Author's Notes: Spoilers for book six. Like 'The Chosen One', this is a parody that emerged fully formed while reading the books.
The wall shook slightly with each impact, and Harry decided it was time to stop when a bit of plaster dust had begun to gather in his hair. Banging his head against the wall wouldn't do him any good, but it was just getting so frustrating. . .
Ron and Hermione were waiting quietly in the other room, taking the chance to rest. They had grown used to Harry's moods, especially lately when they were understandingly increasing in frequency. Over the months since Dumbledore's death – it was approaching a year, now – they had managed a fair degree of success in hunting down and destroying the Horcruxes. Some they had come by easier than others, and oddly enough they had been getting easier and easier to destroy each time.
The last one – Nagini – that had been nasty. He was glad, sort of, that no one listened to him when he said that he wanted to do this alone. Half a dozen Order members accompanied what he now thought of as the inner circle of Dumbledore's Army to raid a newly-identified nest of Death Eaters. Voldemort had not been present, but Nagini was there to observe the meeting. And, probably, to bite anyone whose report he was displeased with. Twelve of them against twenty Death Eaters, and they had the element of surprise. Fifteen more Death Eaters now resided in Azkaban, and three funerals were scheduled for the next week. And the last Horcrux was destroyed as he smashed in the snake's skull with an iron poker from the fireplace.
Harry found that, despite the victories, despite the fact that things could have gone so much worse, despite everything, it never got any easier to hear the news. It never got easier to give his sympathies to the families, to hear tearful sobs about the children who would never see their parents again, never would have the chance to know their father at all in one particularly wrenching case that caught him off guard.
Some days, he just felt like giving up. Or trying that 'Prozak' stuff that Aunt Petunia may or may not have been sarcastic about suggesting. He spoke into the empty room, "It just feels so bloody hopeless sometimes. . ."
A frustratingly cheerful voice piped up from a previously empty corner, "That's silly. There's always hope."
Harry dodged yet another jet of green light and grinned. A glance to behind a nearby heap of rubble cheered him; Ron and Hermione were still safe, and Hermione's latest blast had frozen the last standing Death Eater. For now, that is; he'd still need to move quickly, in case one of them recovered faster. He shot a few quick curses behind him, thankful that he'd spent so much time on non-verbal spells that being out of breath made no difference. Voldemort laughed, a high and mad cackle that made the hair on Harry's neck stand on end. The spells he tried only served to stall – and lure into position. He pulled on the invisibility cloak, lunging to the left before the silvery folds of fabric covered him completely. Once he was sure he wasn't visible any longer, he dashed back to the right and dived over Ron and Hermione. He peeked over the edge and watched. Voldemort knew Harry, knew that no matter how furious Harry became he would never have the anger needed for a successful killing curse. He thought that he could take his time in killing them and wipe out the last remaining semi-threat he really had. And he had just stepped into position.
Harry stood suddenly and screamed at the top of his lungs. "NOW!"
Instantly, hundreds of the creatures stepped out of the shadows, moved from where they had remained hidden behind rubble or the ancient columns of the hall. Each stood about three feet tall, and they were altogether the oddest creatures seen in the wizarding world. There was something animal-like about them, in a caricature sort of way. They were all different colors, most in either bright primaries or pastels – which caused Voldemort's initial reaction to be wondering how, precisely, they had managed to avoid being seen. Their faces were determined and their stomachs began to glow.
"CARE . . . BEAR . . . STARE!"
Of all the possible outcomes, even the various ways he considered they might somehow manage to kill him, Voldemort had never suspected anything approaching this. His last thought as the rainbow blast struck home was that he should have listened to his spies. Truly, he never expected they would actually use love as a weapon.
Author's notes – the increasing ease with which they destroy the Horcruxes follows the very sensible theory pointed out in a Mugglenet essay that, if each Horcrux divides the soul in half, each progressive Horcrux would contain a smaller and smaller chunk of evil soul. Since the diary and the ring were the first two that Tom Riddle – or what was left of Tom Riddle – created, then of course there would be a strong release of power upon their destruction. The rest? Still powerful, but smaller bursts upon their release. Of course, this begs the question – what happens to the bits of soul when the Horcruxes are destroyed? Would they vanish into the ether, or would it be akin to Morpheus' ruby in the first volume of Sandman? No matter how much of his soul remains, no evil can stand up to the powerful blast of the Care Bear Stare.