When he sees her broken body something inside him snaps. He cradles her, whispering something that I cannot hear. He brushes away the red hair that covers her face and gently lays her on the ground. His eyes flash red and he stands up, turning away from her body.
A thin wand of yew appears in his hand and he marches away, with a singular purpose at the forefront of his mind. The wand sings to him, beguiling him to sate his bloodlust. The Harry Potter I knew would reject it, the Harry Potter my sister loved would cast it away. The Harry Potter that stood before me was not that Harry Potter.
I followed him at a distance, knowing that even though I was his friend it would be folly to get in his way. People part before him, as he briskly walks across the grounds of Hogwarts. It dawns on me where he is heading and I am horrified. Part of me wants to stop him, but there is a part of me that doesn't care.
Ginny wouldn't want him to. He must know this, but I am not foolish enough to say it lest I draw his ire. They deserve it. But even I know that killing them would be wrong, it would be murder. The only person that would be able to dissuade him would be Ginny, and she was gone. Gone. Losing her hurt me, I loved my sister, but to Harry? I cannot fathom what he was going through.
Reluctantly I continued to follow him, knowing that I could not stop him, knowing that part of me didn't want to. I wanted to tell him, wanted him to know that this was going to cost him. I stopped myself, knowing that he had already lost everything. What more could he lose? What could the law take from him?
We arrive. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what is about to occur. I know it will not be clean, I know there is no mercy in him, only hatred and malice. His wand is drawn and the men guarding the prisoners are cast aside, his wand flashing, quickly disposing of them. They are only stunned, thank Merlin for the small mercies.
His grin turns feral as he approaches them. Followers of Voldemort, eaters of death, murderers of my sister, prisoners of war. I know I should not, but I watch with sickening fascination as he butchers them. Dismemberment, decapitation, each one dies a grisly death only after suffering agonizing pain. Their bodies lie on the ground, and the lust of the Elder wand is sated. I watched my friend become a monster. I watched Harry Potter utterly break.
They will speak of how he butchered them, of how he ruthlessly slaughtered them as they were unarmed. They don't know him, they don't know what he has gone through. His loss broke him, took away whatever hope he clung to.
I turn away as he puts the wand to his temple, as my brother and friend joins her in death.