After escaping Hogwarts, Peter fled east across Europe, looking for the one person who had the power to help him. For so long, Peter had believed Voldemort to be dead; but then Quirinus Quirrell had returned from Albania with the Dark Lord, now merely a spirit without a body. If Peter could find him, nurse him back to health, he'd be protected, considered the most faithful of his servants….

Once he arrived in Albania, Peter spent a few weeks searching fruitlessly before he learned from some rats of a place in a nearby forest where animals were being killed by a strange dark force. It was Voldemort—it had to be—he was possessing the forest animals as he had done Quirrell, weakening them and disposing of their bodies once they gave out.

But Peter found himself hesitating before entering the forest he'd been directed to—a thick, dark stretch of woodland known as Pyll Lindor, near the border between Albania and Macedonia. He was tired and hungry after spending weeks in hiding; he could stop somewhere for the night, he decided, and get some rest before going to meet his former master.

Peter found a small Muggle inn perched on the outskirts of Pyll Lindor, its wide wooden doors spread open invitingly. A waft of food-scent filled his nostrils, tempting enough to make him sigh; Peter hadn't had a square human-sized meal since before James and Lily's deaths.

He changed back into a person and made his way inside the inn, stuffing his wand quickly away in the pocket of his overcoat. The place was bright and crowded, with a large bar along one wall and a rickety set of steps leading up into the rooms above.

Peter took a seat at the bar, his stomach growling—the bartender didn't speak much English, but Peter was able to communicate well enough to get himself a bowl of stew and a pint of beer. The stew was delicious (he wasn't quite sure what was in it, but it was full of peppers and cheese and very tender meat), and he soon found himself ordering seconds. Stopping at the inn had been a very good idea indeed, he thought, taking a long swig of his beer.

"Oh my Merlin," exclaimed a voice behind him. Peter jumped in his seat, nearly dropping his glass. "Peter Pettigrew? Is that you?"

In retrospect, maybe it hadn't been such a good idea.

A dark-haired, wide-eyed woman lowered herself into the seat beside Peter, blinking at him as though she couldn't believe her eyes. "It is you! I remember you from school—do you remember me?"

It took Peter a panicked minute, but he did: she was a witch named Bertha Jorkins, three years his senior at Hogwarts. He didn't know much about her, except that she had a reputation for not being very bright.

"I thought you'd died," Bertha said. "Years ago. It was all over the papers. Right after You-Know-Who was defeated…."

"I didn't die," Peter said quickly. "I was attacked, and I went into hiding after. I was worried the Death Eaters were after me, because I was friends with the Potters…."

"Right," said Bertha; "I remember you were friends. It's so horrible what happened to them; I can hardly imagine it." Peter glanced away uncomfortably, but Bertha didn't seem to notice. "So you're living in Albania now? What exactly do you do out here?"

"Just…you know, little jobs here and there." Peter very much wanted this conversation to be over. He had no idea what he was going to do with this woman. "Er…what are you out here for?"

"I'm just on vacation," Bertha said happily. "I'm working for the Ministry now—the Department of Magical Games and Sports. I've always been a bit of a sports fan."

Peter bit his cheek. She worked for the Ministry—she probably had all sorts of valuable information…. Suddenly, with his stomach twisting into an unpleasant knot, he realized exactly what he should do with Bertha Jorkins. "Do you want to go for a walk with me through the forest?" he blurted out. "I've heard it's beautiful out there."

"Oh." Bertha glanced out the open doors behind her. "It's getting rather late, don't you think?" She was right—the sun was already starting to set.

"Just a quick walk," Peter insisted, his heart pounding. "We'll be back before it gets dark."

Bertha blinked. "All right, then. I suppose I could use a bit of exercise; I've been eating like a pig since I got here."

Forcing a smile, Peter set down his drink and led Bertha outside and onto a winding hiking trail headed deep into Pyll Lindor. Peter wasn't exactly sure where Voldemort was hiding out, but he knew he had to head east, so he made sure to keep the setting sun at his back as they walked.

"I've heard that Puffapods grow in these woods," Bertha was saying. "I'd love to take some home to London with me."

They continued on, Peter peering around for any signs of the Dark Lord's presence; and then, as he stepped around a bend in the path, he felt a sudden, terrible chill creep down his spine. It was similar to how he'd felt around Dementors, but this chill didn't bring him sadness; it was the kind of chill that made your hair stand on end, that simply felt as though it was wrong.

Bertha could feel it, too. "I think we should turn around now," she said shakily, shivering with her arms crossed tightly over her chest. "Peter?"

It was time. "Incarcerous!" Peter yelled, pointing his wand at Bertha. Thick ropes shot out of the wand and wrapped themselves around her limbs, causing her to faceplant onto the path beneath her. She screamed as another rope looped around her head and into her mouth, gagging her.

"Wingardium Leviosa." Bertha's body was hoisted off the ground and began to float behind Peter as he continued onwards, ignoring all his instincts as he pressed on towards the source of the chill. Bertha was still screaming, writhing frantically in midair.

Peter found himself approaching the entrance to a small cave built of mossy rocks; this had to be where Voldemort was living. All the bad energy in the air was centered around it. "My…my lord?" he called tentatively. "I have returned to you, my lord—it is me, Peter Pettigrew, your most loyal servant!"

There was a shifting noise from within the little cave; a dark shape slithered up to its opening before emerging out into the fading sunlight. It was a snake, giant and green, and it reared up off the ground as it examined Peter and his prisoner. Bertha's screams grew even louder.

The snake began to hiss in a way that sounded strangely like a language, its words harsh and smooth at the same time—Parseltongue, Peter realized.

Then a voice came from deeper in the cave, high-pitched and eerie: "Nagini tells me you have a woman with you, Pettigrew."

"Yes, my lord." Peter glanced briefly back at Bertha. "Bertha Jorkins, an employee of the Ministry of Magic; I brought her here as a gift, my lord. I thought that you would like to question her."

"I would indeed," said the voice. "But why did you take so long to return to me, Pettigrew? If you truly are my most loyal servant, why would you abandon your master for so many years?"

"I…I was spying for you, my lord, as you commanded me to," Peter stuttered, feeling sweat breaking out across his forehead. "I was staying with a family of blood traitors—I got to know Harry Potter, my lord, I lived with him for three years, pretending to be a simple rat! I can tell you so much about—"

"You were not spying for me," the voice interrupted, dripping with disgust and loathing. "You were hiding, because you are a coward."

He was right, of course. "My lord," Peter whispered, sinking to his knees in front of the massive snake. "Forgive me."

"You are here now, at least," the voice murmured. "And that is more than most of my Death Eaters could say. You may be able to help me regain my body—and if you do so, I promise that you will be rewarded generously."

Peter's shoulders sagged with relief. "Thank you, my lord. I will do whatever you ask of me; I swear it on my life."

"Come inside," commanded the voice. The snake turned around and slithered back into the cave. "And bring the woman."

Peter nodded and crawled through the cave's opening into the darkness, the shrieking, thrashing body of Bertha Jorkins slipping in behind him.