Layers upon layers of black silk robes swished dramatically as Lord Voldemort paced back and forth in his study. His bone-white fingers caressed his chin as if they were trying to coax a brilliant plan out of it, which was rather stupid, actually, because it was his brain was that usually came up with his brilliant plans. His chin merely hung around improving his unique profile.

In any case, he needed a brilliant plan, and he needed one fast. Drops of perspiration glistened on his bald scalp, and a muscle twitched ominously beneath one of his inhumanly red eyes.

Today was the day that he was going to defeat Harry Potter once and for all. “Today,” he proclaimed to no one in particular, “Is the day that I am going to defeat Harry Potter once and for all.”

“Why are you telling me?” replied a shrill, sarcastic voice behind him.

The Dark Lord whirled around, his jaw dropping with shock. “Who’s there?” he shouted in ringing, quasi-Shakespearean tones.

“Me,” said a small voice coming from the top of his filing cabinet. (Of COURSE Voldemort has a filing cabinet; you can’t take over the world without the proper organizational skills, now can you?) The voice belonged to a skinny girl of about ten years old. Her hair was fixed in two long plaits and fastened with plastic bobbles, and her pug nose was dotted with freckles. She wore a fuzzy jumper, Mary Jane shoes with bows, and a twirly skirt, and she was entirely transparent.

“Who are you?” demanded Voldemort.

The girl sighed. “Now, now, that’s a bit rude, don’t you thing? Killing a girl without even knowing her name first? Really, if I’d just killed someone, I’d recognize her ghost when I saw it.” She smiled, revealing teeth covered in sparkling braces. “My name is Roberta Thomasina Joanne Victoria Corkington-Smith, but everyone calls me Bob. Well, they called me Bob, before my unfortunate death.”

Voldemort sighed. Perfect. This precocious little ghost was wrecking his plotting session. He should have known that bad karma from all of the killing sprees he had gone on would catch up with him some day.

“So, I told you my name. Now you tell me yours!” chirped Bob, swinging her legs cheerily.

Lord Voldemort drew himself up to his full two-metres-and-then-some height and threw back his head, his crimson eyes blazing. His very stance commanded power. “I,” he hissed in a dangerously soft voice, “Am Lord Voldemort. The Dark Lord. The most powerful wizard who ever lived, the wizard who has travelled farther down the path of immortality than anyone else has dared try.”

This did not get quite the awed reaction that he’d been going for. Bob cocked her head to the side and blinked like a puppet in a pantomime. “Oh,” she said. “You’re Voldemort? Hmmm… Funny, you’re uglier than I imagined. I always saw you with a nose.”

“Shut up!” hissed Voldemort. “You dare disrespect me? I’ll…”

“You’ll what? Kill me?” smirked Bob, floating into the air and levitating above Voldemort’s head in a mildly disconcerting manner.

The girl had a point. Blast, I’ve never had to threaten someone who’s already dead before, the evil genius thought, his lipless mouth contorting with frustration. After all, there’s nothing worse than death… of course, I may be forced to change my mind if I can’t get rid of this brat. Her prattle is torture beyond the Cruciatus Curse.

Meanwhile, Bob was doing somersaults in mid-air. “Cool!” she exclaimed. “Look what I can do!” She floated through the wall of Voldemort’s study, re-entered, re-exited, then stuck her ghostly white hand through the wall and waggled her fingers. Voldemort was not amused.

“Could you please go haunt someone else? I’m rather preoccupied with my evil plans!” he informed her, his voice bubbling with rage like a pot about to boil over.

Bob rested her chin on her hand as she considered the matter. “No, I’d rather not, thank you,” she said seriously. “I’ve already haunted Arthur Jackson, who used to pull my pigtails, and Mrs. Crump-Pinnet down the street, who once kicked my Furby when I was walking it down the sidewalk on a leash. But that got a bit dull. So I thought it might be a good idea to stick with the person who actually killed me.”

Voldemort wracked his brains, trying to remember how he had committed this particular murder. He honestly could not remember this girl for the eternal life of him. “Remind me,” he sighed, massaging his throbbing temples, “How exactly did I kill you?”

“Well,” said Bob, alighting on Voldemort’s desk and crossing her legs demurely, “I was selling chocolates door-to-door to support my band class, but when I rang your doorbell, you opened the door and killed me. I still think that was impolite. If you didn’t want chocolates, you could have just said so.”

It was odd, Voldemort had been killing salespeople for so long that it had become nothing more than a reflex, like breathing or blinking. None of his victims had ever complained about this idiosyncrasy of his before.

“Well?” Bob planted her hands on her bony hips. “Are you going to say the magic words?” Voldemort was stumped. The only words that he could think of were ‘Avada Kedavra,’ and he doubted that they were what the ghostly girl had in mind. “I’m sorry?” prompted Bob.

“You’re sorry for what?” replied Voldemort, completely baffled now.

“Voldy, Voldy,” laughed Bob, then she paused introspectively. “Do you mind if I call you Voldy?”

“I do, as a matter of fact. Extremely.”

“Wonderful! Anyway, Voldy, you have a lot to learn about manners. If my mother was here, she’d give you a time-out,” Bob admonished.

Voldemort’s clawlike hands clenched in fists of rage, and he pounded his desk so hard that the glass top of it shattered to pieces. “Listen, I don’t have time for this!” he spat. “I need to kill Harry Potter!”

“No, actually, I don’t think you should do that,” Bob replied thoughtfully. Voldemort fixed his most frightening glare upon her, and she elaborated calmly, “I mean, that might bother him. I didn’t like being killed, personally. You have to think about people’s feelings before you do things like that!”

“DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND?” roared Voldemort, his own skull-like face mere centimetres away from Bob’s transparent one. “I... AM… EVIL! I don’t CARE what Harry Potter thinks about being killed! And I DON’T CARE ABOUT MANNERS! You’re nothing but a stupid little girl who’s trying to meddle with things you don’t understand, and I recommend you leave immediately.”

Bob’s eyes widened, and her innocent little face fell. “Oh,” she said quietly. “Oh…” Then, her expression brightened again. “I’ll promise to leave me alone if you promise to stop being mean and evil and nasty to everyone,” she offered.

“Never,” snarled Voldemort.

The ghostly girl slung an insubstantial arm around the Dark Lord’s bony neck. “Voldy,” she announced happily, “It looks like I’m going to be around for quite awhile.”

Suddenly, mortality didn’t seem so bad to Voldemort anymore.