Striking Back

A/N: Disclaimer's in the first chapter.

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December, 1995

Of course, saying they needed to figure out what the Horcruxes were, and where they were, was easier said than done. At least one was dealt with, according to Dumbledore's notes, which was a mercy, though Harry'd had a massive case of the willies when he realized what the diary had been. Ginny'd nearly had a coronary, and everyone was sticking close to her, keeping an eye on her, trying to comfort her. As bad as the whole mess had been at the time, it was infinitely worse now, knowing exactly what they'd been dealing with. Harry just reflected that it was a good thing Dumbledore was dead and gone, because Molly had gone on the warpath, and if he'd been alive, he'dve ended up wishing Voldemort had caught him and used him as a playtoy, if Molly's enraged reaction was anything to go by. From all reports, Septimus'd had to be Petrified to keep him from going out and hunting Lucius Malfoy down like a rabid dog for his part in the whole fiasco.

So that was two. Leaving them with four to find and destroy. Here too, Dumbledore had made a mistake. He'd discovered that Tom intended to split his soul into seven pieces, and assumed that meant seven Horcruxes (which had led to the 'Harry is a Horcrux' theory, apparently). Apparently, Dumbledore couldn't add. Seven Horcruxes plus the bit left over in Voldemort himself made for eight pieces of soul, not seven.

Unfortunately, not even Dumbledore had had a good idea as to what the remaining Horcruxes might be, though he'd had a good idea of where they might be ... namely, the orphanage where Tom grew up, the Riddle house and the Gaunt shack. Much to everyone's ire, he'd found where one Horcrux was at for sure (some cave by the sea), but had not retrieved it, merely making plans to bring Harry there and have Harry do it, as he seemed to think the protections around the Horcrux would serve as a useful training tool. He had also, apparently, searched every corner of Hogwarts since Tom's last visit here and found nothing, so was confident nothing had been stashed at the school.

Given how questionable his decision making ability had apparently been, they were taking that with a grain of salt. McGonagall promptly summoned the head house elf and told him to organize his fellows and search every corner of the castle for anything that stank of dark magic and bring it to her office.

By dinnertime, the still-missing Horcruxes were down to three. There was some lively debate as to how to deal with the horcrux in Ravenclaw's diadem. For understandable reasons, nobody wanted to destroy the thing if they could manage not to. It was Flitwick that came up with a possible solution.

"Goblins are master crafters. They may be able to remove the gem and destroy it without harming the rest of the diadem. It would then be a relatively simple matter to replace the gem with one of similar size and color, if not function."

"Would they be willing to do it, though?" Minerva wanted to know.

"If I am the one to ask, they would. They are rather pleased with wizardkind at the moment, thanks to the house-cleaning that's going on." Flitwick said.

Unfortunately, before they could get in contact with the goblins and see about dealing with the diadem without losing it as a priceless Founder's artifact, Voldemort struck again. But this time, it wasn't at Muggleborns or Muggles or even pureblood 'blood traitors'. No, this time, after a month of silence on the subject, he lashed out at Snape.

In the middle of lunch.

It all started so quietly. The teachers, Order, and New Marauders sitting around one of the long student tables (the Head table wasn't big enough for all of them). There'd been quiet chatter and even the odd bit of laughter, despite the seriousness of the war. Then, literally between one bite and the next, Snape let out an almighty shriek of agony and folded up like he'd gotten punched in the gut.

For half a second there was stunned disbelief, and then Poppy and Minerva almost tripped over each other as they rushed to Snape, who was in dire danger of dashing his brains out against the floor, or the table or chair legs. For a few moments, utter confusion reigned as they tried to figure out what was going on, with little success. Snape was writhing so much they couldn't get a good look, with eyes or wands, and since they hadn't a clue what was wrong with him, hitting him with a Petrificus Totalus to get him to hold still was evidently exceedingly ill advised. Finally, Hagrid got over there and managed to pin Snape long enough for Poppy to get a diagnostic scan in.

"His nervous system's lit up like a Christmas tree." She said, looking worried. "And from the way he's holding it, I think the Mark's the cause of it."

Harry had managed to sneak around the table enough to see what was going on, and Snape was indeed cradling his left arm tightly against his body, his face twisted in agony. At least he wasn't screaming anymore ... his vocal chords had apparently locked up, or something. Either that or he just didn't have breath enough to scream, thanks to the pain.

Over the next ten minutes, Poppy worked frantically ... to no effect. No potion, spell, or even (when they'd been attempted in sheer desperation) Muggle medication had any effect whatever. Worse, according to Poppy, it was worse than the Cruciatus. And towards the end of the ten minutes, the worries about whether or not Snape would survive with his sanity intact were disappearing.

Because Snape was dying. Slowly, millimeter by millimeter, and in the sort of agony you really only had nightmares about.

It was at that point that Harry did something ... well, typically Gryffindorish, as Snape would have said. Brash, rash, brave ... and more than slightly suicidal. He'd 'peeked' into Voldemort's thoughts shortly after it all started, but Voldemort had mostly been chortling happily about killing the traitor ... there hadn't been anything useful.

