A N: Don't own. Other people do.
That was it. The final battle between Good and Evil. Lord Voldemort, harbinger of everything that was Dark and racist, was now facing his greatest foe, Harry Potter, a seventeen years old boy with anger issues. They stared down at each other as they continued in their petty argument on Wand Rules like a couple of snotty D&D Munchkins.
"But then, Potter, Dumbledore as good as gave me the wand!" Voldemort's voice shook with malicious pleasure. "I stole the wand from its last master's tomb! I removed it against the last master's wishes! Its power is mine!"
"You still don't get it, Riddle, do you? Possessing the wand isn't enough! Holding it, using it, doesn't make it really yours. Didn't you listen to Ollivander? The wand chooses the wizard... The Elder Wand recognized a new master before Dumbledore died, someone who never even laid a hand on it. The new master removed the wand from Dumbledore against his will, never realizing exactly what he had done, or that the world's most dangerous wand had given him its allegiance..."
Voldemort's chest rose and fell rapidly, and Harry could feel the curse coming, feel it building inside the wand pointed at his face.
"The true master of the Elder Wand was Draco Malfoy."
Blank shock showed in Voldemort's face for a moment, but then it was gone.
"But what does it matter?" he said softly. "Even if you are right, Potter, it makes no difference to you and me. You no longer have the phoenix wand: We duel on skill alone... and after I have killed you, I can attend to Draco Malfoy..."
"But you're too late," said Harry. "You've missed your chance. I got there first. I overpowered Draco weeks ago. I took his wand from him."
Harry twitched the hawthorn wand, and he felt the eyes of everyone in the Hall upon it.
"So it all comes down to this, doesn't it?" whispered Harry. "Does the wand in your hand know its last master was Disarmed? Because if it does... I am the true master of the Elder Wand."
A red-glow burst suddenly across the enchanted sky above them as an edge of dazzling sun appeared over the sill of the nearest window. The light hit both of their faces at the same time, so that Voldemort's was suddenly a flaming blur. Harry heard the high voice shriek as he too yelled his best hope to the heavens, pointing Draco's wand:
"Avada…"
"Expel…"
The two figures stopped, interrupted by a progressively advancing low rumbling. They then turned towards the windows, along with the other spectators in the crowd.
From beyond the hills, somewhere where the two figures thought was the rising sun, a tempest of fire and death came rolling down, burning down the forbidden forest and Hogsmeade as it converged toward the school.
Nobody had time to react, nobody had time to disapparate, nobody had the time to even think.
They just had the time to scream, as the ancient walls of Hogwarts were engulfed in radioactive, exploding destruction, leaving nothing but scorched earth.
Nobody survived that.
In a city several continents away from Hogwarts, 5 teenagers with attitude were facing one of their worst foes.
"Ah, you've been fooled again, Divatox! We've redirected your detonator toward an unpopulated ruined castle in Scotland!"
"Curse you, Rangers!"
A N 2: Please don't lynch me…