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"Damn it! Let me go now, you son of a bicth!" Harry swore, glaring at Pettigrew.
There was anger, hatred and contempt in his expression, and deep in his green eyes you could see a fear and distress that he could not hide in the face of the desperate situation he found himself in.
The boy with a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead was still tied up by the ropes from the dark wizard's restraining spell, being slowly levitated towards the statue of the angel of death on the Riddles' grave.
"Urgh! Fuck!" he grunted in effort, thrashing frantically in a futile attempt to free himself from the ropes that bound him.
But against these magical ropes, nothing he did was of any use, and he could only curse and rage as he was placed in front of the statue of the reaper.
Pettigrew then, with a wave of his wand, caused the statue to move, holding Harry firmly with its hands and scythe.
Checking and confirming that Harry was properly restrained by the statue, Pettigrew nodded to himself, dispelling the ropes that bound him.
After doing this he turned to me, who had been left sitting next to another old gravestone. Like Harry I was also tied up, but Pettigrew added an extra detail to my restraint, which was the silencing charm.
And now, besides being immobilized, I could no longer speak, and could only stare coldly at the ugly and despicable rat.
"Hello Night, long time no see," Pettigrew said, showing his rotten, yellow teeth in a disgusting smile.
Hearing this and feeling his anger and malice I narrowed my eyes, 'So he recognizes me...' I thought, realizing that he had probably seen my face - even if only for an instant - in the day I captured him.
Pettigrew seemed to have more things to say to me, but knowing that it was unwise to anger his master by delaying his resurrection, he decided to remain quiet, putting any dissatisfaction he had with me aside and returning to focus on the ritual
'Well, from his hateful emotions I'm sure he'd love to curse me right here and now'
'But unfortunately for him his master is in a hurry, besides he also seems to have a strange interest in me, which stops this damn rat from attacking me... At least for now' I thought, seeing the traitor approach the large iron cauldron.
I wasn't really worried about Voldemort's mysterious intentions towards me. I knew that, as a cliché villain full of monologues and arrogant speeches, he would take a while to do something against me... That is, if he actually did anything.
His unexpected interest, along with the memory of Barty Junior trying to convince me to join the Death Eaters, made me have a sneaking suspicion about what the Dark Lord wanted from me.
He was most likely leaving me alive because he wanted to make me swear loyalty to him, continuing what his dead servant started and failed to do.
'I can't tell if that's good or bad,' I frowned.
On the one hand, this stupid thought of his that he would be able to convert me into one of his followers was good, as it would protect me until the ritual was complete.
This also saved me the trouble of having to fake my death, accident or something like that to remain inactive, which would have been my excuse for not interfering with the ritual until the right moment – which wasn't necessary now, since I was trapped.
However, on the other hand - the bad one - I was now under Voldemort's recruitment radar, and him knowing I was a Muggleborn and still trying to recruit me showed that he saw potential in me that surpassed his prejudices.
And that was dangerous for me, because just as I had the potential to be one of his servants, I also had the potential to be a threat that needed to be eliminated.
The only thing left for him was to choose which of these possible potentials I represented to him, and all of that would be decided by my response to his future offer.
'Of course, this concern of mine will only need to be considered if I am really right about the reason for his interest in me'
'But I'm 80% sure I'm right... And currently that's my only plausible guess for this situation'
As I pondered this, a rather peculiar and crazy thought flashed through my mind.
'Actually, there's also the option that the noseless lord discovered a new and better resurrection ritual, and that ritual needs a handsome and intelligent boy like me as an ingredient' I thought, pursing my lips.
But shaking my head I put those thoughts aside, turning my attention back to Pettigrew, who had already finished the preparations to begin the ritual.
Pettigrew waved his wand, and a powerful green fire ignited beneath the iron cauldron. The liquid inside—which I didn't know if it was water or something darker—began to boil, bubbling restlessly.
"Wormtail!" Voldemort urged him once more.
"I-immediately, my lord."
With that, Pettigrew picked up Voldemort's decrepit and temporary body in his arms, approaching the cauldron.
Then, without hesitation, he threw the dark fetus into the thick, boiling liquid, and only the thud of the body hitting the bottom of the iron object was heard.
He then went to the Riddles' grave, where a set of old bones lay on the ground in front of it. Picking up one of the bones, he returned to the cauldron.
"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!" he began to recite the incantation, throwing the bone into the cauldron, which caused the bubbling liquid to turn a poisonous shade of blue.
Seeing the beginning of the ritual somewhat familiar to me, I relaxed a little.
'Well, I think that rules out the second option where I would be used as an ingredient' I thought, looking with interest at the dark magic happening in front of me.
The only other time I saw an evil black magic ritual being performed was in Marcel's memory, left by him in his diary.
However, witnessing this in someone else's old memory was not the same as seeing it happen in person.
Seeing and feeling magic being twisted and corrupted in such a cruel and disgusting way right next to me in real life was completely disturbing, giving me a sickening, cold feeling.
However, I couldn't deny that this was also a unique and information-filled experience, and for that reason, as soon as the ritual was initiated by Pettigrew, I immediately activated my Magic Vision again.
Lowering my head a little to hide the characteristic glow of my ocular ability's activation, I began to pay attention to the ritual, intensely observing every tiny detail or change in the magic around me.
After throwing Voldemort's father's bone into the cauldron, Pettigrew took out his wand, pointing it at his arm.
"Flesh of the servant, willingly sacrificed, you will revive your master" he continued the incantation. However, before he mutilated himself he paused for a moment, obvious hesitation appearing on his face.
He, as a weak coward, obviously didn't want to get hurt, much less have to tear off a part of his body.
However, the fear he had of his master was greater than his cowardice and indecision.
Then, taking a deep breath, he summoned a courage he didn't even know he had, and with a quick, decisive wave of his wand he cut off his hand, which fell into the cauldron.
"AARGH!!" he screamed in pain, clutching his arm as tears streamed down his face.
He was in unbearable, agonizing pain, wanting nothing more than to curl up in the fetal position and cry. But knowing he couldn't stop the ritual, Pettigrew endured the pain, tearing off a piece of his cloak and wrapping it tightly around his arm to stop the bleeding.
Looking at the thick liquid that had turned red Pettigrew had a regretful look on his face, but knowing that the decision had already been made he could only regret.
Shaking his head and putting his sadness aside, he looked back, staring at the one who was the main piece of the plan meticulously created by his master.
Harry, who had been watching in horror the macabre ritual that was taking place in front of him, was immediately alarmed when he saw Pettigrew's gaze turn to him.
'Fuck!'
End.
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