"You do believe this is going to work, my Lord?"
The words were a gentle exhaling hiss, echoing dully against the damp walls, reverberating gently. The effect was haunting, honestly, and Wormtail recoiled as the sound mixed spookily with their present surroundings. Wormtail's eyes dug into the back of the head he was speaking to, a shade of white that shouldn't be seen on a human being. The head tilted from its perch, lying immobile on the cushions of the chair's armrest, a hump of white peeking from the black wall that cut Wormtail from his master. There was silence—full, cold silence that settled over the three that occupied the room, a never moving pressure against them. Nagini's triangular head rose, slanted eyes peering with scrutiny at Wormtail, giving him a snake's version of a once over. The plump, yet scrawny man shot the snake a dark look, watery, shifty eyes falling on the lump of white that was Lord Voldemort.
It made his heart race uncomfortably. "Sir?" Wormtail's voice was cracked; a jagged, sharp mockery of his actual voice, which wasn't much to listen to at all. The silence was almost foreboding, any catastrophe that Voldemort planned to follow his impatient, piped syllable was deadly, and the thought crept slowly into Wormtail's mind, causing him to slouch forward, almost cowering.
"You feel as though you could whimper, Wormtail."
Wormtail just about did. The sound of his voice was almost a monotone—a high-pitched voice that he wished he didn't have to hear. His feet itched to back away, and the small grunts he heard from the spin-able chair was easily interpreted into his wanting to have the chair turn around. Wormtail didn't want to rest his eyes on the small, feeble, yet terrifying Lord Voldemort, but what his master said went. "Feel, sir?" It trembled. His voice trembled and teetered awkwardly in fear, and he hushed himself too late. Voldemort's attempts to twist the chair around ceased, and what color Wormtail had in his face drained. He rushed forward, hands spinning the chair slowly, the small, baby like appearance of Lord Voldemort coming into view. Wormtail silenced his noisy breaths, now coming out in panting wheezes.
"Nagini needs to be milked."
Punishment would have been better than this. Wormtail backed from the chair, kneeling upon a knee, eyes pried from the unearthly sight of The Dark Lord. He wouldn't like that—he wouldn't like that at all. "—Wormtail." His eyes snapped to attention, agonizingly meeting the harsh cold of his eyes. He felt his bones chill. The way he spoke was cold, harsh, if not—normal. No spells cast to make his bones grow at odd angles, no form of physical—well, magical—punishment. Just cold words, the bit of anger that The Dark Lord had sunk himself to barely hint in the sharpness of his voice. It caught him off guard, and this made his master unpredictable. He couldn't interpret his actions, and was therefore on the weaker end of the deal. Not that he was ever not on the weaker end.
"Yes, sir."
He could barely get himself to whisper the words, body shifting to lift his bulk from the ground, and milk the snake. Nagini's triangular head tilted slightly, as if daring Wormtail to come closer. He hesitated, scolded himself for the act, and felt his legs push up. His knees buckled, but he held stiff, walking with a wobble to the large animal resting in a black coil by the chair.
"Yes, Wormtail, feel." Hissed Voldemort, straying from the thought at hand. Wormtail blinked once, pausing to glance up at his master with uncertainty. Why was he changing the subject? Did he not want to be nourished from Nagini?
"It is magic beyond my comprehension. I can feel your actions, when your fingers tremble before you touch my skin. I can feel your hesitation before you feed me. I know you are scared of me, you fear me, your master." There was a pause, and Wormtail took back his hands once hovering inches from Nagini. "You fear me, Wormtail, do not bother denying it." Wormtail didn't want to answer it, but instead tried to look like he was in thought. It was futile, he knew, for Voldemort could feel his actions, apparently, but he was making a good show of it. At least it would amuse him. Hadn't they begun talking about the plan? The plan that He thought was brilliant. That Wormtail had to gush and applaud, though he honestly did not know if it could work. The seconds ticked on, and Voldemort didn't seem like he was expecting anything. Wormtail let the question remain unanswered, hands falling to his lap, pooling there as his eyes strayed from the huge snake.
"But we began by talking about the plan, did we not?" When Voldemort chuckled, Wormtail felt it in the marrow of his bones. Like nails dragging down a chalkboard, the sound made him cringe. How did he know what he was thinking? Coincidence.
"I see you do not believe that my plan will work. You do not look me in the eye, Wormtail." Wormtail cringed at this, eyes still averted from both Voldemort and his snake. "The plan will work. Dumbledore isn't as wonderful as he may be known to be." Voldemort spat the sentence, the word Dumbledore giving him a look of both anger and regret. He pushed it aside, and Wormtail ignored the fact he put raw emotions into his sentences. He would like that. Wormtail only wished to please.
"Have you someone to do the job?" Another pause that pushed to the corners of the room. It was a big job, and he wasn't sure if many would be able to do it. It would involve holding a secret close, and never letting it slip. Not once. Wormtail wasn't even sure Voldemort knew someone he could trust enough with the job. The thought was impossible, and he felt his insides claw at the thought of bringing the matter up. He merely let his eyes wander upward, not exactly watching his master, but straying to the black leather of the chair.
"I, in fact, do have someone." Murmured Lord Voldemort. Shock settled like pins into his skin, and he half shuddered as his eyes met his master's, surprise reeking from the hallows of his dull eyes. "You've—you've found someone for the job?" The Dark Lord gazed down at Wormtail in disgust. "I have not just found who I need, but rather made." His voice came at a dangerous hiss, and Wormtail made himself silence, shooting to his stubby legs and backing away. "I have not doubted you once, my Lord." Gasped Wormtail, eyes shifting to the many doors that lined the large room in the Riddle Manor…as though the person that Voldemort had—made—were to hope out at any moment. He swallowed, fingers lacing together as he watched Voldemort regard him. "Liar." It was all he said, a low boom compared to his high voice. Wormtail inclined his head in shame, eyes mercifully shutting. "I will show you who I have for the job." Hissed Voldemort, eyes rolling behind him, the small grunts coming again as he tried to turn himself. "FOOL!" Cried Voldemort, eyes snapping to Wormtail, "Come closer, and turn my chair to face the child that I have made!" Wormtail yelped and ran forward, turning the chair as Voldemort's face cracked into a malicious smile. "COME! Come out and let Wormtail meet your eyes!" His smirk was shadowed evilly in the dimly lit room, each shadow thrown out larger than the one before. There were hallow footsteps, and the knob turned in the doorway straight ahead. The moon fogged slowly, clouds rolling gently to obscure the orb, and the milky moonlit light vanished. The flickering candles were the only source of light in the room, and they made the white, molding walls look all the more haunting.
There was an unmerciful pause as the knob turned, as though the person was having a hard time pushing through the door that had not been used for many years. There was a soft heave, a shuddering jolt through the door, and it swung open.
"Oh!" Gasped Wormtail, falling forward, hands slamming into the cold wood of the ground, eyes screwing up, trying to figure out what he was seeing. Voldemort gave a small laugh, eyes twisting around to look down at Wormtail. "The core to my plan. The core to my plan."