For a normal person, to self-mutilate and cut off a part of his own arm is a matter of great courage. No wonder he acted in such a frightened and hesitant manner.
Peter Pettigrew tremblingly stretched out his right hand—the hand with one finger missing, then tightly grasped the dagger with his left hand, and swung it towards his right hand.
"Stabbed."
At that moment, he closed his eyes, trying not to look at the cruel and bloody scene.
A shrill scream resounded through the night sky, startling several owls perched on the yew tree not far away, and the branches shook and made a rustling sound.
With a light plop, one of Peter's arms fell into the boiling cauldron at this moment.
Panting in pain, he fell down beside the cauldron, his still intact arm was supporting his body.
"Very good, well done." Voldemort in the crucible smiled with satisfaction, "I can feel my strength recovering, and then we just need to wait quietly for the arrival of that little friend, right? Tail?"
"Yes, my great master." He said excitedly, once Voldemort regains his strength, he will be rewarded supremely. Even though he made some mistakes before, he still returned to his master's side and did his best to serve He worked hard on his plan,
"Okay, master." Peter said respectfully, but still frowning in pain, his good hand picked up the wand that had just been dropped on the ground.
"Trash." Voldemort sneered, then just stretched out his thin arm with a lot of liquid medicine attached to Peter's severed arm, and said coldly:
"Healed as before!" A ray of light flashed, and then the severed hand that was bleeding continuously healed immediately.
"Later I will grant you a new arm, which will be stronger, and that will be your reward," said Voldemort with a chuckle, and the effect of the wish seemed to be that his high-pitched voice was less piercing. people.
"Thank you for your generosity, Master!" Peter Pettigrew flattered, then sat down on the ground, recovering his strength, and waited.
"The blood of the enemy... forced to sacrifice... can bring your enemy... back to life." Peter murmured softly.
"Oh, our protagonist hasn't come yet, Peter." Voldemort is in a great mood now, the uncomfortable feeling has been left behind by him, his power is about to be restored, and the fearsome Dark Lord is about to return , so he even had the mood to tease his subordinates.
"Master, I'm just trying the spell, I'm afraid I'll forget it later." Pettigrew Peter said hastily.
Then the astonishing thing happened, and the smile on Voldemort's disgusting baby face faded away.
At this moment, the ** in the crucible turned blinding white.
The cauldron was about to boil, and diamond-like sparks flew out in all directions, so bright and dazzling that everything around it turned the color of black velvet.
Suddenly, the spark on the crucible went out. A puff of white vapor rose from the cauldron.
"Worm... tail...?" A chill from the soul hit Peter Pettigrew. He still didn't know what went wrong, but Voldemort's voice was full of hatred and trembling deep into the bone marrow Let him feel cold all over.
Did the resurrection fail
Peter Pettigrew couldn't help but think so in his heart.
Then, through the white mist in front of his eyes, he saw with horror the black figure of a man slowly rising from the cauldron, tall and thin, like a skeleton.
Then, being thrown on the ground before, the black robe responsible for wrapping the package suddenly moved, jumped into the cauldron, and put it on Voldemort.
"Oh, I thought you were just cowardly, stupid, and not so loyal to me, but I didn't expect that you still have hatred for me?"
The man said coldly and sharply.
Peter Pettigrew broke out in a cold sweat, and he vaguely guessed what happened.
The thin man stepped out of the cauldron and stared at his servant. His face was paler than that of a skeleton. His two big eyes were red and his nose was as flat as a snake's. The nostrils were two thin slits...
Voldemort is back to life.
Voldemort began to examine his body. His hands were like giant pale spiders, and his slender, pale fingers stroked his chest, arms, and face; Eye. He raised his hands, flexing his fingers.
Peter Pettigrew couldn't see his master's expression clearly, but the chill on his back and his keen sense of danger made him understand that Voldemort didn't seem to be in a good mood.
At least it doesn't meet the joy that getting back the body should have.
At this time, a big snake suddenly jumped out from the dark grass, its huge body twisted flexibly, and then gradually began to wrap itself around Voldemort.
Then he left as quickly as if he had untied a rope, and crawled at Voldemort's feet.
In a short time, Voldemort had put on his clothes.
"Oh? Nagini, are you happy for me too? But I'm not in the mood to be happy now." Voldemort said lightly, unable to see clearly, but Peter Pettigrew knew that he was about to face the man's monstrous anger .
"The return of Voldemort should be perfect, and it would be a good choice to use the blood of the boy who ruined his foundation as a sign of washing away the shame."
Voldemort murmured.
"But now it seems to be ruined by a fool, what do you think I should do with him?"
Peter Pettigrew lay on the ground trembling like chaff, not daring to say a word.
"Listen." Voldemort suddenly said softly, Peter Pettigrew immediately subconsciously obeyed the order and pricked up his ears.
"I feel the space trembling, and many people are coming here." Voldemort said, Nagini suddenly straightened up his flexible body at this time, looking around quite anthropomorphically, with snake eyes turning, scarlet Xinzi stretched out and twisted.
"Let's guess who they are?" Voldemort said softly, in a nostalgic tone, and then glanced at Peter who was aside.
"Ah!" The bone-deep pain caused Peter Pettigrew to let out a scream, and began to roll on the ground. He watched the wound on his healed arm burst open suddenly, bleeding again, and his arm Extending upwards, there is something on the skin, which seems to be a bright red tattoo pattern - a snake spit out from the mouth of a skeleton, which is the figure that appeared in the Quidditch World Cup: the Dark Mark. Voldemort studied it carefully, ignoring Wormtail's uncontrollable sobs.
The black blood looked so weird and coquettish in the light of night.