Voldemort's Christmas Carol
For Jenn, My loving sister who provided me with this idea.
Part 1
Snow crunched under Wormtail's boots as he marched up to the front of the Riddle house. His cloak was wrapped tightly around him, preventing the cold from getting to him and to prevent any sightings by a muggle. It was the day before Christmas, and the many residents of Little Hangleton were rushing to finish their Christmas shopping. This was not the best Christmas Wormtail had ever had, but it sure beat lying in a sewer with other flea-bitten rats. His breath came out in small puffs as he made the effort to approach the door.
He paused to survey the village of Little Hangleton. Small thatched roofs were covered with snow, and a stone church stood among the small houses. A path of smoke was emerging from the chimney of the local pubs. Wormtail scowled and muttered something about muggle filth before entering the large manor.
"Wormtail? Is that you?" called down Lord Voldemort from the upstairs room.
"Yes, my lord," answered Wormtail. He loathed what horrible deed the Dark Lord could think up for him.
There was a pause before Voldemort's icy voice called back down, "Well bring me my slippers! And don't give me those tatty muggle brown ones that you brought last time. I want my slippers."
Memories filled into Wormtail's head as he thought about the punishment he had received. He walked over to the closet and removed his cloak before bending down to pick up his masters slippers. He quickly marched up the steps and entered Voldemort's bedroom. "Here," he wheezed, "My lord," – another wheeze – "Are your slippers."
"Ah, excellent! Now go eat some cheese outside, or whatever you rats do in winter," Voldemort said as he took his slippers. They were giant, fluffy, and pink. Bunny ears protruded from the ends, and small, plastic eyes were glued below the ears. At the back of the slippers were cotton balls. The rabbits' noses wiggled whenever the wearer took a step.
"Master," began Wormtail, "I couldn't help but notice that this setting might be a bit like the classic novel, A Christmas Carol."
"What?" Voldemort mindlessly asked. He was too focused on his slippers.
Wormtail began again, "Well, don't you notice a certain resemblance between yourself and Ebenezer Scrooge? You're both cruel to those around you, you're both cheap when it comes to money, and you both have a need for power."
"What's your point?"
"It is Christmas Eve, the time when Scrooge was changed by a series of ghosts that showed him the errors of his way. Doesn't that concern you even a little?"
"Hardly." Wormtail could see that his master had not listened to a word he had said. So he turned and crawled away, shutting the door. Voldemort took his absence as a cue to break into baby-babble.
"Oh, Mr. Hoppy and Mr. Bouncy, how I have missed you so. Not a day goes by when I wish I could feel your furry layers of happiness and joy," Voldemort whispered to the slippers. Surprisingly, they did not answer back. Voldemort thought he heard sniggering outside the door. He put on the bunny slippers and walked over to the door. He threw it open and met three of his Death Eaters, silently laughing at his earlier exclamation.
"Out with the lot of you" the Dark Lord shouted, and, with his face full of rage, gave them all a healthy dose of the Cruciatus Curse. Once their screaming had subsided and they were begging for his forgiveness, he threw them out the window. The glass shards broke as the three figures lay crumpled on the frozen ground below. "Reparo," he said, waving his wand. The glass fell neatly back in place.
"Now," he said, clapping his hands, "I think I'll turn in early. I want to be refreshed when I open my presents." He strolled over to his large bed and belly-flopped onto it. His face was submerged in the pillows and he was drifting off to sleep when he heard the doorbell ring. I'll let Wormtail get it… He thought to himself.
Ding-dong…
Ding-dong…
Ding-dong-ding-dong-ding-dong-ding-dong-ding-dong.
Voldemort stood up in rage and slammed open the door. He stomped down the stairs very dramatically. He threw back the front door in anger. Standing there was a strange man. He wore a strange smile, like it was held there by glue. His hair was short and golden, and his face held a sense of youth. "Good-day, Uncle!" the young man shouted.
Voldemort blinked twice, thinking his ears might be deceiving him. "Did you just call me 'Uncle'?" He glanced at his reflection in the mirror. Yep, same pale, chalk-white face and scarlet eyes. Didn't this guy even notice the slits for nostrils he bore?
"Well surely I called you Uncle, Uncle!" the man continued, "Since I am you're nephew. Anyway, I shall be getting married, come spring. And I wished that you might spare me some money?" Voldemort blinked again.
There was an awkward pause, which ended when Voldemort slowly shut the door, backing away from this crazed muggle. He had no siblings, so he could have no nephews. When the door was shut, he locked it. Didn't want to waste his magic, so it was the simple kind of lock that muggles use.
He left the young man standing there in the cold as he ascended the stairs to his bedroom. He was once again almost asleep before the jarring door-bell rang again. He decided that he would kill the young muggle fool and sleep in peace. So he once again walked downstairs (while his slippers wiggled their noses) and opened the door, pulling out his wand.
He was about to fire the killing curse when he stopped himself at the sight of two more muggles. They were older than the last one, yet just as weird looking. "Excuse us, kind sir, but we were wondering if you might offer a donation, for those less fortunate than yourself?"
Voldemort rolled his eyes up toward the sky. When had the world changed, allowing common muggles walk up to his doorstep and wake him from his naps? "I will offer nothing," he whispered in his icy voice. "Goodbye." He slowly shut the door, but was stopped by the foot of one of the muggles.
"Surely you can spare some loose change?" the muggle asked. Voldemort rammed the door into the muggles foot repeatedly.
"No. No. No. No. No!" He said with every impact, each greater than the last. The muggles face grew red with pain.
"Not even a penny?" he gasped.
