It's after the battle, and the deathly silence has descended, when Harry snaps the Elder Wand and sends the pieces over the side of the bridge. He does it without much thought, only knowing that in his heart it is wrong for one person to have such an advantage. His friends protest, of course; what idiot would give up that kind of power? Harry could've become the Master of Death, for Merlin's sake. He explains it the best he can, before sending them back inside the castle.
After all, at a time like this, Ron should be with his family, with Hermione to help him through. He doesn't really fit into that - he doesn't want anyone congratulating him, doesn't want to see the pain he couldn't prevent. It's better if he stays out here, on the bridge, under the pretense of thinking while the remnants of the battle are wrapped up.
Because that's what they are, aren't they - remnants? Lives gone, memories and love left behind... and it could've been better, if he'd done this or said that or started earlier. Harry knows these thoughts are dangerous, acknowledges it somewhere in the back of his mind... but as he watches Ron and Hermione ascend the staircase into the castle, he realises something.
He doesn't care.
Not about the thoughts being dangerous, not about what will come after this. Admittedly, he does care for his friends and the tiniest chunk of family he has left, but he knows they will get over it. Over him. He has fulfilled his purpose in life and feels like nothing will ever - could ever - be anywhere normal again.
And so, with one last look toward his home, Harry steps closer to the edge of the bridge.
And he jumps.