Wormtail stood before an abandoned stone cottage halfway up the mountainside, holding Voldemort.
The sea breeze carried a salty tang, and Wormtail could not help shivering.
"Master, is this the place?"
"Go inside."
Voldemort's voice was as cold as ice.
Wormtail carefully pushed open the shabby wooden door.
The door gave a piercing creak.
The cottage was filled with the smell of mildew and the dampness of seawater.
Moonlight shone through the broken windows, casting patches of light and shadow on the floor.
The stone cottage was larger inside than expected.
Mildew covered the walls, and the floor was uneven, but the basic structure of the rooms was still intact.
"Who used to live here?"
Wormtail asked cautiously.
"Muggles."
Voldemort's tone was full of disdain.
"Decades ago, this was a small village. Later, they moved down the mountain, saying it was too dangerous here, that there were too many storms."
He gave a cold laugh.
"Stupid Muggles. They had no idea that the real danger was never the storms."
Wormtail did not dare respond.
He wandered around with Voldemort in his arms.
Those scarlet eyes swept over every corner.
"Clean enough."
"From now on, we'll be staying here for a long time."
Wormtail trembled all over.
"Master, you mean..."
"Brewing potions."
Voldemort cut him off.
"I need to stabilize this damned body and prepare for my resurrection."
He raised his pale hand.
"This body is too fragile. It cannot withstand even the simplest magic."
Wormtail nodded repeatedly.
"Yes, Master. I'll do everything I can..."
"You need to do two things."
Voldemort's voice suddenly turned stern.
"First, brew the potions according to my recipes. You must not get a single step wrong. Second, you must never use magic except inside this cottage."
Wormtail froze.
"Master, why..."
"Because of those damned Aurors!"