It was bad enough that he was on his knees, hands bound tightly behind his back, sun glaring in his eyes and sweat trickling down his neck. It was bad enough the Quidditch pitch had been turned into a miniature Colosseum, and that he had to listen to the noise and spectacle created by hundreds of drunken Death-Eaters carousing as they celebrated their victory.
It was bad enough that, when he shut his eyes, the image that pushed itself to the front of his brain was that of Dumbledore crumpling under the weight of ferocious curses, fighting until he couldn't breathe, laying flat on his back as his empty eyes stared up at the stars. Or of his fellow classmates, dropping like ducks out of the sky as they were picked off one by one, their brooms and bodies spiraling towards the earth. Or the adults being blown apart, entrails oozing wetly from their bodies.
No, that was all bad enough, but it was made worse by having to kneel and listen to Voldemort whisper snidely in his ear, rubbing in his victory, rubbing in their defeat.
And Harry was forced to watch as they led Hagrid out, four Death-Eaters struggling to keep him confined with their wands, magical ropes covering his body so thickly it seemed he was smothered in vines. Lucius cut him down easily.
And Harry was forced to watch as Hermione and Ginny were allowed to die together, Hermione pressing the younger girl's weeping face into her chest as she stood stoic and thin-lipped, much as McGonagall would have if she'd been allowed to survive for this day. Draco took extraordinary pleasure in relieving the world of a Mudblood and a blood-traitor at the same time. Harry was proud of the way Hermione died without begging.
And Harry was forced to watch as Ron's bloodied body was dragged into the centre of the ring and further beaten because he had the audacity to be the Boy Who Lived's best friend. Ron said something, spitting aside teeth and Harry saw Draco's wand tremble in his hand as he delivered the killing curse. Harry smiled – his friend had got the last word in.
And Harry was forced to watch as Snape was led out in procession, spine stiff and expression unyielding as the audience hissed and expressed their hatred of The Traitor. He didn't struggle against his bonds; he seemed to ignore them as he did the words Lucius whispered in his ear, mocking him, trying to get a reaction.
"Did you know," Voldemort hissed in Parseltongue, "that he feels the same way about you?"
Harry's eyes snapped to his captor's face, hoping that the serpent was telling lies like he always did.
"Oh, I know. You doubt me? I've searched his mind as easily as I did yours. Not quite the Occlumens you thought, are you? Nor is he, I'm happy to say," Voldemort chuckled, stroking Harry's fringe off his forehead.
"All this time," he insinuated softly into Harry's ear. "All this time, and you both wanted the same thing, but neither of you had the guts to do anything about it. And it's too late now, Harry, it's much, much too late."
And Harry looked away, forcing himself to look into Snape's cool black eyes, wishing he could project his mind, hoping that Snape could read into his at such a distance.
"Such a shame, Harry." Pointless words tumbled on the edge of his hearing. "You could have been everything to each other."
Harry saw Snape's eyes fix on his, even as Lucius lifted his wand. His thin lips twisted and his mouth opened as if to say something, then he fell.
Harry closed his eyes.