But at this point, Harry was desperate. No one deserved to die like this, in agony so intense they couldn't even scream. And as quite a few people could attest, Harry tended to do ... very rash things when desperate. Until now, everything he had perceived from Voldemort had been ... for lack of a better term ... 'pushed' at him. Stuff that was going through Voldemort's mind right then and there, right at the forefront of his mind.

But Harry knew the bastard had created the Dark Marks. He knew how to manipulate them. And maybe, just maybe, there was a way to be rid of the things. Or shut them down, or something. Harry wasn't sure, but the knowledge of the things had to be in Voldemort's head somewhere. All he had to do would be to find it. And if he could hear at-the-time thoughts, maybe he could get ahold of stuff Voldemort knew but wasn't thinking about actively right then. Harry sat down, closed his eyes, and flung himself into the stream of information coming through from Voldemort.

It was more than slightly horrifying. To Harry's unending disgust, Voldemort was a step away from being aroused by torturing Snape. He gave a thoroughly disgusted and horrified mental shudder and latched onto the part of Voldemort's thoughts that were concentrating on the Mark itself, and manipulating it, and tried to follow the thought back to any other information about the Marks. And discovered he was right. He could find information that Voldemort wasn't actively thinking about right that second.

Voldemort's mind was a quagmire of hate and rage and more than a little insanity. There did not seem to be much, if any, organization, and Harry lost track of the thread he was pursuing repeatedly, flinching away from the truly traumatizing things he stumbled across in his search. But finally, eventually, he found what he was looking for ... everything Voldemort knew about the Marks. How they were made, how they were manipulated.

The bad news ... there didn't seem to be a way to destroy them. Once done, the Marks could not be destroyed by any means except the death of their creator. It was based on an ancient spell, once used to bind human slaves to their masters, and twisted to Voldemort's purpose. And if it could be twisted once, it could be twisted again. All Harry had to do was shut down the part of the spell that allowed Voldemort to hurt Snape. And make it so that Voldemort couldn't change it back.

Of course, that was vastly easier said than done. Harry would have one chance, and one chance only. If Voldemort twigged to what was going on, Harry wouldn't stand a chance ... Voldemort could kill Snape outright with a thought, through the Mark. If he thought he was losing his playtoy, he probably would.

All the information he needed was right there in Voldemort's mind. It didn't take long to figure out what to do, how to word it. Thankfully, the original spell had been created to ensure the loyalty of the slave to the creator, and to prevent the slave from physically harming the creator or controller. Even better, because slaves changed hands, the original spell allowed for changes of ownership, though not for the ending of the slave-mark without the death of the person who initially did the spell to create it. There was a simple phrase to add to the spell that created the original slave-marks that would transfer the loyalty and prevention of harm bits to the new owner. Voldemort, of course, hadn't included the 'transfer of ownership' bit, and had added a 'can punish or kill the slave at will' bit, but re-altering the spell to its original form was possible. Harry shot to his feet and hustled to Snape's side, ignoring Pomfrey's outraged demands that he be gone. He clamped both hands over Snape's Mark and words started pouring out of his mouth in Parseltongue as well as echoing in his mind.

The spell responded with such speed that Harry was startled. Evidently, the original, ancient spell had resisted Voldemort's corruption of it, and wanted back to its original state, because there was no resistance from the spell to the changes Harry made. The part of the spell that allowed Voldemort to cause pain (or death) to Snape folded and twisted, collapsing in on itself. At the same time, the 'ownership' of that one particular Mark was transferred, to McGonagall. He also ensured that the only way to change the Mark back to the way Voldemort had it was if you were touching it, and tried to make sure that Voldemort wouldn't even realize the Mark had been changed. And since McGonagall would never in a million years pull the sorts of crap Voldemort had, Snape would basically be free and clear. The Mark would remain until Voldemort died, but the thing would just sit there, essentially no more than an ordinary tattoo, since Snape was already on their side of the fight. And Harry knew the man would find being 'beholden' to McGonagall far less ... vexing ... than being beholden to pretty much anyone else he could think of offhand.

Completely exhausted, Harry collapsed across Snape the moment the deed was done. He was wholly unaware of the furor as Pomfrey pulled him off Snape and got him to his own bed, then discovered that the Mark had gone quiet. Very shortly thereafter, practically the entire Order had a meeting in the Infirmary, trying to figure out what the heck had happened. They would, unfortunately, have to wait for details until after Harry (or Snape, they hoped) woke up.

In the end, they waited almost three full days. Snape woke, sane and snarky, late in the evening of the first day, but he had been as clueless as the rest of them, staring at his quiescent Mark in dumbfounded disbelief. He'd drifted off again, still recovering from the agony he'd been in for what had felt like eternity. It wasn't until two days later that Harry finally woke. He blinked blearily at the surprisingly large group around his bed. Sirius and Remus, of course, and most of the New Marauders, but there were several Order members hanging about as well.

"Did it work?" He rasped, then frowned at how dry his throat was.

