"Again."

Tom gestured abrasively towards a baby crow, which squeaked, confused, in his nest; surrounded by the unmoving figures of his now dead siblings.

"It's not that difficult. Just do this job; say Avada Kedavra and it'll all be over." The tip of the - devastatingly handsome - seventh years wand pressed against the frantic little bird.

"Unless you'd rather Crucio it?" He shot an expectant look, impatience threaded into his every curt word.