"Avada Kedavra."
Two simple words and Lily Potter's lifeless body slumped to the ground.
Voldemort stepped over her corpse and to the baby's crib.
The child gazed up at him through emerald eyes.
The same eyes that had stared at him in horro seconds before, tearfilled, begging him for mercy.
Not Harry, please not Harry!
He shook his head to banish the echo of her words. The movement made his hood drop, exposing his disfigured face.
The toddler started wailing at the sight, drawing Voldemort's attention back to him.
"Shut up, brat,"he snarled. The words left his mouth almost automatically, the accustomed reaction to a crying child.
The kid's brawling just increased, of course. The infants at the orphanage never did stop, either. Hell, he never stopped himself...
The Dark Lord tried to clear his thoughts by shaking his head vigorously once more. Directing his wand at Harry, he took a deep breath.
What in Merlin's name was wrong with him?
Kill the boy and leave, it was so simple.
Why couldn't he bring himself to do it?
"Me wants mummy,"the child sobbed."Wants daddy!"
Suddenly, realization hit Voldemort. He saw himself in the boy.
All the years he had hope for his father to come for him. Or an aunt. A distant relative maybe- someone, anyone- to just take him away from that rotten hellhole.
With a heavy sigh, he lifted the screeching and fidgetting toddler out of his cot.
Minutes later, the Potters' house burst into flame.
_______________________________________________ Author's Note: I know this is rather short, following chapters will be longer