A Voldemort Christmas Carol
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JKR, various publishers of the HP series. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Plot based on 'A Christmas Carol' by Charles Dickens.
Chapter 4 – Christmas Yet to Come (uploaded 12/18/03)
Voldemort waited at the foot of his bed, drumming his fingers on the bedpost when an eerie fog crept in from under the door. His heart skipped a beat as he climbed onto the bed, peering from behind the bedpost. He watched whisps swirl around to form a thin body covered with gauzy material. Lights twinkled off of the spangled shawl as the spinning body slowly came to a stop. "Whew! I thought I'd never stop spinning," said the new voice, "hang on, I'm still a bit dizzy." Her face was thin but with huge glasses which magnified the size of her eyes, which continued to spin around in her head.
"Am I to understand that you the Ghost of Christmas yet to come?" Voldemort snarled.
She had a spooky laugh as she drained the last of the sherry from her wine glass in her right hand. She teetered as she gazed into the crystal ball, which she held in her left hand, for a minute before looking up to answer. In a soft, misty voice, she answered, "Oh, dear, another death. Ahem. Why, yes, I am Sibyll Trelawney, the Ghost of Future Christmases."
"Did I kill you too?" Voldemort asked lazily.
Trelawney hovered two feet above the floor, "I'm quite alive, I assure you."
Voldemort drew his wand and shouted, "STUPEFY!" A bolt of light flew through the opaque apparition and hit the portrait behind her, stunning the horse that stood there. Fortunately Sir Cadogen was visiting a relative in another portrait or he might have taken the brunt of the blast. However, the sudden shout surprised her, causing her to drop her crystal ball and wine glass, vanishing into the floor.
Trelawney put her hands on her hips, "I was warned about your anger. If you had let me finish, I would have told you that it is my consciousness which is here to guide you tonight. I am, that is to say, my physical body is in a meditative state elsewhere. Now come along, we have much to see before I return to my body."
Voldemort threw his hands up and followed her out the chamber doors. Witches and wizards were gathered in the Great Hall. It was a full house. At the place where the headmaster usually sat at the head table, Lee Jordan stood on a platform as items levitated into place. In front of the podium was a sign which read "Hogwarts Charity Auction."
"Witches and wizards, here we have a wardrobe closet once owned by Tom Riddle. What is my opening bid?"
"Two knuts," someone yelled from the crowd. Laughter spread in the large room.
"I hear two knuts, do I hear one sickle? C'mon folks, this is for charity. All of these items for sale today have had their hexes and curses removed by the best Curse Breakers who work for Gringott's."
"One sickle," someone else yelled, again followed by laughter.
"This is appalling! Surely my things are worth more than a mere sickle, even with the curses removed, Voldemort scoffed.
"We stand at one sickle, do I hear two? C'mon folks, I'll throw in a boggart for your new cupboard."
From the back, someone yelled, "Five sickles for the boggart, throw in the wardrobe cupboard." The audience laughter echoed in the great hall.
"Ten!"
"Ten sickles heard, do I hear 1 galleon? Going, going, gone! Sold for ten sickles." Applause filled the room. A Gringott's goblin nodded as the sale was recorded.
A large taxidermy-stuffed snake floated onto the platform. "Ahh, here is a treasure, folks. This snake was once Voldemort's pet."
"Nagini, no, not my Nagini," Voldemort cried out. "Take me out of here, spirit, I can't bear to watch this. Show me some emotion connected with this passing." Upon touching Trelawney's robes, they were transported to Malfoy Mansion, where a party was in full swing.
Music was blaring out the windows, it was deafening inside. Young adults danced in large dining room, which had been cleared of its furniture. Otherwise, the house basically looked the same, except that all the portraits of Narcissa Malfoy which used to cover the walls had been replaced by portraits of Draco Malfoy.
Voldemort leaned in toward Trelawney who had started to boogey with the beat. "What's the occasion?" he yelled over the music.
"Deathday party," she yelled back, waving her arms in the air and bumping him with her hips. She pointed to a poster size group picture. Voldemort sat in his large chair, with Nagini's head in his lap and the rest of her curled under his chair. He was flanked by Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange and Rabastan Lestrange, and six more death eaters, all snarling and glaring at the camera with arms crossed over their chests. One at the end, Nott, was giving the finger.
"These are children of my loyal Death Eaters, I take it," Voldemort commented. "Are they mourning or celebrating our deaths?" Trelawney nodded to the music. It was hard to tell if she was paying attention to the question.
