Rating:
PG
House:
The Dark Arts
Genres:
Horror Humor
Era:
Multiple Eras
Spoilers:
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire Order of the Phoenix
Stats:
Published: 01/10/2005
Updated: 01/10/2005
Words: 677
Chapters: 1
Hits: 1,562

It Was a Dark and Stormy Night

Fabio P. Barbieri

Story Summary:
It was a dark and stormy night... the kind of night when ghosts are abroad...

Posted:
01/10/2005
Hits:
648
Author's Note:
This came from a particularly crazy meme I got from Minerva McTabby's LJ, which, on being informed that my name was Fabio P.Barbieri and that my favourite vegetable was the potato, informed me that the next Harry Potter Bunny to bite me would feature Lord Voldemort paired with Peeves, involve a midnight rendezvous and end in a big party. You can judge whether I managed it.


It was a dark and stormy night. In the lower depths of Hogwarts, a dark shadow turned and revolved on itself, asking questions in the darkness.

Suddenly a kiss rang out!

A second later, light was blazing all over the dungeon. Well... light. To the eyes of one of the students, or even of the busy house-elves on whose labour the whole school rested, it would have been little more than a twilight luminescence. But to the ghosts that were suddenly seen to crowd this crypt, it was as bright as day; and to Lord Voldemort...

...yes, it came to him. He was Lord Voldemort. And he had tried... tried... It had to be wrong. His last memory was of raising his hand to curse that infernal green-eyed brat...

...and as he was coming to this realization, Peeves the poltergeist kissed him again.

Kissed him!

On his lips!

A cacophony of applause rang out from... something was dreadfully wrong here... all the ghosts assembled there. Yes! The crypt was full of ghosts... the ghosts of Hogwarts. He was in Hogwarts. With the Hogwarts ghosts. And Peeves the poltergeist had just kissed him in front of them all!

A dreadful suspicion started creeping through Lord Voldemort. He looked around himself - at the mouldering streamers, the evil-smelling curtains, the rotted furniture... all the apparatus for a party. He then became aware, what he had not noticed till then, that "ghost music" - a painful concoction of howls and shrieks and fingernails scraping across plastic and slate - was playing in the background. A ghost party. A.. a...

A tall, grim ghost with staring eyes and a vicious spatter of silver blood moved forwards, smiling an evil caricature of a welcome smile. "Welcome, Riddle," it said. "Don't you remember me? After all, I used to be your house ghost."

It was a long time since Lord Voldemort had known fear; for a second, he could not even identify the ice-cold, paralysing feeling that seemed to grip his bones as realization crept in. He tried to keep his voice steady as, for the first time, he spoke: "Yes, Baron. I remember you quite well, thank you."

The Bloody Baron bowed. After all, however many murders he might have committed, he was an aristocrat and had his own self-respect. He owed himself good manners. "Because I know you better than the others," he said, "I am the one to welcome you to your first Deathday Party."

Voldemort's voice was no longer quite steady. "D-deathday party?"

"Yes. Your first. The day of your death and of your induction as a Hogwarts ghost." Voldemort no longer spoke... the whirl of hate, horror and a growing feeling of helplessness would not let him... "Peeves, of course," continued the Baron calmly, "being the lout he is, jumped the gun and started the celebrations too early." He briefly glowered at the poltergeist, who shook visibly.

"A... I'm a... Hogwarts... ghost?" said what was left of the Dark Lord, in a trembling, almost inaudible voice. Then he looked down, at his body, for the first time... he had not dared to look, yet...

"Well," said the Fat Friar, with an air of insufferable complacency, "since you fought your last battle in Hogwarts, it is only fitting really."

"Last battle." It was no more than a whisper. And now his eyes... or whatever it was in him now that saw... could take it in. Silvery, translucent limbs; and, clearly seen through them, the outlines of bricks, furniture, other ghosts... other ghosts...

"Hit it, boys!" broke in Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, the intolerably cheerful Gryffindor ghost, addressing the ghost musicians. "Play the Welcome March!" And as the Black Baron observed to Professor Binns that it would be nice to have someone new to share his duties as scary ghost, the volume of the ghost music trebled; and Lord Voldemort's final howl of rabid, frustrated, helpless horror was drowned in a cacophony of scrapes and shrieks, yelps and screeches, as the ghost orchestra threw itself with zest into its business.


Author notes: If you have recovered from the experience, a review might be nice.