"Master, is this the place?" said a short man in a cloak, hunched over with a bag in his hand, muttering to himself because there was no one in front of him who could be seen.

Maybe he's talking to a ghost?

After all, this neighborhood is a cemetery.

Everywhere were desolate, long-uncleaned tombstones, some even broken in pieces, revealing sharp or sleek corners, and here you could look to the right to see the black outline of a chapel behind a tall yew tree. On the left is a hill with a fine old house on the hillside

"That's right... Peter. The sound of a snake hissing came from the package, indicating that Peter was not muttering to himself, but to someone to talk to.

"Master, you'll be back in the middle of now. Peter Pettigrew said excitedly that all his hopes now rested on the strangely shaped lump of flesh wrapped in his hand.

In the package, of course, is Voldemort, who has lost his body and is still breathing.

For Peter, Voldemort was also his last hope, and if something happened to the man's resurrection, he would not have been able to run all the time, and sooner or later he would be caught by the haunted Aurors and captured in Azkaban, because his Animagus was also exposed and could no longer be hidden.

"Don't shake your hands. Voldemort in the package said coldly.

"It's... Yes, master. Peter Pettigrew immediately forcibly controlled his hands that were shaking with excitement and quieted them.

"Now it's time to start preparing... My "medicine" should be on its way by now, and it will be there soon. ”

Hearing this, Peter Pettigrew trembled towards a fairly flat mound, waved his wand, and quickly transformed into a huge crucible, which looked so large that it could accommodate an adult to sit in it.

Then Peter took out a package from somewhere, opened it slowly, and began to add various potions to the crucible, stirring it, and soon the liquid was all over the crucible, as if it was about to overflow at any moment.

The sound of splashing is endless.

"Hurry up. The man in the package placed on the ground said viciously.

Voldemort suddenly had a rather ominous premonition in his heart, as if he was being targeted by someone, and it was still someone who could make him feel fear.

Peter Pettigrew stirred the cauldron faster and faster, his thick arm stirring the liquid with the help of tools.

That faint sense of foreboding spread more and more in Voldemort's heart, as if it was about to penetrate every corner of his body.

"Go! get my father's ashes first!" Voldemort in the package suddenly screamed hysterically, and his slender arm was raised from the package, steaming with a heavy smell of blood.

"Yes, master. Peter Pettigrew gasped, threw the branch away from his hand, and dragged his stocky body in the direction Voldemort was pointing.

He lifted the tombstone panel, waved his wand, and took a little powder out of it.

"Master, got it. Peter Pettigrew, walked back, bent down, and said respectfully.

"Well, I felt a smell that made me ashamed. After seeing the ashes of old Tom Riddle, Voldemort's mood eased a little, but he began to taunt his father without caring at all.

There seems to be a strange sense between father and son, and even after years of death, for Voldemort, there is still a faint connection to his father's ashes.

As for some of the things that were mixed in there, he didn't have time to care.

"Let's get started, Wormtail. His lips twitched.

"But master, the boy hasn't come yet, and I still need to take charge of bringing him here, and he will definitely resist. Peter Pettigrew looked hesitant.

"Are you questioning Voldemort's decision?" said a cold voice from the package.

"No, not at all, my esteemed master. Peter said respectfully and fearfully.

"It's not a good place to stay for a long time, so we need to be prepared in advance. Or are you doubting my abilities? Even if I am like this now, do you think that I can't even deal with that kind of imp who only relies on luck? Old Crouch is more useful than our savior, isn't it?"

"We had everything ready and just waited for the boy to come. "Voldemort sensibly said that he would soon regain his physical body, regain his strength, and then kill the boy as a matter of course. As a sign of washing away one's shame and a symbol of one's return.

Everything was so perfect.

Voldemort pondered, fantasizing, and the serpent's face showed a twisted sense of satisfaction.

The worm's tail ripped open the burden on the ground, revealing what was inside.

A slimy, eyeless ugly thing - no, it's scary than that, a hundred times scary. The thing that the worm's tail picked up looked like a curled up baby. It had no hair, and its body seemed to have scales, and its skin was dark and red, like wounded tender flesh. Its arms and legs were thin and soft, and its face—no living child had such a face—was a flattened snake face with a pair of sparkling red eyes.

The thing looked completely incapable of taking care of itself, and it raised its thin arm around the neck of the worm's tail. Wormtail took it in his hands and walked towards the cauldron.

Wormtail carried the thing to the edge of the cauldron, and the splash of water dancing on the potion's surface illuminated the evil flat face. Wormtail put the thing in the cauldron, and with a hissing sound, it sank.

The soft sound of his body touching the bottom of the crucible.

Wormtail was talking, his voice trembling, as if he had lost his nerves. He raised his wand, closed his eyes, and said to the night sky, "Father's bones, unintentionally donated, can regenerate your son!"

The ashes spread out in black cloth rose into the air at the call of the worm's tail and fell gently into the crucible. The diamond-like surface of the liquid cracked, hissed, sparks flew everywhere, and the liquid turned a bright red blue, which at first glance was poisonous.

The ugly thing in the cauldron screamed sharply, "Quick, next, I can feel that our savior is coming." ”

The worm's tail is whimpering. He drew a long, thin, silver dagger from his cloak. His voice suddenly turned into a sobbing of extreme fear: "The flesh of the servant—self-..... Give it voluntarily so that your master can be born again. ”