Part 2
Voldemort shrugged and threw himself atop the bed again. But no matter how hard he tried, he could not get back to sleep. Either the mattress was too hard, or the pillows were to fluffy. He turned and he tossed but sleep did not come to him.
The clock ticked and tocked, causing him irritation. He lifted his wand and was about to destroy the darn thing before he thought of something. "What time did Dumbledore say the first spirit was coming?" he asked out into the darkness. A muffled sound came from the window.
Voldemort stood up, and, with his wand raised as a defense, approached the window. He opened the glass pane and saw to his surprise the same young man that had appeared on his doorstep hours earlier. "Greetings, Uncle!" the lad called. "I believe the first spirit will come at 1 o' clock in the morning!" The man was standing on a wooden ladder, perched against the second level of the Riddle house.
His smile annoyed the Dark Lord. Voldemort's scarlet eyes narrowed. "And how exactly, do you know that?" he asked.
The man continued to smile as he said, "Why, everyone knows that!" Voldemort pondered his response before walking to the door, leaving his "nephew" standing on his ladder.
"Wormtail!" Voldemort cried out into the darkness of the household. There was some shuffling before Wormtail appeared, breathing heavily.
"You called, my lord?" he asked as he struggled for breath.
Voldemort wasted no time in asking, "When will the first spirit arrive?"
"1 o' clock in the morning, my lord" Wormtail puffed. Voldemort was slightly shocked.
He cleared his throat before addressing Wormtail again. "Very well. Wormtail, please call up Random Death Eater Number Four."
Wormtail turned around to the open door and called out, "Random Death Eater Number Four! The Dark Lord wishes to see you!" More shuffling in the darkness. Soon after, two hooded Death Eater walked into the room, both calling each other very crude names, among which included stupid, dumb pig, fat cow, and purple fairy-queen princess.
"My lord," the one on Voldemort's right said, "This old slug insists that he his Random Death Eater Number Four. But I assure you that he is Random Death Eater Number 8!"
"My lord," the one on Voldemort's left said, "This idiotic twig says that he is Random Death Eater Number Four. Can you not teach him a lesson about lying?"
Voldemort sighed and admired his wand in the moonlight. Behind him, the man on the ladder gave a small cough. Wormtail snacked loudly on some cheese he had stolen from a muggle boy. The two Death Eaters continued to argue.
"Avada Kedavra," Voldemort said, waving his wand. The Death Eater on his left crumpled to the ground. "Wormtail, please dispose of this trash outside. I don't want him rotting on the floor, for it's just been refurnished. And you," he said, turning towards the remaining Death Eater, "You are now Random Death Eater Number Four." The Death Eater bowed in his gratification.
Wormtail straggled over to the corpse and dragged him to the window. There, he threw him out, careful to dodge the young man still standing on the ladder. "Now," Voldemort began again, "If you would be so kind as to tell me when the first spirit will arrive."
The Death Eater stood up straight as he said, "The first spirit will arrive at 1 o' clock in the morning, my lord."
Voldemort twitched with irritation. How did everyone know about this except him? "Very well, very well, you are dismissed. As are you, Wormtail." The two wizards left without looking back. Wormtail shut the door with a slight click.
The Dark Lord began to pace, giggling with glee as his bunny slippers wiggled their noses with each step. The ladder-man watched him, his eyes moving with the evil wizards every move. When several minutes had passed, the young man cleared his throat very loudly as to catch his attention.
Voldemort stopped walking and looked up. "Oh, still here are you?" The man nodded in response.
"Yes, Uncle. And I was again wondering if you could spare some money to pay for my wedding in the spring?" His grin was still shining with youth.
Voldemort walked up to him until he was a foot away from the window. "Um… No," he said.
"No?" the man repeated.
"No," Voldemort once again answered. And with that, he pushed the ladder from the window, young nephew and all, and watched it fall to the ground below. He closed the window with an evil laugh and strolled back to his bed. He was so preoccupied, that he did not notice the clock strike 1 o' clock in the morning.
With a crash the window opened, and a young maiden soared through it. She had bushy brown hair and the face of a teenager. Her body was entirely white. She came in on broomstick, which was white like she was, and landed in the room neatly.
Voldemort was sprawled across the bed like a toddler. The young girl coughed, and he looked up. "Who are you?" he asked, his eyes narrowing. His grip on his wand tightened as he sat up.
"Er, I'm the first spirit," she said.
"Don't you have any other name?" Voldemort asked. All this first spirit nonsense was beginning to annoy him.
"Ah, yes, I do. My name is the Ghost of Christmas Past," she said. "I've come to show you the errors of your ways and change you for the better."
Voldemort rubbed his nose. "Tell you what," he replied, "How about I save us both our times and say that it won't work." He really didn't feel like doing anything right now.
The girl looked at him in an annoyed fashion. "Tell you what," she began, "How about I take you on this broomstick of mine and take you through your past. Now be quiet and get on the floating branch."
Voldemort didn't like this spirit at all. She had spunk for talking to him like that, but it was the pestering kind of spunk, like the kind an ant has when you try to step on it with your shoe and miss because the ant manages to fit just inside the little ridges in the rubber. "No," he said, and lay back down.
The girl put her hands on her hips. "Yes," she said, her temper rising.
Voldemort turned his back on her. "Come back when you're selling Girl Guide cookies. I'll buy an extra box if you leave now."
That set her off. She whipped out her wand and fired it at his bed. His mattress began to shake, and then it flipped him out of it like a cannon. Voldemort, along with his pillows, flew through the roof of the Riddle House. He gave a scream of fear, even though he could apparate if he wanted to.
Suddenly, he stopped falling, and started gliding. He was on the back of the white broomstick of the spirit. "Hang on," she told him, "You annoying little evil mastermind."
"Fine," he said, "You bossy little witch."