Claimer: I do own this fanfiction however.
Chapter 4
The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come
Voldemort ran to the kitchen as quickly as he could. The kitchen was small, but had the essentials. It wasn't used to for the longest time so dust was littered on the surface of everything. He pointed his wand at a plastic muggle cup that was already there at the counter.
"Aquamenti!"
The cup filled to the brim with water.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
The cup was floating in the air. Voldemort used to his wand to direct it. It directed to over the muggle sink. He put his head over the sink, but under the cup of water.
He used a sharp movement with his wand and the cup turned over. The water splashed on him and poured into the dusty sink.
"No more stupid ghosts. No more stupid spirits. No more emotions. No more illusions. But most of all no more bloody memories!" he muttered to himself as he rubbed his eyes and did a simple drying spell on his head with his wand. The Grandfather clock stroked three 'o clock. Voldemort jumped and turned.
There before him was a Dementor. Or at least he thought so on the first look. Dementors floated, but this on had his feet firmly on the ground. The figure was draped in a black cloak with a long hood that hid his whole face. He was skinny and silent. Voldemort wasn't even sure if it could breath.
"Let me guess. Ghost of Christmas Future?" asked Voldemort annoyed; crossing his arms.
The figure lifted its hand and pointed to a medium-sized mirror hung on the wall. It was a beautiful gold mirror, but its beauty hidden under a coat of dust. Voldemort saw no point to it.
Then he saw it. It was as if a small child had discovered the mirror and was now putting childish messages upon it in the dust:
Close. I am the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come.
"Same thing isn't it?" he asked impatiently.
The figure was silent and did nothing for a while. Voldemort was sure that if he could see his face he would be receiving a pointed glare.
Then the figure pointed again to the mirror. New words appeared:
I am here to show you the future and certain events you may find hard to believe…
Voldemort scoffed. This really was getting to his last nerve. Why didn't the darn ghost say anything?
The room started to glow and faded away to a shopping place. Voldemort saw it was Hogsmeade, the wizarding village. Hogsmeade would usually be depressing at times like this, but it too was as cheery and Christmassy as it could possibly get.
Christmas Yet to Come pointed at the entrance to the popular pub, The Three Broomsticks. Out came three Voldemort too had seen during the part of Christmas Present.
Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley walked out the pub. They too look a year or two older. They stilled looked the same, but the injuries had healed and were gone.
"So Harry, are you going to talk to us about how it feels to be a murderer at 18?" asked Weasley to Potter cheerfully.
"Ronald!" said Granger disapprovingly.
"Sorry, I don't kill and tell", said Potter which Weasley laughed while Granger gave him a death glare which reminded Voldemort so much of Minerva McGonagall.
"That's not funny!" scolded Granger.
"Now seriously Harry, how was it-" said Weasley ignoring Granger, but being interrupted by Voldemort yelling.
"STOP!" hollered Voldemort and the scene around him froze like someone had just pressed paused on a muggle remote.
"I wish to see no more of this foolishness", said Voldemort to the spirit ignoring his annoying gut telling him otherwise, "I want to know if Bill Weasley survived"
Voldemort had not known himself why he had asked the question, but was immediately answered by the spirit.
They were transported to a misty graveyard. Voldemort knew this graveyard by the looks of it that this was a new one not that far from Hogsmeade because of the gate surrounding the graveyard, the lack of plants, and the sign that was on the gate saying: New Hogsmeade Graveyard.
He had read that the purpose for this graveyard was for anyone who died because of the Second War and it had millions of tombstones, but he didn't need to look far because the tombstone that acknowledged his, odd, fear stood before him:
Here lies Bilius Weasley
He was the kindest of us all-
He couldn't bear to read anymore. Why did this happen?
"He-he never deserved t-that", stuttered Voldemort with tears sparking in his eyes. He had no idea why he said that or why he even felt this way. It was as if someone was imperiousing Voldemort and forced him to say it.
Apparently, Christmas Yet to Come had more important matters on his mind. He grabbed Voldemort to drag him along. Voldemort snapped out of his unwanted reverie and followed.
He was lead to the center of the graveyard with a small grave in the middle of the entire graveyard. Voldemort couldn't bring himself to read it.
"No, no. I don't wish to read it", demanded Voldemort, but the spirit simply, with a wave of his hand, forced Voldemort to bend down in front of the tombstone.
The epitaph was blunt as an axe and only said three words:
You-Know-Who