Voldemort had broken his promise.
At least, that was how Peter Pettigrew saw it.
Ever since Peter had helped Voldemort regain his body, he had seen none of the things Voldemort had promised him. They had amounted to nothing but farting.
Naturally, Peter had not dared bring it up in front of Voldemort, unless he had a death wish.
Especially after realizing his situation was far from good, Peter became even more meek, hoping Voldemort would not notice him.
However, that was obviously impossible.
Because he had once again been accepted as a member of the Death Eaters.
Though he ranked at the very bottom and received none of the treatment a Death Eater should have received, to the point that the other Death Eaters looked down on him, he was still a Death Eater.
And the only benefit that status brought was that he no longer had to worry about being hunted to the ends of the earth by Sirius Black and Lupin!
If possible, Peter Pettigrew would actually have preferred to return to an ordinary life. Especially after reviving Voldemort, cruel reality had thoroughly shattered his last shred of fantasy.
But that was no longer possible.
There was no medicine for regret in this world!
A few days ago, the Dark Lord had suddenly ordered Peter Pettigrew to hunt down Albert Anderson, that Mudblood.
God, it was practically a suicide mission.
What was more, Peter Pettigrew had no idea where that Mudblood was. Even if he did know, he was no match for him. Even Barty Crouch Jr. had been defeated after trying to ambush him, so what could he possibly do?
He was only Peter Pettigrew, nothing more.
Perhaps knowing Peter's capabilities, the Dark Lord had sent another Death Eater to assist him, along with many Dark