Chapter Text
When Voldemort opened his eyes, he found himself in a dark unfamiliar place. He waved his hands around, touching his body which still felt intact although he felt strange…almost as if he didn’t exist anymore.
“Would you stop moving around?” A gruff voice said into his ear from beside him.
Voldemort whipped his head around and was met face to face with a skinny-looking dude, wearing a metal helmet with wings that were two sizes bigger than his head. He looked incredibly bored as he walked behind Voldemort, a slouch in his steps.
“W—Where am I?” Voldemort dared ask, finding his voice to be hoarse as if he hadn’t had water in ages. He cleared his throat.
The man with dirty blonde hair smirked at him, a mischievous twinkle sparkling in his eyes as he gestured forward. “Welcome, to the Land of the Dead.”
Voldemort gasped and looked around once more, his now adjusted eyes making shapes out of the darkness. He looked down and found himself walking on a bank. The river was dark, murky green, and yet somehow Voldemort could see right through it. There were miscellaneous objects floating about, papers scattered, and the occasional broken pieces of wood all drifting towards one source—to wherever they were walking.
“I’m dead?” He spoke the words out loud like they were taboo.
“It appears so.” The man replied. “Why else would you be here? Certainly not to visit, I hope.”
They stopped at the edge of the bank where a dock was located, though no boats seemed to be around. It was empty—only the two of them standing there.
“Who are you?” Voldemort questioned, staring into the depths of the man’s honey brown eyes. Even in the depressing state of wherever they were, his eyes still glowed with the kind of warmth Voldemort had never seen before.
The man beamed, bowing slightly for dramatic effect. “Hermes, at your service.”
Hermes? The name sounded oddly familiar, though Voldemort couldn’t quite pinpoint where it originated from. He seemed to have forgotten a lot of things, but distinctly remembers a boy named Harry Potter with the most striking emerald eyes. At the thought of him, a burning hatred raged within Voldemort’s core and his memories began piecing together bit by bit.
“Where are we going?” He had so many questions, but the man—Hermes—didn’t seem to be annoyed by them.
Hermes chuckled. “I’m not going anywhere. You, however, will be going to see Hades. Looks like you did something very bad to get on the top of his naughty list.”
Before Voldemort could conjure up a reply, the swooshing and splashing sounds of water lapping onto the shore directed his attention to the dock, where a long, wooden canoe had appeared out of nowhere. A cloaked figure rowed the boat to dock and Hermes urged him on with a gentle push.
When Voldemort stepped closer, he almost stumbled back at the face he saw—or rather, lack of a face. The only thing Voldemort could see was pure black like a wormhole from the hood, no sign of a face except the faint red glow where the eyes would be. The thing held out a thin hand, unfurling his palm to reveal long, slender fingers.
“No coin, Charon buddy. Special delivery for Hades,” Hermes spoke up in a chipper voice before pushing Voldemort into the boat. This time, he stumbled to gain his balance, nearly falling off the side and taking a dip in the ghoulish green water.
Charon, the ferryman, grunted before he began rowing down the stream. Voldemort took one last glance at Hermes, but the other man had already disappeared.
-
After a trip of pure silence, save for the gentle splashing of water lapping against the side of the boat, they finally reached another large expanse of land. The canoe docked and Charon let out another grunt, which Voldemort took as his sign to get off. Here, more people seemed to wander around in what appeared to be a giant field with pale, almost translucent, wheat growing from the dry ground. Voldemort followed the long stream of souls entering the large gate that separated the beach from the fields. There was some sort of winged demon-like creature up ahead with a clipboard in hand. When Voldemort reached it, it stopped him by sticking its hand out.
“Name?” It grunted out.
“Lord Voldemort,” Voldemort replied easily.
The thing snorted, flipping through the many stacks of paper clipped onto the clipboard before scribbling something down.
“Alright, come with me.” It said, not giving Voldemort much of a choice when it grabbed his shoulder and forcefully dragged him forward. “Make way! Move along!” It pushed past souls, knocking them down to the ground without hesitation. “Special delivery for the King of the Underworld. Move it, or I’ll send you flying to Tartarus!”
They walked past the sea of souls now parting aside like the Red Sea until they reached another gate. This one was obsidian black and scary, the spiky tips gleaming like diamonds. There were three thrones blocking three separate entrances to different parts of the Underworld. Straight ahead was a plain field, similar to the one near the beach, where pale wheat grew in bunches. There were plenty of wanderers inside. The one to the right had a dark path and Voldemort couldn’t see where it led, but he didn’t want to find out. Meanwhile, the one on the left had a bright (or as bright as it could get) path that led to what seemed like paradise for a place as grim as this. Even looking at it, Voldemort knew that was where he wanted to end up in.
