Night lay like ink, pressing heavily over the lonely cemetery in Little Hangleton.
Voldemort, the Dark Lord who had once plunged the magical world into endless terror, now lay curled in Wormtail's arms. Only his red, gleaming eyes betrayed his sinister resolve.
With a gentle flick of the wand in his hand, the earth slowly turned aside like an obedient servant, giving a muffled rumble, as though the ground were groaning at being disturbed.
Yet after doing all this, Voldemort looked distinctly weakened.
Wormtail hesitated, then said, "Master, shall I do it instead?"
Voldemort shook his head and said coldly, "I had better do it myself."
In the light of his wand, a rotting coffin gradually came fully into view.
Voldemort's breathing quickened slightly. He had waited far too long for this moment.
With a creak, an invisible force lifted the coffin lid, revealing the body within, long since reduced to bones-his father's bones.
"Pick them up, Wormtail. I said pick them up."
Wormtail hurriedly set Voldemort down behind the headstone, jumped into the coffin, and wrapped the bones in his own clothes. Though Voldemort spoke of his father with nothing but contempt and disdain, this was still the Dark Lord's father, and Wormtail dared not show the slightest negligence.
While Wormtail busily gathered the bones, Voldemort caught sight of what seemed to be writing on the back of the headstone out of the corner of his eye.
Voldemort's heart tightened. He turned warily, his wand instantly pointing at the headstone.
Under the faint light of his wand, the words on the back of the headstone gradually became visible.
"Bone of the father, flesh of the servant, blood of the enemy... The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death."
As he read the words on the headstone, even his