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“She [Persephone] was filled with a sense of wonder, and she reached out with both hands to take hold of the pretty plaything. And the earth, full of roads leading every which way, opened up under her. It happened on the Plain of Nysa. There it was that the Lord who receives many guests made his lunge. He was riding on a chariot drawn by immortal horses. The son of Kronos. The one known by many names. He seized her against her will, put her on his golden chariot, And drove away as she wept.”
--
In his childhood, he was expected to succeed. Succeed in a language, in an instrument, in a sport, at school, at being a son. An education was expected, not only at Hogwarts, but at home. French lessons in the evenings, piano during the afternoons, Quidditch scrimmages with friends of the family, and the classics.
He never cared much for the readings forced on him. They were supposed to be exciting, tales of old where heroes triumphed over evil, where magic existed and a set of gods ruled all. The shiny heroes in gold never appealed to him. He found more solace in the gods themselves, in the trials of people with power and the mistakes that they still made. His darkness had a name, and the darkness crept in on him when he least expected it. At times, he embraced his own darkness, dwelling in the splendors allowed to him and attempting to fit it around himself like an overcoat. He felt as though he was a child playing pretend in his father’s clothes, prancing around in a charade of the man he thought he was supposed to be. Stepping into shadows of expectations and the darkness of inevitability.
Hades, the King of Darkness. He felt a kinship to the dark god, seeing some of himself in the pages of the epics. Shadows and light, good and evil, summer and winter… all of the things that should not co-exist. Paradoxes, brought forth to work as one, sides of a coin that flipped in midair.
He knew a thing about the antipodes. His life as he knew it depended on the warring sides in himself that prevented him from killing an old man, that brought possibility of redemption into his world. He knew themselves as antipodes, swirling opposites in a sea of potential. Her blood status always drew a line in the sand that he dared not cross, and his duty to family and tradition pulled him further into the orbit of darkness. The darkness seemed to overwhelm him and overtake what little light he had left in himself.
After the war, he felt no sense of pity. He had earned his reputation, and he deserved no second chances. He did not trust himself to make choices anymore; only to sink further into his self-assigned penance. But she burst into his new life in shades of gold where there once was only silver, spattering light into crevices, and he felt he knew Hades from the inside, desperate to have the source of light for his own. He was selfish, he knew, but the light shone on things inside of him that had never been brought forward. The light made him see potential where he saw desperation, good where he saw shame, and made him feel redeemable. It was no surprise that he felt the need to lock her away in a palace, of sorts. Hades took Persephone down to the Underworld to make her his queen. He took Granger into his world and made her his own. He took no criticisms, no advice. She was his light, and she was his queen.
--
“He is the brother [of Zeus], whose seed is from the same place. And as for tîmê, he has his share, going back to the very beginning, when the three-way division of inheritance was made. He dwells with those whose king he was destined by lot to be.”
--
Destined by lot. His family destined him to a life that he could not rid himself of. Despite his efforts, despite his erasures, he was still branded on the inside. He would never be quite able to erase his perception from those around him. His blood status would forever mark him as a previous nobility, a previous other.
And othered was the way he feared he would always feel. Othered by fighting on the other side of a war he didn’t believe in. Othered in his parentage, his history. By beliefs forced on him, beliefs unquestioned as he grew up, beliefs that he tried to internalized, but failed to execute. But beliefs that would still define who he was.
She made him want to be better. She made the whole world seem better, the golden girl she was. She even made his tarnished shell begin to shine, albeit dully. It was only under her light that he began to feel as though he could heal. His choices were open to him, and he thought perhaps they said more about him than his abilities. She showed him that he could choose light, that he could possibly be worthy of it. And being worthy of her was almost too much to bear.
So he hid her away in his world, soaking up the brilliance of her golden light. He felt its warmth permeate his being, and with it, his dark layers fell away at last. He felt fragile in a way that he had never known, baring his soul to someone and letting them see all of him. The delicacy of his new beginning sat in her palms, and he knew. He knew her light was too bright to hide away in his shadows, working to rid him of the darkness and start fresh.
He supposed this was how Hades felt, knowing that Persephone was being held in the Underworld, away from her family and friends, but being too greedy to relinquish any of her.
--
"But when the loud-thunderer, the one who sees far and wide, heard this, he sent to Erebos [Hadês] the one with the golden wand, the Argos-killer[Hermes], so that he may persuade Hadês, with gentle words, that he allow holy Persephone to leave the misty realms of darkness and be brought up to the light in order to join the daimones [the gods in Olympus], so that her mother may see her with her own eyes and then let go of her anger.”