Voldemort slammed the door a final time before shouting one last "NO!" as he pulled out his wand. In an act of desperation he set the man's foot on fire. He laughed, evilly, of course, as the two muggles ran away, one limping. With that, he launched himself upstairs to resume his nap. After he locked the door with magic, of course.
Once again, he was almost asleep. His ears were prepared for any noise that might disturb him. One minute passed… Two minutes… After ten minutes he breathed a sigh of relief. He buried himself under a pile of pillows and blankets when the doorbell rang again. He gave a cry of ultimate displeasure, jumped out of bed, ran down the stairs, pulled out his wand, and blasted away the door.
Standing outside was a caroler, with a cup full of nickels and dimes. His high voice rang with "Jingle Bells." The Dark Lord was beyond reason. He blasted away at the spot with his wand, firing a mass of exploding curses.
After his rampage subsided, all that was left in front of the door was a large scorch-mark. He went to close the door, but instead found burnt wood where he had destroyed it in his attempt to kill the doorbell.
He turned back around to march upstairs when he was stopped by Lucius Malfoy, who Voldemort had freed from Azkaban earlier. "My Lord," Lucius said.
"What?" Voldemort replied with clenched teeth.
Lucius was quick to notice the wizard's displeasure. "Er, maybe this a bad time. I'll just come back later."
"No, no, what is it?"
Lucius continued, "Well it's just that it's the end of the day, and it's Christmas Eve. I thought I might go home to my family."
Voldemort gestured to the hole in the wall, "Go."
"Thank you, My Lord. And I was also wondering that since tomorrow is Christmas, that I might take the day off?" At this the Dark Lord grew furious.
"'I was wondering that I might take the day off?'" he mocked in a baby voice, "Does Harry Potter take the day off? Does Albus Dumbledore take the day off? No! They work their little pathetic bodies out on Christmas! They don't sleep, they don't eat, and they certainly don't visit their families on Christmas! And neither will you." And with that Voldemort marched upstairs and left Lucius standing in the hall, his tongue sticking out at the back of the Dark Lord.
Upon entering his room for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, Voldemort plopped down on the bed. The bright, yellow Weird Sisters pillow provided him the perfect comfort with it's silly little lace. He was pondering why they put silly little lace on a pillow when the sun set and the moon came out. The clock struck midnight and a ghastly fog filled the room.
"Tooooooooommmmmm," came an eerie call. "Tooooooooommmmmm." Voldemort continued to snore. "Tooooooooommmmmm," came the voice again, as Albus Dumbledore himself appeared in the fog. "Tooooooooommmmmm," he called again, this time louder. He watched as Voldemort still slept. "Tom," he called out. He was now next to the sleeping wizard. "TOM!" he shouted.
Voldemort jumped up and banged his head on the post above the bed. He swore as he rubbed his bald head and swore even more when he saw Dumbledore. He was dressed in white and had a somber expression about him. "Dumbledore?" he asked in the darkness.
"Yes, it is I."
Voldemort thought about this moment before stating "You've died? You've finally died you old badger? Thank god! Here I am thinking up different ways to kill you and how long and hard it will be to accomplish that, and now here we are, with you dead as a doornail."
Dumbledore's expression stiffened a little. "Yes, I am dead. Now Tom, there's something I need to tell –" But he was cut off by Voldemort.
"Woo hoo! You're dead! You're dead! No more stupid wizard to get in my way, no sir! Harry Potter will be dead within the week! This calls for some tea." He waved his wand and two teacups, a kettle, all atop a tray, came gliding out. "Would you like some sugar? Cream?"
"Er, cream would be fine. But Tom, I really need to tell you something," began Dumbledore, who was once again cut off by the Dark Lord.
"Oh, there will be time for that later. Right now calls for a celebration," he said as he handed Dumbledore's ghost a teacup and lifted his own. "To your death, and may it bring the downfall of the free Wizarding World!"
Dumbledore raised his teacup briefly. "Ah yes, to that." He set his tea down before adding, "Now, Tom, I have been sent to tell you that –"
"So how's death treating you? I hope all the ghosts aren't giving you a hard time. You know, maybe you should have been decapitated. That way you could join the Headless Hunt. By the way, how did you die? You're age caught up to you, eh? I bet –"
Now it was Dumbledore's turn to cut in. "Will you shut up you miserable excuse for an evil mastermind?" His eyes held frustration.
"My, my, Dumbledore. Death's brought a bit of a temper," Voldemort tapped his finger at Dumbledore, as if he were scolding him. Dumbledore waved his own finger, which silence Voldemort within an instant.
"Now then," Dumbledore said, "I have been sent to tell you that you will be visited by three spirits tonight. They will each show you the error of your ways. Now, you can either be smart and accept their warnings, thereby changing your ways and granting you a better life, or you can be stupid and ignore them, thereby ending up like me."
Voldemort thought about this for a moment. He drank his tea. He looked around his room. He tapped his fingers. When he tried to speak, he could not. "Ah, yes, I forgot," said Dumbledore as he lifted his spell.
Voldemort adjusted his voice. "Well, if I change, then everyone lives in peace and harmony. If I don't, then I will rule the world, now that you're gone. Hmmmm… Peace and a cell in Azkaban, or Power and glorified leader of the earth… Tricky, tricky." He thought about it some more. "I think I'll go with the second choice."
Dumbledore looked at him gravely. "Then you've decided you'll be stupid?"
"I've decided I'll be stupid," Voldemort repeated with a smirk.
"Very well," Dumbledore muttered, "Have it your way." And with that he disappeared. Voldemort looked around his room. He looked at his bed and his clock and his bunny slippers. The silence annoyed him.
"Hey!" he called up, shouting at the ceiling. "What am I supposed to do about this fog?"