Couldn't stomach looking at who was slain

Rose's gaze flickered away, fixing on the patterns in the marble steps, the way the torchlight danced on the stone. She couldn't look. To see their faces, to know who had fallen for a world she had betrayed, would be a truth she couldn't endure. She was a ghost at her own funeral procession, a living monument to the enemy's victory.

Voldemort noticed her aversion. "Look at them, Rose," he commanded, his voice a soft, cruel caress. "Look at the price of weakness. This is what Dumbledore's love and tolerance has wrought. This is the world you would have fought to preserve. A world of corpses."

He forced her head to turn, his grip like iron. Her eyes fell on a splash of red hair on the ground near the foot of the stairs, a small, still form beside it. No not Ginny, a first year student. Then a younger Gryffindor, a boy she remembered from the common room. Colin Creevey. He'd always had a camera. He seems to try to protect the younger girl from the Death Eaters.

A sound escaped her, a choked, pathetic noise. "Rrrghk."

"Ah," Voldemort sighed, a sound of profound satisfaction. "You see. You feel. But soon, you will feel only what I allow you to feel." He released her head and continued walking. "The headmaster awaits."

They reached the corridor where Dumbledore's office resided. The gargoyle guarding the entrance was shattered into a thousand pieces of rubble. The spiral staircase was already moving, descending, as if expecting them. Voldemort led her up, into the familiar, circular room.

Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen. Voldemort walk over touching the Gryffindor sword. Voldemort said. "He knows I'm here. He is waiting for me. He wants to make a show of it. A final duel for the ages. But he won't be alone."

As if on cue, another figure emerged from the shadows behind the headmaster's desk. It was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a mane of grizzled hair and a wild look in his eyes. Fenrir Greyback. He was grinning, showing yellow, pointed teeth. Another figure, a woman, stood beside him, her face a mask of cruel excitement. Alecto Carrow.

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