--
It was an accident. He never meant to pull her into his darkness, but her very soul seemed to be golden and calling out to him.
He lured her in with words he had heard in books from his past. She finished the lines before he could himself, whispering the completions like prayers. Of course, she would be seduced by words. That they weren’t his words that drew her in made sense; there was nothing about him that should ever be considered by her in the first place. But she heard the quotations of old spilling from his lips, and she had looked at him with a reverence never before bestowed on him. The words were like a magic of their own, and she found a common ground.
There were meals shared, coffee had, and connections developed from a simple chance. Undeserved, but a chance. It seemed her light had no bounds or morality, as it shone upon him and lit up the good he had within. He had never once considered that he might have anything redeemable inside of him. But her eyes said differently, and her mouth coaxed out apologies first, then a soft kiss that left him breathless.
--
“If you are here, you will be queen of everything that lives and moves about, and you will have the greatest tîmai in the company of the immortals. Those who violate dikê– will get punishment for all days to come —those who do not supplicate your menos with sacrifice, performing the rituals in a reverent way, executing perfectly the offerings that are due.” So he spoke. And high-minded Persephone rejoiced. Swiftly she set out, with joy. But he [Hadês] gave her, stealthily, the honey-sweet berry of the pomegranate to eat, peering around him.”
--
“I’ve decided we should no longer spend time in each other’s company.”
“That’s ridiculous. I kissed you, and that means that I want to spend more time in your company.”
“It isn’t deserved on my end, and I can’t in good conscience allow you to continue.”
“It’s a good thing that I’m a grown woman who can make her own decisions, then.”
“Inadvisable though they may be. I don’t deserve your time.”
“Perhaps you’ll share it with your friends, then. We have dinner reservations with Theo Nott on Friday at 7. Suit, no tie. And make it the grey one, it brings out your eyes.”
“I have no intentions of bringing you around more people that you don’t need to consider forgiving.”
“Wonderful. We’re having tea with your mother on Sunday.”
--
“He [Zeus] assented that her daughter, every time the season came round, would spend a third portion of the year in the realms of dark mist underneath, and the other two thirds in the company of her mother and the other immortals.”
--
It was a marvel how she navigated so seamlessly between his world and hers. It seemed a shame to bring her down to the darkness of his own reality, but she came anyway. When she came, she brought forth that golden light into the darkest places, casting a new light into once forsaken corners.
Her goodness was greater than anyone had ever dreamed it to be. No matter the place or person, she found a way to grace it with acceptance and a springlike promise of new. Her very person drew in those who had been entangled in darkness, and she offered grace to all those who came in supplication to the golden girl. It was intoxicating the way she made all things different. But it never seemed fair to separate her from those who shared her goodness and light. And so he returned her to them as often as possible, lurking in shadows to try to enhance her further. She was in her element, shining in gold, and he returned to the silver barrenness of his lonely kingdom. The kingdom did not hold his interest without her, and he recognized he would never be able to compete with that which she was owed.
--
“So she spoke, and Demeter, she with the beautiful garlands in her hair, did not disobey. Straightaway she sent up the harvest from the land with its rich clods of earth. And all the wide earth with leaves and blossoms was laden.”
--
She was golden, after all, and sharing her light was the right thing to do. This did not mean he needed her any less; in fact, he seemed to need her more. But in the act of loving her, his selfishness became selflessness, and sharing her with those who also needed to heal became his duty.
Watching her help people was like watching a garden bloom. Her light touched people and brought hope in the darkness, like a promise of spring in the winter. To see her reach out and help those without voices, to advocate for the ones who were not able to help themselves… his love for her only grew.
And it was in loving her that he had to return her. It was no longer feasible to keep her from those who she was meant to be with. He didn’t deserve that which he had stolen. He never had, and he never would. That was the rub. He was never going to be worthy of her, and keeping her as long as he had was only delaying the inevitable.
--
"Come, O lady resplendent with gifts, queen Dêô [Demeter], bringer of hôrai, both you and your daughter, the most beautiful Persephone. Think kindly and grant, in return for this song, a rich means of livelihood that suits the thûmos. And I will keep you in mind throughout the rest of my song.”
--
“You have no idea, do you?”
“No idea of what?”
“Of how absurdly in love with you I am.”
“I don’t deserve that kind of love.”
“You silly boy. You haven’t ever heard of grace and forgiveness.”
“Regardless of those things, I still don’t deserve you.”
“Well, you’re still stuck with me. And I don’t intend on leaving.”
His breath drew in. If she was serious, then he would spend the rest of his life working to be the kind of man who would be worthy of being loved by her.
The once lonely king of silver was enveloped by the golden light, and in that light, he was resplendent.