Harry & Lily
Lily Potter, Harry decides in the middle of battle, is a fucking fighter. She doesn't have the discipline of an auror, but she has sheer talent, and a sense of timing that matches his own. They fight back to back, moving in a circle and using the trees, logs, and the ground below them to methodically put away each werewolf they come up against.
A light flashes overhead, illuminating their area a little more fully than the moon is able to, and Harry flings his wand out in the direction of malevolently gleaming eyes as they prepare to leap towards their prey. "That way!"
Harry is barely heard above the sounds of battle around him, but they side step just in time for their overhead lamp in the form of War Machine to blast four werewolves in quick succession. Blood flies everywhere, and brains and guts land squishily at their feet. Later, Harry'll find the armor that Rhodey is wearing to be really damned cool, but right now, he's more interested in the fact that they've just been saved from absolute, certain death.
A low growl to Harry's right heralds another werewolf -- now two, now three, running towards them. "Mum! The rocks!"
He runs forward towards the mountain, aiming at an outcropping. A blasting curse starts the rocks' inevitable fall, but more is needed, and proximity. Harry speeds forward and puts everything he's got into another blasting curse, and it works. The werewolfs are buried, their howls silenced permanently, but Harry also lays nearby, a large, heavy rock resting on his arm.