The fire in the hearth flickered restlessly, casting a long, thin, distorted shadow on the damp stone wall.
That shadow belonged to Voldemort, though at that moment he looked more like a fragile, malformed skeleton.
"...On the cold, damp streets of London, a frail boy named John Prince huddled in a corner of Wool's Orphanage..."
Wormtail's voice was high and thin, with a deliberately ingratiating tone, as though coaxing a child.
The pages of The Quibbler in his hands were already curling slightly.
"His mother was a pure-blood descendant of Slytherin, but his father was an utterly ordinary Muggle."
"From the moment he was born, this little half-blood wizard was destined for an extraordinary life..."
Wormtail read with absorption, utterly unaware that the scarlet eyes of the skeleton beside the hearth were slowly freezing over.
With his intelligence, he naturally could not connect the "half-blood" in the story to his great master before him.
Voldemort could not kill that magazine, because he needed his remaining strength to keep breathing.
But the surname "Prince" dragged his thoughts unerringly toward someone else.
Severus Snape.
He knew that Snape's mother's maiden name was Prince, and that his father was also a filthy Muggle.
Moreover, when this article had been published, he had happened to be at Hogwarts and had witnessed Snape's reaction to it.
"Master," Wormtail paused, seemingly remembering something amusing, "I remember this article seemed to be hinting at that... Snivellus back then."
"Severus Snape."
"He was still at Hogwarts then. He was so furious he confiscated every copy..."
"Keep reading."
Voldemort's voice squeezed out between his teeth, like the cold flick of a snake's tongue.
Wouldn't I know whether it was talking about Snape?
Snape had never lived in an orphanage, much less Wool's Orphanage in London.
Apart from that old