Voldemort's chilling voice snapped Wormtail back to the present. He glanced anxiously at the cauldron—the potion was turning green again.
He hurriedly poured in the last of the unicorn blood, stirring as fast as he dared.
More than a month had passed since he'd come to this wretched place. The Dark Lord might call him "old friend" and shower him with honeyed words, but in truth, all he'd done was send Wormtail into the Black Forest to hunt unicorns, collect Nagini's venom, and gather countless rare herbs. Some ingredients weren't even native to the forest—he'd had to risk venturing out to trade for them.
Finally, he'd scraped together every last thing the Dark Lord demanded.
But Wormtail had never been much of a hand at Potions—especially not something as advanced as this, which required a full month's careful brewing.
Even with Voldemort's guidance, his clumsy mistakes only made the Dark Lord's temper more explosive by the day.
Somehow, he'd managed to bumble through a month of this torment.
When the potion began to glow a rose-red, Voldemort gave a final, urgent instruction:
"Add the torsos now—all at once, but gently. Don't toss them in. First, turn up the flame."
Fumbling, Wormtail used his wand to crank the fire higher, then opened a box and took out several shriveled, corpse-like snakes—each one as withered as a mummy. He lowered them into the cauldron, one by one.
Pointing his wand at the potion, he whispered the auxiliary incantations the Dark Lord had drilled into him.
Those snake bodies had been carefully selected by Voldemort himself—hosts he'd possessed for long stretches, each one saturated with his lingering essence.
Time crawled by. The potion darkened from rose to a deep, blood red.
"Wormtail—this is the final step. Don't make a mistake. Gradually lower the flame, then let it die out. Watch the temperature—don't let it drop too quickly."
His hand shook as he eased the fire down, little by little. The potion cooled, a thin skin forming on its surface.
Then Voldemort's voice rose, sharp and electric with excitement:
"Now! Put the child in!"
The snake he was possessing was already beginning to shrivel and die.
Wormtail didn't dare hesitate. He unlatched a second box, revealing a tiny infant, swaddled and sleeping soundly.
For a fleeting moment, the scene was heartbreakingly peaceful. The child's delicate skin was tinged with pink, his face soft and serene, lashes resting on closed lids, breath gentle and shallow.
Wormtail had been watching this baby for a month, only snatching him from the Muggle world that very afternoon. The Dark Lord insisted the child be alive—if he'd stolen him earlier, he'd have had to keep him fed and hidden for weeks. Far too risky.
A single drop of Sleeping Draught in the child's milk had kept him quiet for hours.
He lifted the naked infant from the blankets, and, hands trembling, lowered him into the potion.
Slowly, the crimson liquid swallowed the tiny body, covering nose and mouth.
As the child's life faded, the potion's color began to pale.
At last, Wormtail could see what had become of the infant beneath the surface. Disgust twisted his face before he could stop himself. He quickly schooled his expression, but not quickly enough—Voldemort saw everything.
The rosy, plump baby was gone. In its place was a grotesque, skeletal thing—shrunken, emaciated, a skull-like parody of a child.
Where soft hair had been, there was only bare scalp. The once-cute nose was now just two thin slits; the lips scraped away to nothing.
The chubby hands had become long, spidery, and pale as bone.
Voldemort hissed, "Take it out. Quickly—take him out… Hiss hiss hiss (Parseltongue: Nagini!)"
Wormtail hesitated, staring at the abomination in the cauldron. The moment Voldemort switched to Parseltongue, a shudder ran through him. He reached in, fished out the creature, and wrapped it in the same swaddling cloth.
Just as he finished, a soft slithering sound came from behind—Nagini glided to the baby's side, tongue flickering as she fixed Wormtail with a cold, unblinking stare.
Seeing his loyal snake, Voldemort wasted no time. He dissolved into a cloud of black mist and plunged into the monstrous infant's body.
At once, a pair of scarlet, slit-pupiled eyes blazed to life, fixing on Wormtail.
Maybe it was nerves, but Wormtail's voice rose to a high, trembling pitch:
"Master… your loyal servant welcomes you back…"
Voldemort's voice was icy, almost gentle:
"No. This is only the first step. I must create a body that can truly contain my poor, ghost-like soul, a vessel that can at least let me wield a wand.
My dear old friend, you've worked so hard. Come—hand me your wand. Let's see what surprises this body has in store. After all, it's your masterpiece, a month in the making. Don't you want to witness it?"
The monstrous infant's face twisted in a faint, chilling smile. Nagini coiled, ready to strike—one wrong move, and she'd be at Wormtail's throat in an instant.
Wormtail shuffled forward, trembling. He gripped the tip of his wand and, carefully, placed the handle in Voldemort's spidery pale hand.
Those scarlet eyes never left his. In that moment, Wormtail felt it—the Dark Lord had truly returned. He stumbled back several steps, heart hammering.
Voldemort caressed the wand, clearly pleased. Nine and three-quarters inches—just right for his new form.
His voice dropped to a whisper, cold as the grave:
"Very nice, Wormtail. My old friend. Now… how should I reward you?"
Wormtail bowed low, mumbling, "Master, I am only your faithful servant. This is all I deserve."
Voldemort raised the wand slowly, almost tenderly.
"No. You need… Crucio."
"AAAH!" Wormtail collapsed, writhing in agony. He hadn't expected that the first thing Voldemort would do with a wand in hand was cast the Cruciatus Curse—on him.
A cold chuckle.
"Do you know why?"
Wormtail's voice was hoarse, lips cracked with pain. "You… you…"
"I know everything, Wormtail! You've regretted coming back to me from the very start. I saw the disgust in your eyes just now…"
"I do wonder how Hogwarts ever produced a student as dim as you. Was it Dumbledore's mercy?"
"Even slicing simple potion ingredients—you cut them thick and thin, never right…"
"Losing a finger didn't just cripple your hand, it must've addled your brain as well…"
"How many times have I said: add new ingredients when the potion changes color? Why do I have to remind you every single time?"
"If you weren't still marginally useful, I'd have fed you to Nagini on the very first day. I'm sure she'd enjoy a taste of rat…"
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