The nerve at the tip of Wormtail's tail had been stretched into a string on the verge of snapping.
Despair was a rat trapped in the cage of his ribs, frantically gnawing at his organs.
If only there were a crack through which to escape.
If fate gave him another choice, he swore he would flee this purgatory.
He would never kneel at this madman's feet again.
That old madman who treated human lives like dust and flung Unforgivable Curses around at will.
Following such a master was no different from pressing his own soul onto the devil's gambling table and losing everything.
Gryffindor's courage, fearlessness, love of adventure...
Those words circled through his mind, then dissolved into a wisp of self-mocking smoke.
The light in his eyes went out completely.
There were things he could now only think about.
The effort of propping himself up seemed to drain a century's worth of strength.
Every inch of his bones groaned under the unbearable strain.
He curled into a ball, every movement carrying a rat's instincts.
Hugging the floor, he slipped soundlessly into the deep shadow cast by the bed.
His breathing stirred the dust in the air.
But his heartbeat pounded like a drum, hammering at the room's deathly silence.
Trembling, he glanced toward that corner out of the corner of his eye.
A jolt of astonishment shot up his spine.
Voldemort, his great master, was laboriously turning the pages of that... magazine with his skeletal fingers?
Those red eyes, which should have held nothing but coldness and arrogance, now betrayed a trace of panic.
Yes, panic, and a hint of unmistakable unease.
Wormtail abruptly lowered his head.
He buried his face deep in the darkness, making himself part of the shadows.
He knew that before a monster like this,