Harry potter and the descent into darkness

Chapter 3

He leaned back in the plush velvet armchair and sighed with heavy frustration. He fingered the book that lay rested in his lap. His tiny, bony hands were dwarfed by the ancient tome, but this wasn't because the book was especially large – rather, he was frustratingly small.

The homunculus he had crafted for himself had taken the greater part of the last year and a half to complete, and even then, it's completion wouldn't have been possible if he hadn't acquired Wormtail's services. A fact which he was loath to admit.

He was finally in a physical form that was not constantly on the brink of dissolving or dying, and he had access to his own magic once again – although it was unstable, and use of it exhausted him quickly.

He hated existing like this. It was a tease. Granted, it was better than that half-life he had existed in before this – but he was so close, and yet so far away from being returned to a fully functional body and finally being able to focus back on his tasks. Being in this form gave him a taste of what it was like to finally have a body back, but the body itself was so pathetic and weak, it only served to frustrate and anger him.

He needed the boy's blood to properly complete the ritual he had designed. He couldn't afford to allow that ridiculous protection of his to continue, and only the use of the boy's blood would do that. He had to admit that he did not fully understand the nature of the protection gifted to the boy by his mother. That ignorance frustrated and angered him greatly.

He feared that it's existence, and the mystery behind it, were in some way linked to that damned prophecy. He needed to rid himself of that threat so that he could resume his work! It was too important for him to be vanquished by some ignorant child, who was only acting blindly on the orders of that frustratingly mad old man!

But waiting for the right opportunity to act was maddening.

And to compound things, he was bored. Horribly, terribly bored.

He looked back down at the book in his lap and sighed. He had read it decades ago. Rereading it now was only mildly interesting. He wanted to send Wormtail to fetch some more books, but he couldn't risk his servant being seen by the public. It was already risky enough when he sent him into the nearby muggle village to fetch supplies and things. He would have to wait until Barty was able to return to him again.

Ah, Barty... unrelenting loyalty. The man worshiped him, unquestioningly. He had been so fortunate to discover his servant was still alive and well... or as well as one can be after several years in Azkaban and then many more years under the imperius, locked away in his father's home. Despite Barty's mildly questionable sanity, he knew he could rely on Barty's loyalty.

Wormtail, in contrast, stayed entirely out of his own cowardice. The man was terrified of his own shadow. It was pathetic. He wished he could call a more competent servant to his side, but he could not risk it. Not yet. He was still too weak, and his servants were all too power-hungry and ignorant of the bigger picture. If they sensed his weakness they could easily try to take advantage of it, and he would be in no position to stop them. And then he would have to start this entire frustrating process over again like he had after the Brat had destroyed Quirrell.

Stupid, pathetic Quirrell. But he had still made a better servant that Wormtail. He sneered the name with utter disgust in his mind. It was such a sad, pathetic state of affairs that he had been reduced to relying on such a loathsome little rat. Disgusting.

Soon... soon he would be returned to his full glory. He would gather his old followers and retain new blood. He needed to restore power to the dark and dismantle the mountain of damage that the fool, Dumbledore had caused in his blind lunacy.