“Who’s this?” An old man sitting on the middle throne with his legs crossed stared down at Voldemort, his eyes bearing nothing but coldness.
“Special delivery for Hades. Clear instructions to send him to the castle.” The winged creature explained as it showed whatever was on the clipboard.
The old man sighed and waved his hand. “Very well. You may pass.”
The demon gestured Voldemort to follow with a jerk of its head and they made their way around the giant throne blocking the entrance to the middle. They walked through the wheat field for quite some time until a ginormous castle loomed in the distance. When they arrived at the gates, which automatically swung open, they were met with more winged demon-like creatures.
“He is waiting in the throne room.” The one guarding the door hissed, opening the door for them to enter.
Voldemort was led down various halls, the entire palace devoid of much light and warmth before they stopped in front of an ornate door that seemed to be carved from a single slab of obsidian. Graphic and grueling depictions of death, torture and the likes were etched onto the rock, sending chills down Voldemort’s spine. The door swung open and Voldemort was pushed inside before it shut behind him, leaving him alone in an ominous room.
He walked forward until he reached the center of the room where two large thrones carved out of the same black stone were situated. On one of them, a man with silky, midnight hair and a thorned laurel crown on top of his head, sat with one leg perched on the other. The man’s skin was milky, almost translucent as his lips curled upward into a cruel smirk.
“Lord Voldemort.” He spoke in a smooth, sensuous drawl. “Welcome to the Underworld. I’ve been waiting a long time to properly meet you.”
Voldemort stared him dead on. “Who are you?”
The man chuckled mirthfully as he placed a hand on his heart. “Of course, my apologies, how could I be so rude? I’m Hades and I rule this place. I believe you’ve met my son, Nico.”
Nico? Voldemort thought long and hard before an image of a boy with raven hair flickered in his mind, inciting in him a rage deeper than the kind he had for Harry Potter. Suddenly it all made sense.
“Nico di Angelo.” He hissed out. “He’s the one who killed me!”
Hades laughed again, fondness flickering in his onyx eyes. “Indeed. That’s my son for you.”
Voldemort seethed, putting every possible death threat into his glare as he met Hades’ eyes. The man didn’t seem one bit afraid; in fact, he was almost amused.
He drummed his lithe fingers on the armrest before he shouted, nearly causing Voldemort to flinch. “NICO!”
A whoosh from the darkest corner of the room had Voldemort turning his head just in time to see the punk boy who killed him stepping out, the shadows around clinging to him like a magnet. Nico took one look at him and widened his eyes as he tentatively walked closer.
“Father. What…is he doing here?”
Hades smiled. “I finally figured out what I’m going to do with him before I send him to eternal damnation.”
The pits of Voldemort’s stomach churned at those words, but he tried to remain expressionless.
“Uh…okay? What does this have to do with me?”
Hades sighed, casually rolling his eyes, and hopped off the throne, shrinking in size as he stood just a couple of heads taller than his son. “Isn’t that sunny boyfriend of yours coming over tonight?”
Nico’s face brightened and he nodded, a faint blush settling on his pale cheeks. “Y—Yeah. It’s cool, right? You said it was cool.”
“Of course it’s cool, Nico, you don’t need to be so afraid. I’m just saying…maybe Lord Voldemort here would like to help you throw a mini party for your boyfriend’s first time coming here. Put him to good use before I send him off.”
Nico snorted. “A party?”
Hades clapped Nico on the back with a gentle pat. “Yes, son. Just because we’re the awesome dreaded rulers of the Underworld, doesn’t mean we can’t also have a little fun from time to time. Plus, this calls for a celebration…my son’s first boyfriend!” He choked out a sob and faked a single tear running down his cheek by dragging his finger.
“Father!” Nico whined as he groaned, his cheeks flaring a deep crimson. “You’re so embarrassing. Fine, I’ll throw a stupid party.” He turned to stare at Voldemort, who glared at him.
“If you think I’m going to help you—”
“I’m afraid you have no choice,” Hades spoke lowly into his ears, sending a chill throughout his body that gave him a brain freeze. “You will listen and do whatever my son says, or else.”
Voldemort pursed his lips and remained silent.
Nico smirked, stepping forward and lightly touching a finger to Voldemort’s shoulder. “Come on, Moldy Voldy. We’ve got lots to do.”
The scene around them warped and Voldemort found himself drifting in a dark dimension until they reappeared in a bedroom—Nico’s he assumed. He sighed, knowing this was going to be a long day (or night, or whatever time it was in this place).
At this point, maybe going to eternal damnation earlier than planned didn’t seem so bad after all.