While Tver and the others were enjoying the ball, Greece, deep into the night, was far less peaceful than it appeared.
Athens.
Darkness had swallowed the ancient city, descending upon it like a sinister Dark Lord imposing his will.
"M… Master, even though we've left Britain, the Greek Aurors would be more than happy to hand me… us over to the British Ministry of Magic."
Peter Pettigrew trudged down a narrow, shadowy alley with a baby-like figure strapped to his back, his face pale with fear. Even the faint rustling of rats in a rubbish bin made him flinch.
"No need to worry, Wormtail. There are still former subordinates of mine within the Greek Ministry of Magic," Voldemort let out a cold snort, offering the trembling Peter an unusually rare reassurance.
Perhaps because his objective was finally within reach, his tone carried a trace of anticipation.
"But Master, you don't even trust the Death Eaters in Britain," Peter said uneasily. "Wouldn't that make allies all the way out in Greece even more likely to betray us?"
"If it were you, would you betray us? Just as you betrayed the Potter family?"
Peter's steps faltered.
"How would I dare, Master? Dumbledore despises evil. Even if I betrayed you, he would never spare me."
"Oh?" Voldemort's hoarse voice sharpened instantly. "So you're saying that if Dumbledore were willing to spare you, you would betray me?"
Peter began trembling even harder. He instinctively started to turn around, only to remember halfway through that the Dark Lord was strapped to his back. He hurriedly faced forward again, stammering.
"I wouldn't dare, Master! I only meant that Dumbledore would never accept me! I… If I were to betray you, wouldn't you have seen through me long ago?"
"I… I truly wouldn't dare…"
"Spare me the act. I know you too well," Voldemort said with a cold laugh. "You simply had nowhere else to go, so you clung to me."
Peter gave an awkward chuckle and fell silent.
Not long after, following Voldemort's directions, he stopped before the ruins of a collapsed house.
"Master, the house has already fallen down?" Peter blurted out, unsure whether he felt relieved or disappointed.
"Go inside," Voldemort ordered, his voice rising slightly with impatience.
Peter had no choice but to step cautiously into the ruins.
The moment he crossed the broken threshold, a chilling sensation flooded his heart, then spread through his body with the rush of blood.
"Wake up. You're already inside," a sinister male voice said abruptly.
Peter blinked, coming back to himself. He realized he and Voldemort were now standing in a basement.
Opposite them stood a man in a hood, his face completely hidden.
Oddly, his robes were far too large for him, as if a thin man were wearing clothes meant for someone much heavier.
"Who are you?"
"What, the Dark Lord sent you to retrieve something and didn't tell you about me?"
Peter thought back to the Dark Lord's instructions.
"I'm only the Dark Lord's servant. I don't have the right to know that much. So who exactly are you?"
Of course, it wasn't that he absolutely needed the wizard's identity.
But he had another role to play.
As an undercover agent, he needed to gather as much information as possible if he wanted to report back to Tver and earn credit.
"Turn around, Wormtail," Voldemort said softly.
Peter reluctantly obeyed.
The hooded wizard's gaze fell on Voldemort, wrapped in black cloth and cradled against Peter's back.
Though the weakness in that body was obvious, the moment the wizard recognized him, his face drained of color, and he instinctively took a step back.
"The… the Dark Lord?"
"It is I, Quéops. I never expected that after more than ten years, we would meet again like this."
Voldemort's blood-red eyes flickered eerily, sending a chill straight through the Greek wizard named Quéops.
"M… Master."
Quéops finally lowered his head and dropped to one knee.
"I didn't expect you to come in person. But your current condition…"
He dared to glance up, only to immediately lower his head again when he met the Dark Lord's gaze.
"Pathetic, isn't it?"
Voldemort let out a soft, mocking laugh.
Suddenly, a series of crackling sounds came from within his body, followed by the sharp tearing of fabric.
Moments later, the basement fell silent once more.
Quéops cautiously raised his head.
A skeletal, gaunt hand stretched out before him.
"Hand it over. Once this transaction is complete, you and I will have nothing more to do with each other."
A flash of delight passed across Quéops' hidden face, though he didn't dare show it. Instead, he put on a look of concern.
"Master, since you're in difficulty now, why not allow me to assist you as I once did?"
Even as he spoke, his right hand had already slipped inside his robes and withdrawn an old, unsightly clay jar.
"Are you willing to give up your position in the Ministry?" Voldemort exposed his true thoughts without hesitation.
Then, with no regard for the artifact's value, he snatched the clay jar away.
If not for the dense Ancient Runes carved across both the inner and outer walls, it would have looked like something Quéops had casually taken from a Muggle household.
Quéops smiled indifferently. Seeing Voldemort examining the jar, he explained at once.
"The magic on it seems to have faded. If the runes hadn't recorded matters concerning that one, we would never have stored it in the Ministry."
Voldemort said nothing. He lifted the jar level with his head, studying the runes intently.
After a long moment, he spoke calmly.
"Let's go. Our deal is done."
Peter, who had been watching from the side, froze.
He had hoped to overhear more about this wizard named Quéops, or about the strange clay jar.
Instead, all he saw were runes he couldn't read.
Why hadn't he paid attention in class? Why hadn't he studied Ancient Runes, such a promising subject?
And "that one"?
Who exactly was "that one"?!
Peter shot Quéops a resentful look for speaking in riddles, then hurried after Voldemort, who had already turned to leave.
"Master, we're just leaving?"
"What else? Do you plan to stay and wait for Quéops to arrest us?"
Voldemort continued to expend what little life force he had to maintain his frail, unstable body, all so he could examine the clay jar more carefully.
"Surely he wouldn't dare?" Peter said, still shaken, as he stepped through a ripple and reappeared in front of the ruins.
Voldemort gave a cold laugh.
"He wouldn't dare trust my assurances."
With a sharp crack, Voldemort and Peter vanished into the darkness.
Quéops, who had hurried out after them, was left behind.
"Damn it!"
He spat angrily, furious at himself for being intimidated by a Dark Lord in such a weakened state.
...
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