Chaos exploded!
When Neville had killed the snake, a huge rustling from the forest had broken forth. Stampeding from the shadows, hundreds of centaurs were raining arrows down on the shocked Death Eaters. Amidst them was a massive, stumbling creature that was shouting "HAGGER!" as he ran toward the castle.
Bodies started running everywhere as the Death Eaters fled and fought this new attack and the inhabitants of Hogwarts launched their own attack. Sam and Dean ventured into the fray, taking down Death Eaters that were out of sorts with swift blades.
"Dean!" Sam yelled and he jerked his head to the large man that had been holding Harry's body moments before. The man was empty handed and looking around frantically. The brothers continued to fight and shrugged at one another. Maybe they weren't the only ones who knew death on a personal level.
Suddenly from overhead, huge skeletal creatures that vaguely resembled horses and huge sharp beaked beasts veered and careened towards the black cloaks causing considerable damage. Slowly the fight was edged into the stone walls. Dean was shocked when more small wrinkly bodies that resembled the fallen elf Dobby flooded into the halls, hacking and slicing at any part of a Death Eater they could reach.
The tides seemed to be turning and one by one the strongest of Voldemort's followers were brought to heel. Finally, in the center of the great hall, Voldemort himself and his most loyal Bellatrix were blasting away. Bellatrix was squared against a fierce and terrifying Mrs. Weasley. Voldemort meanwhile, dueled against McGonagall, a potbellied but strong wizard and a tall formidable black wizard. Their exchange was phenomenally quick and the diverted bolts left deep scars where they landed.
Faces turned toward the duels, unable to intervene, still subduing the captured. Bellatrixs' eyes gleamed madly.
"What will happen to your children when I've killed you? When Mummy's gone the same way as Freddie?" she taunted.
"You - will - never - touch - our - children - again!" Mrs. Weasley bellowed, punctuating her yells with deadly wandwork. And in nearly slow motion, the eyes watching saw Mrs. Weasleys' green bolt slide under the outstretched arm of the black clad witch. Her taunting smile froze on her lips as her eyes dimmed and her skeletal body heaped onto the floor.
Voldemort exploded with rage at her death and he slammed back his opponents in an explosive blast. He wheeled around to face Molly Weasley, death in his eyes.
From thin air, the body of the Boy Who Lived appeared and he screamed, "PROTEGO!" A shield guarded the woman who loved him like a son from a death blow. Cheers and bellows echoed through the hall as their fallen hero stepped up to square off against a slack faced Voldemort. Dean wore a self-satisfied smile, like he had known that Death wouldn't take Harry the whole time.
"No one help!" Harry shouted. "It has to be me!" he yelled, eyeing the villain.
"Potter, you can't be serious. It isn't your style. Tell me, who will be your shield today?" Voldemort hissed.
"No one. The horcruxes are gone. Neither can live while the other survives..." and back and forth it went. Voldemort slandered and belittled Harry, accusing him of hiding in the shadow of greater wizards and benefiting from dumb luck. Harry calmly rebuttaled, fear leaking into his opponents eyes. Slowly they circled and Harry mentioned Dumbledore. Then the story of Snapes' true allegiance came to light. Voldemort shrieked, brandishing the Elder Wand, the unbeatable wand. He claimed in spite of all things, it would end Harry.
"But that wand still isn't working properly for you... because you murdered the wrong person. Severus Snape was never the true master of the Elder Wand. There was another that disarmed Dumbledore that night on the tower."
Understanding, terror, and fury lit through Voldemort's eyes.
"Draco Malfoy disarmed the headmaster. Draco; who I overpowered weeks ago in Malfoy Manor. I took his wand. It's allegiance changed."
And for the first time, doubt blossomed in the other man's eyes.
"So it all comes down to this? Does that wand in your hand know its last master was disarmed? Because if it does..."
In the span of a breath, red golden light from a rising sun, sizzling green shards from the pale white hand, and a thick red bolt from the black haired boy lit up the room.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
"EXPELLIARMUS!"
