Her sobs pierced the night; her desperate cries for mercy went unheeded as he pointed with faint amusement, the weapon which would be her end at her own face.
“…have mercy…have mercy…Not Harry! Not Harry! Please-I’ll do anything-”
The baby in the cot behind her had stood up; his small white hands touched her back lightly, he let out a cry, wanting his mother to hold him.
She bit her lip, tears welling in her eyes. The last thing she would feel would be her baby’s touch…
A bright flash of green light filled the little room, it hit her square in the chest and she fell, with tears unshed. She crumpled on the floor, her dark red hair splayed across her face, her green eyes, no longer bright stared, the horror they last felt could still be seen in their depths.
Now, he stepped over her body and stood right in front of his next prey. The baby started to whine. He wanted his mother to hold him.
How unbearable were those cries! He wanted to finish this quickly; the fire inside him was burning in his eyes.
As he uttered those two deadly words, the light left his wand; burning, flaming vicious triumph filled him in that one moment and then it was gone. Pain, fiery vicious pain gripped him, tearing him apart, limb form limb. His body was destroyed, but his soul was not meant to die. It fled; it fled from the house, from the cries of the child.
The baby had fallen from his standing position, his cries pierced through the night, the house was crumbling, and the flames prevented them being heard.
His hands were on his forehead, which was a dark red color. It burned him…it hurt, he was not meant to feel pain yet, and he wanted his mother to hold him. But she was dead, lying at the foot of his cot, her eyes still wide open and her ears not responding to her baby’s cries.
And the house burned still. The body of a tall man with black hair lay near the foot of the stairs: the husband, the father.
But he was gone also, like his beloved wife. His son cried for him, but his cries went unheeded.
And the house burned still. The baby’s room was nearly destroyed, but the flames wouldn’t touch the baby. The roof was crumbling too, but the wood wouldn’t fall on the baby.
The baby now stood again, feeling the heat form his scar and his surrounding. His eyes searched for his mother, his cries had slightly subdued. But then he found her, at the foot of his cot, and she looked at him with those blank eyes, unmoving. He wanted his mother to hold him; he started to cry again.