Sirius handed him a glass of water, then, once Harry'd slaked his thirst, hugged Harry hard enough to threaten his ribs before pulling back and smacking Harry on the shoulder rather hard. "Don't you ever do that to us again, Harry! You scared a decade's growth of Remus and I. What in Merlin's name did you think you were doing? You're going to be grounded until doomsday!"

Harry glowered. "I had to do something!" He objected, then, still concerned. "Did it work?"

"If by work." Came a most welcome voice. "You mean that I retain my wits and my life, then yes, Mr. Potter, it worked. However, I find myself quite curious as to what 'it' was. As do most of my colleagues." Snape growled.

Harry glanced around, trying to spot Snape, before he realized Snape was probably still bed-bound. Pomfrey was fierce about that sort of thing. "I ... umm. I can hear what Voldemort's thinking."

"We are aware of that, Mr. Potter." Snape growled, his tone carrying a very clear 'explain, now, or else' warning.

"I just ... I figured ... he made the Marks, right? So he had to know all sorts of stuff about them. So I ... well, I just hoped there was a way to stop him doing what he was doing. And wondered if I could see more than what he was thinking right then, you know? So I went looking."

"YOU WHAT?" Came the concerted shriek from about a dozen throats. Harry cowered.

"I had to! He was dying! Nobody deserves to die like that! And it worked, didn't it? It stopped, and he won't be able to change it back, 'cause he has to be touching Snape to do it, if he even realizes that Snape's Mark changed in the first place!" Harry said, glowering at everyone.

"What, exactly, did you do, Harry?" Sirius finally managed to ask.

So Harry told them. He managed to sit up enough to see Snape, and gave the man (and McGonagall) a sheepish look when he explained about switching the spell's controller to McGonagall. "It had to be somebody, Professors. Professor McGonagall was the only person I could think of that you wouldn't totally hate being 'slaved' to. Once Voldemort's dead, the Mark will disappear and so will the spells, but until then, this was really the best I could do."

Neither McGonagall nor Snape looked thrilled, but considering the alternatives, they apparently decided to live with it.

HPHPHP

Two days after Harry woke up, Augusta, Septimus, and Sirius hit the Wizengamot. Again. This time, they managed to push through a law that seized all property and money belonging to any convicted Death Eater, whether they were still in Azkaban or not. The law didn't nail Malfoy to the wall, since he'd never been convicted, but it stripped the vast majority of the rest of Voldemort's followers of everything they owned save the clothes on their back and the wands in their hands. Not that any of them had been stupid enough to hang about their homes (unfortunately) in the wake of the Death Eater Wizengamot members decamping. Every house raided proved to be empty as a freshly dug grave.

The house raids were easy enough, but the vaults would take considerably more time, unfortunately. Mostly because of the sheer mass of money and objects within ... everything was being examined, and Dark items either de-spelled or destroyed.

The Order had been stepping up their own attacks, now that everyone had recovered physically from the attack on Hogwarts. Sirius, Remus and Bill Weasley were working as a team hunting Horcruxes. By the end of December, they'd found a ring at the Gaunt shack, and had a hell of an adventure trying to get to the horcrux in the cave that Dumbledore'd found.

Which led to the (highly worrying) discovery that someone had got to the horcrux first. They didn't find that out until they got back. Fortunately for everyone's sanity, Sirius recognized both the handwriting and the initials as belonging to his little brother. He'd disappeared for the next day and a half, probably grieving a brother he'd thought on the wrong side of the line, who hadn't actually been.

Unfortunately, the question now became ... what had Regulus done with the Horcrux? Had he destroyed it? Hidden it somewhere? They had no way of knowing, and debate batted back and forth.

The week before Christmas brought resolution to the destruction of Horcruxes without actually destroying the objects. Filius' goblin contacts had come through for them (for a price, of course, but one they willingly paid), and Rowena's diadem was now horcrux-free. It also, sadly, no longer worked, but it still existed, and that counted for something. The ring had likewise been de-Horcruxed (was that even a word, Harry wondered?) and now rested in the drawer of McGonagall's desk in the Headmistress' office. The diadem was put on display in the Main Hall in a glass case.

That week brought another, smaller victory. Ron, the New Marauder furthest along in his attempts to become an Animagus, finally succeeded in that goal just two days before Christmas. And Harry himself was finally catching up with everyone else, able now to transform his feet into talons (he'd decided to start there, rather than with his arms, which would become wings). Ron spent the best part of a day scampering about, and even got into a wrestling match with Padfoot when Sirius joined him in the four-footed romping.

Despite the war and the near-constant raids taking place outside of Hogwarts, Christmas was a light-hearted affair. Gifts were exchanged by one and all. Harry even witnessed Sirius, of all people, giving Snape (again, of all people) a present. Snape, being no one's fool, had checked the thing for hexes and pranks before he so much as touched it, but to his evident surprise, it was untouched ... and turned out to be a rare and very old potions book.

The attempted peace offering startled Harry, but evidently Sirius was beginning to see that Snape was, perhaps, not quite the bastard he'd thought the man to be. Harry sincerely doubted the two men would ever be anything more than wary associates and reluctant allies, but that state was better than bitter, hex-on-sight enemies.