Something like cannon fire echoed and all the glares melded in a bright golden light. Majestically, the Elder Wand exploded from the hand of its wielder, arcing towards its true master. With that same athletic agility, Harry snatched the wand.
The green light that had erupted from it had rebounded and the broken body of the wizard all once feared to name crashed to the floor, dead.
There was deep and painful damage to be healed after the fall of the Dark Lord. The wizarding community set about righting wrongs and beginning afresh. Picking up the pieces and filling in the gaping holes left in the wake of this war would take time, but there were so many willing hands that the work became an act of healing; an act of love.
The brothers decided to stay with their friends in those first days after the battle. All crammed into the Burrow, they quickly learned why love held that house up. Even in the wake of Fred's death, there was something amazing that had nothing to do with magic that ran through the wood of that impossible building. Not knowing anything about them, Dean, Sam and Castiel had been welcomed into the fold; found beds and niches to stay in and be loved.
Two days after the battle, they had buried many of the fallen warriors, Fred among them. Still grieving, the family had wept soundlessly around the fire consuming him. Sam, Dean, and Cas stood there with them, never moving, never questioning. George, however, did not weep. He didn't speak, he barely moved. He seemed numb to the world; lost and looking for something he would never find.
"George, I know that you aren't okay so I am not going to ask. I know how much this hurts, believe me. But if you need to talk to anyone..." Sam said softly, speaking only to the brother left behind. George looked at him, and nodded, not smiling or saying anything. Understanding, Sam squeezed his shoulder before moving on to leave George to his heartbreak.
Hours later they were all squished around mismatched tables and chairs that had been magicked into the overgrown yard surrounding the Burrow. Mrs. Weasley spent the days before Fred's burial distant and listless, holding small articles of clothing and an old, well-worn family album. But standing beside the grave of her son, the hands of all the other children that still needed her had held her and comforted her. And the deep hole in her heart started to heal. Although nothing would ever fill the void that Fred had left behind, seeing to and caring for the other redheads milling through her home saved her.
Which is why, after much hushing of helpers and several stern looks towards interference, she had made a meal that would feed twice the people there. And even if she was a little quieter, hugging a little longer, and perhaps lecturing a little less, she seemed content to be surrounded by those that still filled her heart.
Dean and Sam couldn't remember the last time they had felt so peaceful... and happy. Despite mourning their losses, the victory over the darkness that had covered their world was monumental. And worth celebrating. Soon, whiskey, butterbeer and other feel-good drinks had started to move around the table. Before long voices started to carry; voices telling stories. Stories of their adventures of the last year, memories of those they had lost, hopes for the days to come.
During the dinner, Mrs. Weasley had been staring hard at the blue-eyed angel hand-in-hand with the young witch she looked on as a daughter. She knew her sons enough to know that Ron had always carried a torch for Hermione and she had hoped that Hermione felt the same. But despite wanting to dislike this man and judge the young witch for her feelings, she couldn't help but see the happiness, the love, and the trust that looped around them like Christmas lights. Ron noticed his mother studying the two carefully, as Hermione was sharing one of the stories from their time at Grimmauld Place. He stood slowly and made his way over to his mother, wrapping his long arms around her shoulders and resting his head next to hers.
"It's okay, mum," was all he said but the sincerity in his voice washed over her. She reached up and patted her son's hands, turning to place a kiss on his cheek.
"But are you okay?" she asked, looking into his eyes.
"I love her - and that is why it is okay. Because she is happy and he is so good for her. I'll be okay; I'm a young war hero after all," he finished with vigor, smiling from ear to ear. And she couldn't help but stare at her son; not a year ago he had been this little boy too tall for his pants, so worried about making a name for himself. Now he was a man; understanding the sacrifice that love meant, seeing hope beyond disappointment. And she kissed him on the cheek again, contentedly leaning into him, silently giving thanks for him for the 100th time that night.