For a normal person, it is really a matter of courage to self-harm and cut off part of his arm, and it is no wonder that he is so frightened and hesitant.

Peter Pettigrew trembled and stretched out his right hand, the one missing a finger, and then grabbed the dagger tightly with his left hand and swung it towards his right.

"Sting. ”

At that moment, he closed his eyes, trying not to look at the cruel and bloody scene.

A terrible scream resounded through the night sky, startling a few owls perched on the purple shirt tree not far away, and the branches shook and rustled.

With a soft thud, one of Peter's arms fell into the boiling cauldron.

He gasped in pain and sat down beside the cauldron, his arm still intact supporting his body.

"Good, well done. Voldemort in the cauldron smiled with satisfaction, "I feel my strength recovering, and now we just need to wait quietly for that little friend to arrive, right?"

"Yes, my great host. He excitedly said that once Voldemort regained his strength, he would be rewarded supremely, and even if he had made some mistakes before, he would still return to his master's side and dutifully work for his great plan.

"Okay, master. Peter said respectfully, still frowning at pain, and the intact hand picked up the wand that had just been thrown on the ground.

"Waste. Voldemort sneered, and then simply stretched out his thin arm, which was still attached to a lot of potions, and pointed at Peter's severed arm, and said coldly:

"Healed as ever!" a flash of light flashed, and then the severed hand, which was bleeding continuously, healed instantly.

"I'll give you a new arm later, and it'll be stronger, and that's your reward. Voldemort chuckled, and the effect of this wish seemed to be that his thin voice was less pervasive.

"Thank you for your generosity, master!" Peter Pettigrew said flatteringly, and then sat down on the ground, regaining his strength, waiting.

"Hatred - the blood of the enemy...... Forced to give ...... can make your enemies ...... Resurrection. Peter muttered to himself.

"Oh, our protagonist hasn't come yet, Peter. Voldemort was in a good mood now, that uncomfortable feeling had been put behind him, his strength was about to be restored, the feared Dark Lord was about to return, and he was even in the mood to make fun of his men.

"Master, I'm just trying the spell, I'm afraid I'll forget it later. Peter Pettigrew said hurriedly.

Then something amazing happened, and the smile on Voldemort's disgusting baby face suddenly faded.

The liquid in the crucible turned a dazzling white at this point.

The cauldron was about to boil, and the diamond-like sparks splattered outwards in all directions, so bright and dazzling that everything around them turned into a black velvety color.

Suddenly, the spark on the crucible went out. A puff of white vapor rose from the cauldron.

"Worm... Tail... A chill from his soul came over Peter Pettigrew, and he still didn't know what had gone wrong, but Voldemort's hateful, shivering voice sent chills all over his body.

Could it be that the resurrection failed?

Peter Pettigrew couldn't help but think so in his heart.

Then, through the white mist in front of him, he creeped to see the black figure of a man, tall and thin, like a skeleton, slowly rising from the crucible.

Then the black robe, which had been thrown on the ground and was wrapped in it, suddenly moved, and scurried into the cauldron and put it on Voldemort's body.

"Oh, I thought you were just cowardly, stupid, and not so loyal to me, but I didn't expect that you still have hatred in my emotions?"

The man said coldly and sharply.

Peter Pettigrew broke out in a cold sweat, and he vaguely guessed what was happening.

The thin man stepped out of the cauldron, his eyes fixed on his servant, a face paler than a skeleton, two large eyes flushed, a nose as flat as a snake's, and two thin slits in the nostrils......

Voldemort is resurrected.

Voldemort began to examine his body, his hands like a large pale spider, his long, pale fingers caressing his chest, arms, and face, his red eyes brighter in the dark, his pupils were slit, like a cat's eyes. He raised his hands and moved his fingers.

Peter Pettigrew couldn't see the expression of his master in front of him, but the cold back and the keen premonition of danger made him understand that Voldemort didn't seem to be in a very good mood.

At least not in line with the joy that regaining the body should have.

A large snake suddenly sprang out of the dark grass, its massive body writhing flexibly, and then began to wrap around Voldemort.

Then he quickly departed as if he had untied a rope, prostrate at Voldemort's feet.

In a short period of time, Voldemort was already dressed.

"Oh, Nagini, are you happy for me, too? But I'm not in the mood to be happy right now. Voldemort said lightly, unable to see the joy and anger, but Peter Pettigrew knew that he was about to face the man's monstrous wrath.

"Voldemort's return should be perfect, and it could not be better to use the blood of the boy who ruined his inheritance as a sign of shame. ”

Voldemort muttered.

"But now it seems to have been ruined by a fool, what do you think I should do with him? ”

Peter Pettigrew lay on the ground trembling like chaff, not daring to say a word.

"Listen. Voldemort suddenly whispered, and Peter Pettigrew immediately subconsciously obeyed the order and pricked up his ears.

"I felt the space tremble, and there were a lot of people rushing this way. Voldemort said that Nagini suddenly straightened up his pliable body, looking around rather anthropomorphically, the snake's eyes turned, and the scarlet letter stretched out and writhed.

"Let's guess who they are?" Voldemort said softly, in a reminiscent tone, and then swept his gaze to Peter.

"Ahh Voldemort scrutinized it, ignoring the uncontrollable sobs of the wormtail.

The jet-black blood looked so weird and bewitching in the faint night.