I found a lot of new information stored within specific sentences on page 12 of my copy of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. I expect most people have already spotted all of this. But I thought it was worth highlighting nevertheless. The passage begins like this:
"There is a little more in the bottle, my Lord, if you are still hungry."
"Later," said a second voice, strangely high-pitched, and cold as a sudden blast of icy wind. "Move me closer to the fire, Wormtail."
Flinching as he neared Voldemort's chair, Wormtail obeyed his master.
"Thank you, Wormtail. Now I can show you the new way of extracting venom from Nagini that I devised this afternoon, whilst you were showing off to that lady rat in the cellar."
"My -- my Lord!" Wormtail spluttered, in protest.
"Silence!" snapped Voldemort. "Listen closely, for I will be testing you on this later ... Instead of knocking Nagini out with a hammer and manually squeezing her venom sacs, from now on I want you to use this."
Voldemort reached behind his seat cushion, with his tiny scaly baby left arm, and pulled out a spoon.
"Oh, I wondered where that had got to," he said, with a hint of surprise in his soprano tones. "Now then, where did I put the other one ... ?"
"My Lord?" said Wormtail, puzzled, as his master began scrabbling around amongst the cushions of the armchair.
"Here it is!" said Voldemort brightly, flourishing another spoon. "I'll get to the Nagini idea in a moment, Wormtail, but first I want to test something out on you. It won't hurt ... much."
With an evil smile cracking his reptilian face in two, Voldemort proceeded to play the spoons -- with a rhythmic flair reminiscent of one of Fred Astaire's great tap solos.
"MY LORD!" shrieked Wormtail, shrewdly, immediately dropping to the floor and putting on a convincing display of agonised writhing.
Voldemort continued to play out the rhythm of Didn't We Have A Lovely Time, The Day We Went To Bangor? for a few more minutes, humming along in his high treble voice, and watching Wormtail's anguish with a cruel glee. Finally he said, "Enough. At last I have found a torture even worse than the Crucio curse. All will tremble before my Spoons. Is that not so, my servile companion?"
"My -- my -- my Lord," gasped Wormtail exhaustedly, nodding his agreement as he tried to ignore the little voice inside his head that was telling him his master had at last gone completely insane.
"Back to Nagini," said Voldemort briskly. He reached behind seat cushion once more, with his tiny scaly baby right arm, and produced a dirty old towel. "As I was saying, before I produced the Spoons, I have come up with a new method of venom extraction. The hammer technique, effective as it was, was an ultimately unsatisfying way of milking Nagini. It was too simple. There was no element of danger. And I must have danger, Wormtail. I thrive upon it. An easy life is cheap. You know my thoughts on this: We must struggle for the things we desire."
Wormtail mumbled something in an oh-yes-I-agree tone of voice.
"So," Voldemort continued, with a shrill cackle, "from now on you will milk Nagini according to these directions. First of all, leave a trail of dead woodlice along the hall floor, leading toward the kitchen. Then you will hide behind the vegetable basket, with your arm outstretched upon the floor, concealed underneath this towel. Nagini, delighting as she does in the flavour of freshly killed woodlice, will follow the trail right into the kitchen and, at that point (and not before) you must move your arm in an aggressive manner. She will of course assume that you attacking her and will consequently attempt to bite into the towel. At this point I would advise you to remove your arm from underneath the towel, and to withdraw unobtrusively from the kitchen until Nagini has finished killing her perceived prey. Yes?'
His face white with fear and apprehension, Wormtail was soundlessly mouthing the words "what?" and "my arm!" repeatedly.
"When she has emptied her venom sacs you will return to the kitchen -- yes, Wormtail, you WILL return to the kitchen -- and squeeze the towel out over a bowl. After that, it's a simple matter of distillation to make sure that none of the towel's resident bacteria remain in my bedtime drink. Any questions?"
" ... " said Wormtail, speechless.
'Good,' said Voldemort. 'If you do not follow my directions exactly, I am afraid I will be forced to use the Spoons again ..."
And, with a laugh that only bats could hear, Voldemort sank back into his armchair and stared at his livid reflection in the back of a spoon.