His arm was raised high. Between his fingers, a wooden stick, of 13 inches pointed downwards towards a cradle
A long cloak of black covered him, shielding him from the coldness that had suddenly enveloped the room.
His pale white skin stood out clearly, his features inhumane.
His face spoke of triumph, his dark red eyes shone with gleeful malice, if there existed such a thing.
He moved forwards, his black cloak sweeping the floor behind him.
He walks over a body.
Flowing dark red hair falls from its head to its shoulders.
Eyes, once a vibrant green, is now lifeless.
Its features are paralysed, yet they display defiance.
He moves closer to the cradle.
Within the cot lies a young toddler.
The toddler is standing, its legs wobbling from the unfamiliar action. Its places its hands on the edge of the cradle.
Its eyes are watery, it looks towards the fallen body.
It moves its hands towards it mother. Trying desperately to reach the unmoving body.
It fails. Tearful sobs emit from the baby.
He sneers at the baby. He points his wand at the forehead of the child.
Its head moves to look at him.
His lips move. He whispers two words.
Avada Kedavra.
A flash of green engulfs the room.
A cloak and wand fall to the floor.