Voldemort had broken his promise.
At least, that was how Peter Pettigrew saw it.
Ever since Peter had helped Voldemort restore his body, he had seen none of what the other man had promised. It had all been nothing but hot air.
Naturally, Peter did not dare bring it up in front of Voldemort, unless he had a death wish.
Especially after realizing that his situation was far from ideal, Peter became increasingly meek, hoping Voldemort would not notice him.
However, that was clearly impossible.
Because he had once again been accepted as a Death Eater.
Though he was at the very bottom of the ranks and received none of the treatment a proper Death Eater should have, 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 Sirius and Lupin hunting him down until he had nowhere left to run!
If he could have chosen, Peter Pettigrew would actually have preferred to return to a normal life. Especially after resurrecting Voldemort, cruel reality had utterly shattered his last lingering illusions.
But that was no longer possible.
There was no medicine for regret! 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, he was no match for him. Little Barty had lost to the man even after ambushing 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 numerous Dark wizards recruited