"How could you do it, Ron? That's what I can't wrap my mind around," Harry went on conversationally, stalking around Ron's pitiful form, twisting his wand like a conductor's baton, with each turn torturing Ron's spirit as if Harry was driving a serrated blade into it. "How could you take the best and most beautiful girl that either of us have ever, or will ever, know and raise your wand and fist to her? A girl who was an angel to us throughout school, spent time with us when no other girl would, coached us, coaxed us, supported and stuck by us. A girl with breathtaking magical skill, the kindest heart, the pertest arse ... phew ... she's hotter than a carrier bag of bootleg DVD's in a West London pub.