Suddenly someone let out a blood curdling scream over by the table. The music stopped and everyone looked toward the punchbowl. "GROG!!!," Vincent Crabbe yelled at the top of his lungs.
Then everyone started chanting, "Glug, glug, glug, glug..."
Gregory Goyle started chugging the spiked punch straight from the bowl until it was empty. He managed to swallow most of it, because his robes weren't soaked in blood red, as one might imagine. "AHHH!" He exclaimed as he slammed the bowl down on the table. He got high fives from Crabbe and Malfoy, as everyone else cheered.
"Spirit," Voldemort yelled as the music started up again, "surely somebody out there is saddened by death. Is there no tenderness? Is there no compassion?"
Trelawney nodded, and gave Voldemort a hug. Feeling suffocated in all the over-perfumed gauzy fabric, he tried to pull out but it was too late. He felt as if he had passed out and recovered only when he was released from the hug. When he opened his eyes, they were in front of a small country cottage. Walking through an ivy covered wall into a plainly furnished bedroom, they found a young man waking from his sleep. He was battered and bruised. Tears ran from the corners of his eyes into his pillow.
Molly Weasley, who was holding his hand, asked him quietly, "Shhh, are you in pain? We'll get something for you. It's okay."
Ginny ran out into the sitting room, "He's awake! He's alive!"
The room darkened as everybody tried to stick their head in at the same time. Molly shushed them and ordered them back out into the sitting room until he was strong enough for one visitor at a time. A long haired, black clad figure walked in with a tray of potions, glaring at anyone who dared look his way.
"Snape," Voldemort hissed, "what's he doing here?" He looked around for the spirit, only to see her peering over Molly's shoulder into her teacup.
Snape was followed by an older redhead, Arthur Weasley, who had his wand drawn and pointed at the potion master's head.
"Harry," Snape sat down at the edge of the bed and spoke softly.
"Severus, is he dead?" Harry asked, obviously straining to be heard.
"Try not to speak. Here, drink this," the older wizard lifted a vial to his lips, but Harry turned his head away.
"Why is Mr. Weasley pointing his wand at you?" Harry whispered.
"Because I am partially responsible for your current state of health. He doesn't trust me. But do you, Harry? Do you trust me?" Snape whispered back. The Weasleys strained to listen to the quiet conversation. Harry nodded and sipped from the vial that Snape held to his lips.
"It's over, then?" Harry squeaked.
"Yes, Harry," Arthur said quietly, "it's all over."
Harry smiled. Snape asked softly, "Why the tears, Harry?"
Harry sniffed as Molly wiped his face. "Because he's gone," Harry croaked. Everyone in the room looked at each other with puzzled expressions.
"He cries for me?!" Voldemort's chest swelled in anger, "My nemesis? My enemy pities me? NO! I will not have it! Show me where I am buried. I must see my headstone. I cannot believe this!"
"And YOU!" He turned to Snape, yelling at him.
"He can't hear you," Trelawney reminded him.
Voldemort ranted on anyway, "You're helping my enemy! I don't care that you are threatened by this, this, this red-headed pencil pushing good-for- nothing bureaucrat! You're a Death Eater, threaten him back!"
"Ready?" the skinny bug-eyed seer asked, holding out her sleeve.
Voldemort held on, as they flew over England. There were other celebrations, some in large buildings, smaller ones outdoors. Owls were being sent everywhere, it seemed the muggles and wizards alike were all partying as if a new era had dawned.
The parade of images slowed as they approached the Ministry of Magic. Fireworks were being shot off over the Thames River. They flew deeper and deeper into the Ministry, past guards, past unspeakables, past many heavy doors, finally stopping in a small, dark, heavily warded room, empty of all but a single glass sphere. There was only enough room for a single person to stand, yet there they were. Just Voldemort and his spirit of Christmas Future, staring down at a glass bubble. Voldemort looked up at Trelawney, "Is that what I've been reduced to?" A smile broke on her face, pushing her cheeks up, and causing her big glasses to rise off her nose. She picked up the crystal ball, which easily fit in the palm of her hand, and shook it up before handing it to Voldemort.
The Dark Lord woke up in his bed with a start, as someone pounded on the front door. In his hand was the snow globe he was given the Christmas when he was six years old.
To be continued...
o
A/N: Big thank you's go out to all my Santa Clauses. I'll mention your names when I email St. Nick my Christmas wish list. Fantome has been extra good for reviewing another of my stories. This was a hard chapter for me to write, especially after all the fun I had with Christmas Present. To make it extra tough, I caught a nasty cold which clouded my head and my ears have really been pounding like someone was at the front door of a big castle. I know what kind of headache Voldie's going to wake up with.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JKR, various publishers of the HP series. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Plot based on 'A Christmas Carol' by Charles Dickens.
