"That child!" yelled Lord Voldemort through his teeth. He was sitting in the study of Malfoy Manor, holding a goblin by his throat, shaking the corpse like a rag doll. He screamed, and tossed the body of the unknown worthless husk to the side of the room.
"Who was this being?" he pronounced in a high, clear voice.
"He-e hiss name wasss Don Quixote, sir" said a helpless banker.
"What kind of a name is that?"
"It, it it it is a muggle name from a story of theirs, my lord."
"Should have known" said Voldemort, almost to himself.
"Leave" said Voldemort to the goblin, and the poor, pathetic thing ran out the door as fast as he could.
It was unfortunate, since goblins have magic that is usually beyond that of humans, and this was an opportune time to relieve the big bad of his wand. It had been laying on Voldemort's left armrest while a ball of white energy sat in his hand, while in turn his other hand was occupied with it's useless bravado of a madman who knew he was past his prime.
The ball of white energy was the very soul of Don Quixote, the goblin. He was wondering what to put it in. Nothing worthwhile was in the Malfoy's house. Nothing. It was all garbage, except for the house itself.
"Eureka!" shouted Voldemort.
He would perform a spell that would bind one eighth of his soul into the very grounds of Malfoy Manor. It was the perfect plan, since Potter couldn't possibly destroy the Earth beneath his feet, let alone get inside the grounds of the noble house of Black. It would gladly make up for the loss of inherent luckiness of number seven. Or would it?
The spell didn't take very long, in fact it took only a few minutes, but to Voldemort it seemed like it took a half hour. What remained of his soul internally was but a tiny fragment, and it was a lonely, desecrated, filthy one at that. He felt tired and useless. He collapsed in the middle of the floor, right next to a comfortable chair.
He awoke, and saw that the grandfather clock was striking Midnight.
"Blast!" He missed Potter and his bloody stupid friends. He predicted that they would come tonight, and they could have gotten to the diadem by now. Speaking of which, why didn't anyone try to wake him in the six hours he's been asleep?
"There's going to be Hell to pay" he said, grandly.
Voldemort went to the door, opened it...and there were three muggle girls doing some stupid game involving one of them jumping rope.
"One, two, Freddy's coming for you" they sang.
He blasted them out of the way with a little wave and muttering. He then walked past the three charred remains of the confringo'd muggle girls.
The hallway was not particularly decorated to Tom's liking, with a 12 century portrait of some long sleeping ancestor of the Black's muttering to himself about haggis being the most annoying adornment.
"Who the hell is Freddy anyway?" said Tom to himself.
Voldemort immediately turned around and shot another direct confringo charm just out of habit. He felt someone breathing on his neck, and that voice...who was that. It sounded like an American. Tom couldn't stand Americans, whether wizard or muggle.
Was it a poltergeist, like the one that haunts the Hogwarts castle? If it was, Voldemort wasn't too worried. He was practically immortal anyway. What is a poltergeist going to do when he sues the buggers ass with an eviction notice? Huh? That's right.
"I bet you heard me thinking that, poltergeist!" said Tom, madly.
He then walked, and thought to himself that the confringo charm actually somehow improved the look of the hallway. How it did in fact, nobody knows. Don't ever try and discuss interior decorating with a madman like Tom Riddle.
He opened the hallway door leading to the parlor. But the parlor wasn't there. It was an exit. An exit to a place Voldemort never wanted to go back to. Trunchbull.
He saw Dumbledore hurry along the sidewalk on that miserable, overcast, rainy day in London. He was wearing a cloak. He didn't remember Dumbledore wearing a cloak over his head. What's going on here? Voldemort immediately apparated right next to the seeming phantom and grabbed him by the shoulders.
"Who ARE you?"
Voldemort pulled the cloak off the man's head, and revealed a burnt, nasty face. His eyes were cold, remorseless and evil. Totally detached of any humanity, just like him.
"I'm the stuff nightmares are made of, baby", and the burnt man just walked on into the building.
Tom ran into the building and demanded to know who this man was.
He turned and said, angrily, "Frederick Charles Krueger, now leave me the fuck alone."
Voldemort was momentarily stunned. Memories flashed before his eyes, of the rape, murder and torture of litterally hundreds of kids and the occasional adult, all over the United States. He tried his best to overcome the rush of sick memories and try and turn it against this man, and maybe make him feel the same pain, but it was to no avail. He felt no response from this "Freddy Krueger."
Back in reality, Tom now shot a well aimed cruciatus curse with as much force and malice as he could muster.
"Argghhhhhh! You asshole!"
Freddy was standing over the dead body of Mrs Cole, who was stabbed in the throat by four blades extending from the sleeve of Krueger's right arm. It wasn't that Tom wasn't glad that the muggle woman was dead, but it was he who wanted to do it.
Freddy ran down the hall, heading towards Tom's old room. He was fast, but Voldemort was faster with apparation.
"Confringo! Confringo! Bombarda maxima! CRUCIO!"
Krueger's body was splattered all over the walls and the floors of the anti septic hallway. The prison like hallway, Voldemort noted to himself.
He was out of breath, and exhausted in his as of late out of character behavior.
Voldemort walked down the hallway to his room. He stared at the wooden door for one second too many, and turned the knob.
Inside his room was a coffin. Doing a scanning charm, Voldemort saw his own body inside, in a modern muggle suit. His stopped breathing.
Suddenly, Krueger was back from the dead, pushing Voldemort in the room with the forceful push of a trolls strength, and the casket magically opened.
"Look at it!" This voice was coming from inside his own mind. He was going mad.
Voldemort suddenly blasted the whole room apart with fiendfyre. The ruins gave way the entire building, and all that was left was fire and brimstone. Endless evil and dearth of hope or love. He was in Hell.
"I thrive in here, baby" said the demon. "I've been looking for an evil bastard just like myself, and eventually I found you. "You're not up to snuff. You're an Adolf Hitler wannabe. With benefits. You're the origin story of the freaking Batman for crying out loud!"
"I can't be dead, I'm immortal!" cried the Dark Lord.
"Tommy old boy" said Freddy, who instantaeously apparated near Voldemort, rubbing his chin, "You're not dead. Look above you."
He saw Bellatrix screaming for healers. He also saw the Malfoy's in the background, looking ashamed and lost. They needed a leader, even one that they were afraid of.
"You're not dead. You're just in a coma. So now's my time to leave and bid you adieu. Happy trails, Voldy! Hahahahaha..."
Where the hell did the suitcase come from?
Epilogue: The Wizarding War effectively but with much trepidation ended when healers could not bring Voldemort out of a magically induced coma. He was laid on permanent rotation all around Malfoy Manor, with the Black's being sued under the new jurisdiction of the muggle born friendly Ministry of Magic. On a much sadder note, Freddy Krueger eventually got to Harry too, and put him in a coma when he realized that his reality warping powers couldn't undo the conundrum of having a piece of someone else's soul inside his body. Voldemort watched, from the deep pits of Hell, Harry chatting with the angel that was Albus Dumbledore. They played card games and chatted like old friends, and communicated with the school. Harry even had his own honorary portrait hung in the Great Hall, where he communicated with new students every year, and learned to live with his new unlife. That is, until Krueger learns to undo the magic spells that keep this all together.