Wormtail first climbed to his feet, then bowed to Voldemort before cautiously pulling open the bundle and revealing what was inside.
Harry wanted to cry out, but the coal in his mouth was far too large and absorbent. His mouth felt parched.
The Voldemort in the bundle was a sticky, eyeless, ugly thing.
It looked a little like a curled-up baby, with all four limbs drawn to its chest, but Harry had never seen anything less like a baby.
It had no hair, and its body was covered in fine, dark-red scales that looked like skinless flesh in the darkness of the night.
Its arms and legs were thin and soft, and even its face was flat and snakelike, with a pair of gleaming red eyes. Those were the eyes that had been staring at Harry earlier.
The thing seemed utterly incapable of caring for itself. It merely raised its thin arms and wrapped them around its servant's neck.
Wormtail held it against his shoulder, but his expression was strange, as though he were holding some precious treasure that had just been fished out of a cesspit.
Peter's face held a complicated mixture of greed, disgust, fear, and excitement. Harry had never imagined a human expression could contain so much, so chaotically.
Wormtail carried the little monster to the rim of the Cauldron. The boiling potion illuminated its evil face. With a burst of hissing, the baby that was presumably Voldemort sank beneath the surface. Harry even thought he heard the faint sound of its body striking the bottom of the Cauldron.
Drown it, burn it, any death would do. Harry's thoughts raced wildly.
His scar burned almost beyond endurance, and his wand had fallen somewhere far away. His mind was in chaos, yet he could not make a sound.