Chapter 4 – Christmas Yet to Come (uploaded 12/18/03)
Voldemort waited at the foot of his bed, drumming his fingers on the bedpost when an eerie fog crept in from under the door. His heart skipped a beat as he climbed onto the bed, peering from behind the bedpost. He watched whisps swirl around to form a thin body covered with gauzy material. Lights twinkled off of the spangled shawl as the spinning body slowly came to a stop. "Whew! I thought I'd never stop spinning," said the new voice, "hang on, I'm still a bit dizzy." Her face was thin but with huge glasses which magnified the size of her eyes, which continued to spin around in her head.
"Am I to understand that you the Ghost of Christmas yet to come?" Voldemort snarled.
She had a spooky laugh as she drained the last of the sherry from her wine glass in her right hand. She teetered as she gazed into the crystal ball, which she held in her left hand, for a minute before looking up to answer. In a soft, misty voice, she answered, "Oh, dear, another death. Ahem. Why, yes, I am Sibyll Trelawney, the Ghost of Future Christmases."
"Did I kill you too?" Voldemort asked lazily.
Trelawney hovered two feet above the floor, "I'm quite alive, I assure you."
Voldemort drew his wand and shouted, "STUPEFY!" A bolt of light flew through the opaque apparition and hit the portrait behind her, stunning the horse that stood there. Fortunately Sir Cadogen was visiting a relative in another portrait or he might have taken the brunt of the blast. However, the sudden shout surprised her, causing her to drop her crystal ball and wine glass, vanishing into the floor.
Trelawney put her hands on her hips, "I was warned about your anger. If you had let me finish, I would have told you that it is my consciousness which is here to guide you tonight. I am, that is to say, my physical body is in a meditative state elsewhere. Now come along, we have much to see before I return to my body."
Voldemort threw his hands up and followed her out the chamber doors. Witches and wizards were gathered in the Great Hall. It was a full house. At the place where the headmaster usually sat at the head table, Lee Jordan stood on a platform as items levitated into place. In front of the podium was a sign which read "Hogwarts Charity Auction."
"Witches and wizards, here we have a wardrobe closet once owned by Tom Riddle. What is my opening bid?"
"Two knuts," someone yelled from the crowd. Laughter spread in the large room.
"I hear two knuts, do I hear one sickle? C'mon folks, this is for charity. All of these items for sale today have had their hexes and curses removed by the best Curse Breakers who work for Gringott's."
"One sickle," someone else yelled, again followed by laughter.
"This is appalling! Surely my things are worth more than a mere sickle, even with the curses removed, Voldemort scoffed.
"We stand at one sickle, do I hear two? C'mon folks, I'll throw in a boggart for your new cupboard."
From the back, someone yelled, "Five sickles for the boggart, throw in the wardrobe cupboard." The audience laughter echoed in the great hall.
"Ten!"
"Ten sickles heard, do I hear 1 galleon? Going, going, gone! Sold for ten sickles." Applause filled the room. A Gringott's goblin nodded as the sale was recorded.
A large taxidermy-stuffed snake floated onto the platform. "Ahh, here is a treasure, folks. This snake was once Voldemort's pet."
"Nagini, no, not my Nagini," Voldemort cried out. "Take me out of here, spirit, I can't bear to watch this. Show me some emotion connected with this passing." Upon touching Trelawney's robes, they were transported to Malfoy Mansion, where a party was in full swing.
Music was blaring out the windows, it was deafening inside. Young adults danced in large dining room, which had been cleared of its furniture. Otherwise, the house basically looked the same, except that all the portraits of Narcissa Malfoy which used to cover the walls had been replaced by portraits of Draco Malfoy.
Voldemort leaned in toward Trelawney who had started to boogey with the beat. "What's the occasion?" he yelled over the music.
"Deathday party," she yelled back, waving her arms in the air and bumping him with her hips. She pointed to a poster size group picture. Voldemort sat in his large chair, with Nagini's head in his lap and the rest of her curled under his chair. He was flanked by Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange and Rabastan Lestrange, and six more death eaters, all snarling and glaring at the camera with arms crossed over their chests. One at the end, Nott, was giving the finger.
"These are children of my loyal Death Eaters, I take it," Voldemort commented. "Are they mourning or celebrating our deaths?" Trelawney nodded to the music. It was hard to tell if she was paying attention to the question.
Suddenly someone let out a blood curdling scream over by the table. The music stopped and everyone looked toward the punchbowl. "GROG!!!," Vincent Crabbe yelled at the top of his lungs.
