Part 5

Foggy fog fog foggity fogger foggit fog fogged foggy fog fog. These were the brilliant, evil words the Dark Lord came up with when he tried to think back on the past few hours. Fogggggggggggggggggggggyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy was his well thought out conclusion. It was now clear that he had the attention span of a housefly. But then again, it was very foggy outside right now.

Voldemort pulled off his fuzzy pink slippers and examined what the day's effort had done to them. His right slipper had a droopy ear, and half of one of his eyes was missing. His other slipper's cotton ball tail was tangled up with tiny twigs and leave bits. It's furry body was dirty with, well, dirt. Voldemort was too lazy to clean them, so he merely whipped at them once with his nightgown.

He slipped his slippers back on and stood up, deciding he should go back to the house. It was at this moment that the third and final spirit drifted out of the fog. It was trembling from the cold air and stood taller than he. A cloak hid it's mysterious form, and it said nothing.

"May I help you?" Voldemort asked, his scarlet eyes narrowing. The spirit shook it's head menacingly. It pointed to itself, with a hand concealed by it's overlarge cloak, and then gestured at Voldemort.

"Uh, you want to play cricket? Well, sorry to rain on your parade, but I think it's too dark out to play cricket," The Dark Lord guessed. The spirit shook it's head again. Now with two hands, it repeated the gesture.

Voldemort was clueless. "You want to order some tea? Who do you think I am, some lowly servant muggle?" The spirit shook it's head again. How was he supposed to know what this fool wanted? Voldemort thought.

The phantom's shoulders sunk and he put up some fingers. It looked more like bumps in the cloak fabric. Voldemort counted four bumps before saying, "Four words. First word: you." The spirit nodded after it's gesture to itself. Then it reached down to the ground after putting up two fingers.

"Second word," Voldemort stated. "Sounds like," he added, seeing the spirit hold up a hand to it's 'ear.'

"Sand?" he asked, looking at the mound of dirt the ghost was holding. "Okay, um, band, hand, land –" The spirit shook it's head violently before pointing at the sand again. "Um, grand, tanned, bland, orange, planned –" The spirit shook it's head once more.

Voldemort was quite annoyed. He smacked the sand out of the spirit's hand, watching it land. "Just write it in the sand!" Voldemort exclaimed. The spirit grabbed a stick, throwing a glare at Voldemort, and scratched in the sand "I-CAN-HELP-YOU." Voldemort thought how stupid the last few minutes had been.

"Can doesn't rhyme with sand, you idiot!" he shouted. The spirit held up it's cloaked hand and wrote in the sand, "I-AM-THE-GHOST-OF-CHRISTMAS-FUTURE."

Voldemort smirked before saying, "And I'm Bob, Spirit of Easter Past." He laughed hysterically at his own joke. The Ghost of Christmas Future merely shook his head and walked away, beckoning the Dark Lord to follow him.

Voldemort caught up to him. Couldn't these people take a joke? His bunny slippers could take a joke. Wormtail could take a joke. Even the muggles who threw rocks at his house could take a joke. But nooooo, not these guys. They were too cool for jokes thought out by evil masterminds. With their little ghostly presences and their stupid wise old warnings of impending doom.

The pair walked out of the gardens and up to the edge of the forest. On the ground in front of the first couple of trees was a stuffed teddy bear. It had little, glossy eyes and a fuzzy, fur coat. Voldemort thought he knew what was coming.

The Ghost of Christmas Future walked up to it, awkwardly, and took it from the ground. He held out a cloaked hand to Voldemort, teddy bear in it's grasp. Voldemort sneered at the thing. It was better than a Barbie doll. The Dark Lord extended a finger and gently tapped the stuffed animal. With an "I Wuv You!" from the bear, the pair was whisked away.

Voldemort stood up, once again on the site of Malfoy Manor. He cried out in disgust. "I was just here less than an hour ago," he cried at the spirit, already walking towards the same window Voldemort had been at earlier. With a dramatic sigh, he walked over and joined the spirit at the window.

The Malfoys were once again seated at their table. Well, not all of them. Draco was no where to be seen and No food was there, and they were each trading nervous glances. The three random children from before were gone, and now three, fat pigs were running all over the room.

"Great humminey-jumminey!" Voldemort exclaimed, "They've had to sell three of there children for pigs that can provide food for the winter!" The spirit gave a silent snicker at Voldemort's emotion.

The Dark Lord now noted the crutch and hat that Draco had had before were both lying in the corner on an empty chair. "Spirit," Voldemort whispered with fear, "Where is Draco, the youngest?" There was no reply. Voldemort turned to look at him, but saw that the Ghost of Christmas Future was walking away towards the teddy bear. Voldemort gave one last glance at the somber scene inside before joining the ghost.

The wizard and ghost touched the teddy bear, and, with another "I Wuv You!" they were off.

Back at Malfoy Manor…

Lucius and Narcissa had finished dinner, and were now waiting for desert. The three pigs from before were still sniffing around the room. Draco Malfoy entered, holding a plate with a piece of chocolate cake.

"Wot are you guise doin'?" he asked with a mouthful of chocolatey-goodness.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," his mother replied. She had no interest in her Pureblood Bookclub gossiping about how her son was a pig-eating mudblood.

Lucius cleared his throat before adding, "Your mother and I are betting on how fast the house-elves can bring out the desert. I bet at least five minutes, while she bet under four minutes." Lucius bent down and heaved something up from under the table. It was a sack bursting to the rim with galleons and sickles, the prize of the bet.

