Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I just love it. I borrowed bits from the book to put this scene in context.
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Amycus moved forwards until he was offensively close to Professor McGonagall, his face within inches of hers. She refused to back away, but looked down at him as if he were something disgusting she had found stuck to a lavatory seat.
'It's not a case of what you'll permit, Minerva McGonagall. Your time's over. It's us what's in charge here now, and you'll back me up or you'll pay the price.'
And he spat in her face.
And all at once, Harry's mind was filled with images. Neville, walking towards him, cut and bruised; a room full of students, casually dismissive of torture and suffering; a room full of students hiding in a school where they should be safe. A generation of teenage witches and wizards, grown old and battle-weary long before their time; the innocence that no longer belonged to any of them; the heavy burden weighing on his shoulders, on the shoulders of everyone he'd met tonight. The battle and pain and loss they were all facing tonight. And finally, Professor McGonagall, still teaching, still stern and strict and moral, and, after all this time, still believing in Harry. And Amycus had spat in her face...
Without quite realising what he was doing, Harry was pulling his cloak up over his head, wand raised in one swift movement.
As Amycus spun around, Harry shouted, 'Crucio!'
The Death Eater was lifted off his feet. He writhed through the air like a drowning man, thrashing and howling in pain.
As the curse hit, Harry felt the true power of his anger flowing through him. He'd imagined, somehow, that this would feel powerful, strong, but it did not; it felt corrupted and violent, and Harry suddenly felt exhausted. It wasn't anger at Amycus he was channeling, he realised, but anger at himself, anger at the situation...anger at Voldemort, and the pain and death he caused.
As soon as he realised this, Harry's fury drained and Amycus went limp on the floor, the curse relinquishing its effect.
After all, pain wasn't what he wanted, really. What he wanted was the end of pain. The end of fear and danger and death, the end of everything he'd seen here tonight.
'I see what Bellatrix meant,' said Harry quietly. 'You need to really mean it.'
'Potter!' whispered Professor McGonagall, clutching her heart. 'Potter - you're here! What - ? How - ?' She struggled to pull herself together. 'Potter, that was foolish!'
Harry thought about explaining, thought about trying to express his anger and his frustration and the weight of the burden on his shoulders, the shock of seeing Neville the way he was and Seamus so heavily tortured as to almost be unrecognisable. But it was all too much, and there were more important things to do tonight. Explanations would come later.
'He spat at you,' said Harry simply.
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