"So this is the place."

"It is, Vera. And you know what you have to do now."

Lord Voldemort appraised the humble cottage in front of him with an air of command. Vera was standing by his side, looking tired and frail, with her unbound hair flapping loosely around her thin face. On the other side of Voldemort, a plump and ratty-looking young man with colorless hair and a grubby complexion was trembling. He surveyed the scene with fear instead of his master's eager anticipation.

"The spell is undone now, and if what Wormtail here tells me is true," Voldemort gestured to the man, "I will be finished with my business in a short while. A little bit of killing is not a strange task to me."

"K-k-killing?" Wormtail sputtered, his face blanching with fright. "Please, master, is there not some other way?"

"There is no other way," Voldemort growled. "It must be done, and it will be done. I would not be wasting my time on a pitiful little family if I thought that this did not have to be done."

Wormtail shivered with dread as his watery eyes darted back and forth.

"And do not think of betraying me, either. Because if you did, my able servant here could use the powers I have given her to drink every wretched drop of your blood."

Wormtail gulped, eyeing the beautiful but deadly vampire woman standing loyally by her master's side. Vera did not look back at him, but stared straight ahead, stone-faced. She swelled out in pride at Voldemort's allusion to her abilities, and she was sure that she was back in his good graces.

"I would n-never betray you, master," Wormtail stuttered.

"Of course you would never betray me, you pitiful rat!" Voldemort sneered. "It was the dearness of your life that brought you into my service, and it is the dearness of your life that will keep you there!"

Wormtail stared at the ground and mumbled something under his breath.

"So James Potter has put the safety of his family into his friend's hands, and his friend has unsuspectingly handed it to you," Voldemort continued. "How pitifully foolish. Because you have handed it all to me, Mr. Pettigrew, and there is no turning back. You might as well accept that fact."

Wormtail said nothing, but Vera noted that he was starting to look sick.

"And as for you, Vera…" Voldemort turned to her. "I have found the solution to your problem." He reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out an object.

It appeared to be a snail shell, gleaming white against the paleness of Voldemort's outstretched hand. It actually seemed to give off its own light, radiantly shining against the darkness of the evening.

Voldemort leaned in close to Vera, and in his foul, high-pitched voice he whispered his instructions. He then dropped the gleaming shell into the pocket of her robes.

"Tell nobody about this, Vera."

She nodded obediently.

"Remember," Voldemort continued, "the enemy you are to kill is a powerful one, and powerfully protected as well. It was a struggle even for me to create this weapon, and I will not have my efforts wasted. Do this task that I have assigned to you, and your reward will be great."

Vera breathed in deeply.

"And if you fail…" Voldemort made a throat-cutting gesture in front of his neck. But Vera was not afraid this time.

"I will not fail, my lord."

"Good. Very good." Voldemort's red eyes leered at his servant. "You know what to do now. Do not come back to me until you are done with it. And do it quickly."

"I will, my lord."

"You will, you will," Voldemort cackled. "Now go." He waved his hand to dismiss the girl.

Turning back to Wormtail, he regarded the man with contempt. "Now, where were we, Mr. Pettigrew? Oh, yes…that's right." Voldemort pointed at the cottage.

"Now we get down to business!"