Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world are the work of the lovely and talented JK Rowling. This piece is merely the product of a devoted fan, and is not intended for profit of any sort.
The United States Eagle Association
She wasn't going to let them go alone. She stood defiantly in the hallway, wand clenched in her fist, a dangerous glint in her hazel eyes. Her long hair whipped about her in the wind gusts from the open doorway, and her features were set in determined lines. She was five-feet, three-inches of hell for her enemies, and no one was going to stop her from proving it on this night. Her piercing gaze met her second's and she nodded. It was time.
Out into the night the gathering went. Once outside, the group looked at each other for a moment, and then as one raised their wands. They touched the tips in the center, a simple sign of camaraderie and loyalty and then, noiselessly, they disappeared. With luck, they would all return in the morning a free people once again.
She surveyed the scene before her. She knew beyond knowing where her people were in the pre-dawn darkness. They had been planning this maneuver for months, with variations for different locations and conditions. Each person on this mission tonight knew exactly what the plan was—not only for his/her personal mission, but for every single person in the unit. If once person fell, someone else would pick up the tasks needed to bring about victory. She trusted her command, and she knew that no man or woman would fail her. They would be victorious on this night—they had to be.
And then it began. Shooting stars off to her left—the first distraction tactic. As she watched the red and gold sparks dwindle in the distant sky, she recalled something that she had been told once while trying to improve her chess game, "Always protect your center. That's where the most moves are made or lost." She knew now that her chess mentor had been planning this battle even then. He had been strategizing, scheming, and always watching the moves different players used, all for this moment. It was something that she had only learned recently, and it still had the power to astound her. Somehow, at a very early age, Ron had known that he needed to do this. Ron Weasley, who never noticed when there was dirt on his nose, or even when his own robes were on sideways, had noticed that the world needed a strategist. By the time she had met him, he was already well into his battle-plan for the end. She knew, indeed, they all knew, that this plan would be their saving grace.
Many hours later, as she surveyed the ravaged grounds around her, she was relieved to recognize faces amongst those moving in the eerie glow of faded spells. Several of her own were flagging injured and deceased near some trees, a couple of French witches were casting minor healing charms a few yards further, and—her breath caught—a couple of very familiar British fighters were checking each other over to make certain each was intact. She couldn't help but smile as she observed Hermione wiping a smudge of dirt off of Ron's face—maybe now the two would be able to come to terms. In the distance, she could make out the unmistakable form of Ginny Weasley embracing a dark haired man. It was over.
As the American witch continued to take stock of the aftermath, she was amazed at how far they had come in the short time since the Consolidation of Wizarding Nations. She was never more proud of the decision to align the United States Eagle Association with the Brits.