashed by it.
"But you, you're not like the rest of them. You're a hero. You destroy the villains, regardless of the inconvenience."
"You mean that Voldemort won't get the chance of killing more people?" Harry snapped.
"I mean this."
Suddenly, a wet and glistering mass lifted out of the water as though there had been an elevator under it. It dripped for a moment, and then tilted sideways unto the flat rock where Harry was standing. It was sickening to behold: a heap of greyish, boneless, rotting entrails. It didn't look like its parts where in the right places; one of its eyes – thankfully, it was closed – was misplaced at the center of what looked like its forehead. The rest of its limbs were roughly folded over its head.
Harry didn't need to be told to know whose body this was. No, this isn't Voldemort's body, he thought. It's his soul.
"What do you suppose I ought to do with this?" Hades snorted. "Normally, I'd just throw it down in the pit. The bowels of the Earth, the fires of Hell, eternal suffering, that's where I put all the wicked ones, you know, the ones that don't deserve a nice afterlife. What about this one, though? It's completely destroyed. It's like a car pulled apart and then put back together all wrong. You expect it to run and say 'Please! Please! Not the fires of Hell!' but it doesn't. It just sits there, useless. You're just wondering if maybe it is missing parts, you know?"
"Is it? I mean, the parts are all accounted for, right?"
"I don't know. I don't think there is any way to tell anymore."
There was something very taunting in Hades' tone. It was as though he was daring Harry to ask for a certainty, a confirmation that Voldemort's soul was whole and complete, though not in the right order.
"What are you going to do with it?" Harry asked, trying to avoid the inevitable question.
"It's a waste of space, to be sure," Hades commented with a revolted snort. "I have my standards, even for the Inferno. I shall think of something."
"Why don't you just feed it to the Dementors," Harry offered bluntly.
"Ah, yes! My faithful servants. They don't even want to taste it."
There was a sound of many whispered moans coming from above. Harry looked up and saw that they were being circled overhead by dark silhouettes. He was surprised not to feel the sudden chill of the Dementor's proximity, but he supposed that it was because it was their domain. Nevertheless, they did not seem so scary to Harry anymore, maybe because he had faced them so often or perhaps it was because he was the presence of Death itself.
"They're not too happy about getting the sack," Hades said slyly, following Harry's gaze.
"I'm sure they'll find something else to do."
"They find you fascinating, you know. They always knew that something wasn't quite right inside, and that always draws them in. They find you shaken. They are wondering if there are any breaks."
Harry couldn't help but to shudder at the thought that a piece of that bag of entrails now lying beside him had actually been inside his body, touching his soul. But he had already decided, long before meeting Hades, that he would not change his mind on the subject: he was free of Voldemort. This was his final resolve, and he wasn't going to go back on it.
"My soul is perfectly fine," he retorted.
"Are you sure?"
Harry groaned in impatience.
"Look, why don't you just let me go back, or move on, whichever it is."
"But are you sure you want to go back? You know how it will end. You know the despair, the hurt. You've seen your future."
In his mind, Harry saw a flash of his older self and a glimpse of his three children.
"It wasn't real."
"Are you telling me I don't know the future? I know the future, that's why I showed it to you, so that you may have a choice."
"You mean choose not to have children."
Hades' grin was now so devious that there was hardly any resemblance with Sirius anymore.
"Well, yes. It's the only way that your soul can truly be mine. And no dodgy stuff about producing illegitimate heirs; I won't be fooled this time. In exchange, of course, I'll give you whatever you want. But what does the famous Harry Potter want? The heroic, the brave, the selfless Harry Potter. Of course, you want to do something for your friends. It's amazing how you're always thinking of others first, just as a knight should. It sounds a bit tiresome to me, to be truthful. But let's see who's on my recently deceased list: Fred Weasley, Remus Lupin, Tonks – what kind of name is Tonks? But what am I saying? You don't need my help, do you? You have the Stone."
Harry opened up his hand to look at the powerful black pebble.
"You can take it back. I don't want it."
Hades' grin became wide in delight.
"Wise, very wise. But maybe you should hang on to it, just in case."
Harry's reply was to fling the Stone in the water as far as he could and under Hades' stupefied gaze. But then the Lord of the Underworld laughed mockingly.
"Have it your way, then. To be honest, I don't recommend bringing back the Dead. They always get a little crazy after a while. What else, then? What does the famous Harry Potter want? To be normal perhaps? You could be a Muggle, you know. You could start over with no memories of your past life. I can make you forget all those awful things that happened and give you the happily ever after that you deserve."
But Harry did not want to linger on the idea.
"I don't see what's in it for you," he said defiantly.
"I told you, you're something special. I have great plans for you. So what do you say? Do we have a deal?"
"What does it matter if we make a deal or not if I'm already dead?"
"Well, you're not exactly dead. You're on hold. It's a state you're familiar with, is it not?"
So I'm not dead, Harry thought hopefully. This meant that he was physically in the Underworld, but not bond to it. He just had to figure out a way to leave it.
"What if I choose not to make any bargain? Will you just send me back?"
"What for? Do you really want to experience more pain and suffering?"
To Harry, there was an underlying meaning to such an answer.
"So you can't keep me here against my will. What about Sirius?"
"It was his time," Hades sighed. "Not everyone is like you. Do you think I care for plain insignificant Sirius Black? I just took his good looks."
"He fell through the Gate," Harry insisted.
"The Gate doesn't decide."
"Then who…?"
Far ahead, half-concealed in the blackness of the cave, Harry caught another glimpse of the Weird Sisters, or the Fates, whatever their name was. It was the third of the sisters who looked up at him this time.
"What about my time?" He asked.
"It's not your time yet. But believe me, considering what's in store for you, you don't want to live that long. Wouldn't you rather just have peace of mind and a quiet, happy life?"
"You mean a life of doing your bidding," Harry snapped.
"Only a little."
But Harry had heard enough. If it wasn't his time, then he had no reason to remain in the Underworld. Hades had no cause to keep him there.
"No."
"Beg your pardon?"
"No bargain. Send me back."
"Maybe you haven't suffered enough to appreciate the opportunity. How do I make the deal more appealing to you? Tell me. I can give you anything!"
Harry could tell that the Lord of the Underworld was getting a little frantic.
"Don't even try. You have my answer. No bargain!"
"Don't you want to taste a perfect life? I can show you. Don't you want to sample it?"
The water was moving now and there were whispers all around them. Hades put up his hands as though commanding the voices to stop.
"I'm not finished with him!" Hades cried out at large as though he was talking to a third person.
This time Harry heard the voices clearly. There were saying 'Not one of us!' in a persistent crescendo that seemed to be putting Hades out of his mind.
"You have no power over me," Harry said, adding to the growing noise.
The Lord of the Underworld stared at him and laughed cruelly.
"I usually get what I want," he sneered.
But to Harry there was only one certainty: he didn't belong with the Dead.
"You have no power over me!" he shouted on top of his lungs.
And then he fell into icy cold water.
