Beyond the outskirts of Little Hangleton, beside a dark, overgrown graveyard.
Peter Pettigrew was holding Voldemort in his infant form, staring blankly at a gravestone, bored out of his mind.
He would have liked to find something to pass the time, like sneaking into a Muggle pub in the nearby village to steal a couple of watered-down ginger beers.
Unfortunately, he didn't dare. After all, he was holding his frail, powerless master in his arms.
"My dear Peter, is the Potion ready?" Voldemort suddenly asked, opening his eyes. They had been shut tight.
"It's ready, Master."
Peter couldn't help grumbling inwardly at Voldemort's question. It was impossible to say how many times Voldemort had asked the same thing by now.
Unfortunately, he didn't have the courage to complain to Voldemort. He didn't even dare let the thought linger in his mind before quickly suppressing it.
Even though Voldemort was now a helpless infant, and Peter could have strangled his master with only a little effort, he still didn't have the nerve.
"Are you sure? The moment we get Harley Potter's blood, I'll be able to regain my body?"
Voldemort repeated his earlier question, his voice cold and piercing.
"Everything is completely ready, my greatest Master." Peter's voice was timid. He wouldn't dare show even the slightest disrespect.
"See that it is. If anything goes wrong, I'll have no choice but to consider feeding you to Nagini."
Voldemort didn't care in the least about his current weakness, or about the feelings of the only underling he had with him.
Nagini slithered over from nearby, flicking her tongue. She watched Peter for a few seconds, then quickly slithered away again.
Clearly, the giant snake was looking forward to her next meal.
"Why is Barty taking so long? Does it really take this