In a basement in an unnamed Muggle neighborhood.
Rotting wood, dust accumulated over the years, and a faint serpentine stench that seemed to seep from the cracks between bones mingled into a nauseating atmosphere of despair.
Light could never reach this place.
It was as though even sunlight feared setting foot in this realm utterly steeped in darkness.
It could only cast a pale, feeble shadow outside the single small window set high at the top of the wall.
In a corner, the enormous Nagini lay coiled, her cold scales occasionally reflecting a faint gleam in the gloom, like cold jewels embedded in the darkness.
She flicked her tongue silently, each movement making the rank odor in the air a little stronger.
Every step Wormtail took felt like stepping onto a red-hot iron plate.
He tightly clutched a brand-new copy of the Daily Prophet.
He could clearly smell the fresh ink on it, a scent belonging to the bustling world, to Diagon Alley, to Hogwarts.
And that scent formed a deadly contrast with the decay, damp, and despair of this place.
Every breath seemed to remind him of just how vibrant a world he had fallen from, and into what an abyss of eternal damnation.
"Wormtail... my friend..."
A faint, hoarse voice came from the frail infant wrapped in a shabby blanket in the middle of the room.
The voice made him give a violent shudder of fear.
"Master... I'm here, Master."
He answered abjectly, like a rat whose tail had been stepped on, letting out ingratiating, trembling squeaks.
"The newspaper... have you brought it?"
The voice asked.
"Yes, Master. Today's latest paper."
Wormtail tried to make his voice sound steady, but he knew his clumsy acting could never fool the other.
It was not the paper's contents he feared,