My Lord . . . no . . . I beg you . . .” The tip of a wand emerged from around the back of the chair. It was pointing at Wormtail. “Crucio!” said the cold voice. Wormtail screamed, screamed as though every nerve in his body were on fire, the screaming filled Harry’s ears as the scar on his forehead seared with pain; he was yelling too. . . . Voldemort would hear him, would know he was there. . . . “Harry! Harry!” Harry opened his eyes. He was lying on the floor of Professor Trelawney’s room with his hands over his face. His scar was still burning