Then everyone started chanting, "Glug, glug, glug, glug..."
Gregory Goyle started chugging the spiked punch straight from the bowl until it was empty. He managed to swallow most of it, because his robes weren't soaked in blood red, as one might imagine. "AHHH!" He exclaimed as he slammed the bowl down on the table. He got high fives from Crabbe and Malfoy, as everyone else cheered.
"Spirit," Voldemort yelled as the music started up again, "surely somebody out there is saddened by death. Is there no tenderness? Is there no compassion?"
Trelawney nodded, and gave Voldemort a hug. Feeling suffocated in all the over-perfumed gauzy fabric, he tried to pull out but it was too late. He felt as if he had passed out and recovered only when he was released from the hug. When he opened his eyes, they were in front of a small country cottage. Walking through an ivy covered wall into a plainly furnished bedroom, they found a young man waking from his sleep. He was battered and bruised. Tears ran from the corners of his eyes into his pillow.
Molly Weasley, who was holding his hand, asked him quietly, "Shhh, are you in pain? We'll get something for you. It's okay."
Ginny ran out into the sitting room, "He's awake! He's alive!"
The room darkened as everybody tried to stick their head in at the same time. Molly shushed them and ordered them back out into the sitting room until he was strong enough for one visitor at a time. A long haired, black clad figure walked in with a tray of potions, glaring at anyone who dared look his way.
"Snape," Voldemort hissed, "what's he doing here?" He looked around for the spirit, only to see her peering over Molly's shoulder into her teacup.
Snape was followed by an older redhead, Arthur Weasley, who had his wand drawn and pointed at the potion master's head.
"Harry," Snape sat down at the edge of the bed and spoke softly.
"Severus, is he dead?" Harry asked, obviously straining to be heard.
"Try not to speak. Here, drink this," the older wizard lifted a vial to his lips, but Harry turned his head away.
"Why is Mr. Weasley pointing his wand at you?" Harry whispered.
"Because I am partially responsible for your current state of health. He doesn't trust me. But do you, Harry? Do you trust me?" Snape whispered back. The Weasleys strained to listen to the quiet conversation. Harry nodded and sipped from the vial that Snape held to his lips.
"It's over, then?" Harry squeaked.
"Yes, Harry," Arthur said quietly, "it's all over."
Harry smiled. Snape asked softly, "Why the tears, Harry?"
Harry sniffed as Molly wiped his face. "Because he's gone," Harry croaked. Everyone in the room looked at each other with puzzled expressions.
"He cries for me?!" Voldemort's chest swelled in anger, "My nemesis? My enemy pities me? NO! I will not have it! Show me where I am buried. I must see my headstone. I cannot believe this!"
"And YOU!" He turned to Snape, yelling at him.
"He can't hear you," Trelawney reminded him.
Voldemort ranted on anyway, "You're helping my enemy! I don't care that you are threatened by this, this, this red-headed pencil pushing good-for- nothing bureaucrat! You're a Death Eater, threaten him back!"
"Ready?" the skinny bug-eyed seer asked, holding out her sleeve.
Voldemort held on, as they flew over England. There were other celebrations, some in large buildings, smaller ones outdoors. Owls were being sent everywhere, it seemed the muggles and wizards alike were all partying as if a new era had dawned.
The parade of images slowed as they approached the Ministry of Magic. Fireworks were being shot off over the Thames River. They flew deeper and deeper into the Ministry, past guards, past unspeakables, past many heavy doors, finally stopping in a small, dark, heavily warded room, empty of all but a single glass sphere. There was only enough room for a single person to stand, yet there they were. Just Voldemort and his spirit of Christmas Future, staring down at a glass bubble. Voldemort looked up at Trelawney, "Is that what I've been reduced to?" A smile broke on her face, pushing her cheeks up, and causing her big glasses to rise off her nose. She picked up the crystal ball, which easily fit in the palm of her hand, and shook it up before handing it to Voldemort.
The Dark Lord woke up in his bed with a start, as someone pounded on the front door. In his hand was the snow globe he was given the Christmas when he was six years old.
To be continued...
o
A/N: Big thank you's go out to all my Santa Clauses. I'll mention your names when I email St. Nick my Christmas wish list. Fantome has been extra good for reviewing another of my stories. This was a hard chapter for me to write, especially after all the fun I had with Christmas Present. To make it extra tough, I caught a nasty cold which clouded my head and my ears have really been pounding like someone was at the front door of a big castle. I know what kind of headache Voldie's going to wake up with.