What happened was never really to be seen. After going into the Great Hall, and being in there for about two minutes, George came out again, with a face that was hardly recognisable.
They were burning, his eyes. Burning with such fury and such grief, even experienced members of the Order backed aside when he marched through the Entry Hall with a wand in each hand.
Around his eyes, it was dark, and very person the gaze was turned at seemed to be reflected, for the eyes were shinier than usual, but didn't seem to spot any of those standing there.
Hatred. Pure and flowing hatred seemed to beam out from him. The kind of hatred you can only feel, when you know that the person that killed a best friend, a brother, a soul mate, are still near you, along with the person that allowed and ordered the murder.
The fight was raging around him, and George was fighting as well. In a way he'd never done before, not in his entire life. He didn't have to dodge, didn't have to be afraid to get hit by any of those horrible curses that were flying close to his head and throat. Why? Because he had already lost something so dear to him that he, not now, not ever, had to be afraid of his own safety, or to experience pain. The greatest pain that could ever be caused him, was already there.
From the two wands, fire danced. Burning sparks and blazing light, that burnt, annihilated everything it touched. And behind him, floating on the air and with a body that was united with the magic that constituted of the brother's hatred and pain, was a shadow of the twin.
Fred's face was hardly discernable behind George, his hands were resting on the brother's and seemed to give him courage and strength, everything he needed to continue forwards, on his hunt for the one that had broken his family.