In a pitch-black room, two candles burned slowly, their flames crackling.
Wax trickled down the candles and dripped onto a plate. Before it hardened, it reflected a figure—
A gaunt figure. His face was deathly pale, his fingers little more than bones, and his eyes narrowed to slits. He looked like a living corpse.
Voldemort sat intently at the table, leafing through a black book filled with terrifying illustrations and accompanied by ancient writing.
He held a quill in his other hand, continually scribbling in a notebook beside him.
Judging by the dates marked in the notebook, he had been studying ever since the night of his resurrection, all the way up to the present, when Hogwarts had begun its summer holidays.
The notebook was nearly full. It was covered in mysterious writing, along with all sorts of drawings related to the human body, including wizard autopsy diagrams and illustrations of Inferi being made.
It had to be said: though Voldemort was hardly photogenic, his handwriting was neat and elegant, and his drawings lifelike, perfectly capturing every detail of the human body.
Besides the book and notebook, the table was also covered with bottles and jars.
Some contained venom, while others held strange-smelling liquids, with materials prepared by extremely cruel methods steeping inside.
For example, a small pile of ashes lay scattered in one tube. In another jar, a hand was soaking.
The left hand was small and withered, like a rat's, though it looked somewhat familiar.
It was Peter Pettigrew's left hand.
To investigate whether anything had gone wrong with his resurrection, Voldemort had secretly retrieved some of his father's ashes a few days ago.
At the same time, he had briskly confiscated Peter Pettigrew's other hand as research material.
After all, Peter's right hand had been used to