Voldemort looked inside the crib. "Harry Potter… here you are, just a tiny little child. I'm almost tempted to let you live, just to see what kind of power could you possibly have," whispered the Dark Lord, his red eyes scrutinizing the crying boy. "Unfortunately for you, I can't risk it, can I?" he asked, his wand ready to cast the Killing Curse.

"Avada Ke—" his spell was interrupted by a loud "Achoo!"

"Oh fuck fucking shit fucking fuck fuck fuck!" Voldemort screamed in agony. "The little fucking bastard just sneezed on me!" Voldemort tried to clean himself with a spell, but it was too late. He had been infected with the Coronavirus.

"I'll get you for this you fucki—" he shouted as his body hit the ground, no longer alive, and a black mist escaped the body, and flew out of the house.