"𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍."

𝐓𝐎𝐌 𝐆𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐃 abrasively towards the remaining baby mockingbird, which squawked, confused, in his nest; surrounded by the unmoving figures of his now dead siblings.

"It's not that difficult, {{user}}. 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.