The eardrum-splitting shriek finally subsided.
But the air in the basement was thicker and colder than before.
It was as though that terrifying roar had drained away every sound, leaving only a vacuum that could freeze the soul.
Wormtail knelt on the floor, not daring to move. He felt as though his heart had stopped beating and his blood had congealed in his veins.
All he could hear was the clattering of his own teeth, driven by uncontrollable fear.
In the corner, the enormous Nagini stopped stirring restlessly. It coiled up again, its huge head raised high.
Its green slit pupils were like two searchlights from hell, fixed on Wormtail, cold and utterly emotionless.
It was waiting.
Waiting for its master's next command.
The weak infant bundled in a ragged blanket had also gone still.
The violent, almost epileptic convulsions had vanished.
He lay motionless, like a pale wax figure drained of all vitality.
Only those scarlet eyes still shone in the darkness.
The rage, humiliation, and fear within them had solidified again, like cooling volcanic lava, into hard, cold obsidian.
"Wormtail."
A voice rang out.
Hoarse and faint, like something scraping against bone.
Yet it carried an authority that seemed to come from the abyss.
Wormtail shuddered violently, like a rat whose tail had been stepped on, and let out a short, ingratiating squeak.
"Master... I'm here, Master."
"Look at you."
The roar was gone from Voldemort's voice, leaving only pure contempt without a trace of warmth.
"Still trembling at my anger. Do you still not understand?"
"Anger comes from powerlessness."
Voldemort paused.
"And you," he continued, "are the best proof of my present powerlessness."
"A loyal servant should be like a finely honed blade, clearing every obstacle from his master's path.
"Wherever his master points, the blade should