A second later the house-elves entered the room, carrying a large platter with six bowls of ice cream, three plates of cake, and one large cauldron of brownies. Narcissa paused a stopwatch and glanced down at it. "Three fifty-two," she yelled, "Ha! Take that you old prune!" She pointed her finger at Lucius. With a growl he took a bite out of a brownie. Narcissa began to count out the coins in the sack.

Back at the Riddle House, the pair landed inside the Voldemort's bedroom. Voldemort hoped that his travels were over. But it seemed that they were not, for the spirit was still with him. Seconds later it was on the move, heading for the stairs.

Voldemort watched it walk away, obviously wanting him to follow it. Voldemort threw himself on his bed, shutting the door with his wand. He would just let it stand there, waiting and waiting…

Waiting didn't seem to be in the Ghost of Christmas Future's vocabulary. With a bang Voldemort was pulled magically out of his bed and onto the stairs. With cursed mutterings the Dark Lord stood up and followed the spirit back down the stairs.

They walked outside and around the house so that they were positioned in front of the window looking into the living room. Inside, Wormtail and Random Death Eaters were having their annual Christmas Party. Balloons were flying, noisemakers were making noise, and a large, green fire was cackling in the corner. Polka music was blearing on an old record player.

"So," Wormtail yelled over the noise, "Voldemort's gone, is he?"

"Yup!" answered Random Death Eater Number Four, "Gone!" The crowd gave cheers of happiness.

"Gone!" roared Random Death Eater Number Seven.

"Gone!" screamed Random Death Eater Number Eleven.

"Gone!" raged Random Death Eater Number Five.

"Gone!" screeched Random Death Eater Number Nine.

"Gone!" cried Random Death Eater Number Sixteen.

"Gone!" exclaimed Random Death Eater Number Six.

"Gone," said Random Death Eater Number Ten in a very bland way, his tone dry. The polka music stopped. The balloons popped. The fire went out. The noise makers did not make noise.

Wormtail's jaw dropped down as he lifted an eyebrow at Random Death Eater Number Ten before saying, "Aw, Random Death Eater Number Ten, why did you have to go and do that?"

"Do what" came the same bored, dry, blank, dull, unexcited, unhappy tone. The rest of the Death Eaters looked at him in a shocked manner.

"Do," started Random Death Eater Number Four, "That. Your voice ruined the party. Your personality is just too dull for us. Can you go down to the cellar and play Count the Coal please?" The other Death Eaters nodded in agreement.

Random Death Eater Number Ten looked outraged. "Is this what our society has fallen to? Is this what it has become? Long ago, in a happier, more peaceful place, wizards were prized for their individuality. No one questioned who they were, or where they came from. They were each different, they were each special. And now here we are, in an age where only the "cool" kids are allowed. Well my friend, the price of coolness is just too much! I refuse to be cool! I refuse to party! I refuse to have fun!" His speech ended and all were silent.

"Suit yourself," Wormtail said before swishing his wand. Random Death Eater Number Ten was seen ten minutes later as a falling star over Paris, France. Shortly after the non-cool kid was gone, the party continued. Balloons inflated, the fire roared into life, noise makers began to make noise again, and best of all, the polka music continued in a jolly old manner.

Voldemort removed his face from the iced window. "Am I truly," he paused to think of the right word, "Gone?" His voice echoed in the chill of the night. But the spirit was unable to hear, for it was now sliding itself on over to the far side of the house.

The Dark Lord tried to follow it, but could not keep up. He searched for it and searched for it, until at last he thought he had gotten rid of it. He was just about to kiss his bunny slippers before he saw the Ghost of Christmas Future standing by a grave. Voldemort's shoulders slouched and his frown got frownier. He slumped himself over to where the phantom was standing.

When Voldemort started to speak, the spirit merely pointed to a large gravestone. It was exactly like his dead father's. Actually, it was his father's. Why then, did this stupid ghost want him to read his father's grave? Voldemort started to speak again before he was cut off by the spirit's violent pointing gesture, back at the stone.

Voldemort's mouth twitched with annoyance before he turned back to the stone. He whipped at a patch of ice he hadn't noticed before. The ice patch revealed writing he hadn't noticed before. Across it read:

Tom Marvolo Riddle

a.k.a. The Dark Lord

a.k.a. a.k.a. Voldemort

a.k.a. a.k.a. a.k.a. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named

a.k.a. a.k.a. a.k.a. a.k.a. You-Know-Who

a.k.a. a.k.a. a.k.a. a.k.a. a.k.a. The-Idiot-Who-Has-Too-Many-Names

Voldemort drew back in shock. His heart skipped a beat and the ears of his bunny slippers twisted in knots. As he turned back to ask the spirit something, it pointed at the gravestone again. Voldemort was puzzled. What more devastation could be caused?

He whipped more of the ice patch away, revealing a single line underneath the names. It read:

Seriously, what idiot would give himself a ton of names? Two maybe, three's a stretch, but nope. Not for this guy. He needs five because he's just that much cooler than the rest of us.

Voldemort ignored the insult and turned back towards the spirit. "Spirit," his voice was shaking, "Are these visions of what may be or what are to come? Can I change these things from happening?"

The spirit said nothing.

Voldemort was enraged and scared. He grabbed the Ghost of Christmas Future's cloak, now on his knees. "Spirit! Answer me!"

The ghost struggled, trying to get away. But it merely fell backwards and onto the icy ground below. The Dark Lord was appalled at the sight. Surely ghosts didn't fall?

As the cloak bundle moved around, Voldemort held his breath at what terrifying, heart-wrenching, bone-breaking, soul-crushing, lollypop-dancing, blood-chilling, brain-freezing sight might be under the cloak of the spirit of all Christmas's Future's…