Ye Old Disclaimer:Harry Potter and associated milieu, characters, and situations are owned by J.K. Rowling and her licensees. This is a work of fan fiction, produced solely for enjoyment. No infringement of rights is intended. J.K. Rowling owns it all; I am just playing with the Story. No money is being made by me in any way shape or form.

Betas:

KennethRose, Jacobite, Me, myself, and I. Pretty sure we still managed to get it wrong…

Chapter 10, Breaking Point

'I'd gotten so use to killing the line between friend and foe was getting blurred…

Then again, using the Dark Arts no matter the reason will do that to you.'

Excerpt from the Book of Pestilence, Tale of an Ill Touched Man

Harry turned to look at the face of the old grandfather clock in the library with weary eyes. It was three in the morning. Sitting on the table in front of him was half a bottle of the strongest bottle of whiskey Kreacher could find, his tumbler, a half-full ashtray, and a pack of Luckies. Harry himself was leaning back in his chair completely numb; not just from what he drank, but what he had done. No matter his reasons why he had to do the ritual, he still did it and his emotional turmoil was taking its toll on him. It had felt so right during the ritual, like all the times before during his fourth Shade. He knew it was wrong, but it didn't help him combat the feelings of how right it was. The pain, the pleasure, the power. It would be so easy to pick up where he left off during that Shade… He was intact now he could go soo much further.

Images of all the good people he had ever known ghosted through his mind. He couldn't. He wouldn't. He knew what would happen if he became lost again. He remembered what he had become then. Harry knew there would be no going back for him if he walked that path again. Still didn't help him deal with the turmoil, so he struggled internally for what seemed like an eternity in the dark listening to the sounds of the fire burning merrily in the grate, the sound of ice in his glass rattling each time he took a drink, smelling the scents that only old books could emanate mingling with a slight hint of blood. It was always messy when you cut off someones head. Unlike poor Nearly Headless Nick, Dolohov would have no trouble joining the headless hunt. If Riddle wasn't staying at Malfoy Manor, he was still pretty confident that Lucius pass on his message. It's not every day you wake up and find a head staked out on your front lawn. Harry just hoped those wretched peacocks left it alone till morning. It would ruin the impact otherwise.

The last thing he wanted was to talk to anyone, however like most things in this life of his Harry rarely got what he wanted. He heard the library door slowly ease open and close, and a moment after that soft footsteps walking toward him. Harry didn't bother to check to see who it was; there was only one person in the world that walked like that, and who would even consider visiting the library at three in the morning.

"Hello Hermione," Harry's dead voice softly greeted.

Harry watched as she came out from behind the stacks and slowly made her way to him. Her eyes told him of her concern, but her body posture was knotted as if she was fighting very hard to contain herself. Considering he'd been avoiding her for the last two weeks he wasn't surprised. Hermione couldn't see Harry who was sitting in the shadows offered by the window, but he followed her progress from there; the merrily burning fireplace deepening the darkness in Harry's cubby.

When she spoke her voice rang of a forced calm. "Hello Harry."

There followed an awkward silence broken by Harry's exhale of smoke and the strange clinking of metal against his glass after he set it down after taking a drink. Hermione spoke after several seconds of it becoming obvious that Harry's speech was not going to be overly forthcoming. "We need to talk."

Harry immediately replied in his half dead drone, "No, we don't."

Harry took disinterested note of Hermione's eyes narrowing and her posture changing; her muscles tensing and her arms coming to cross just under her breasts; her expression tightening and becoming sterner. If Harry wasn't as irritated as he was at that moment, he would have found it rather amusing. "We are going to talk."

"This is not a good time for that talk Hermione; I've had a rough day."

"Harry James Potter you are going to talk to me, tonight, right now!"

"Let this go until tomorrow Hermione," he murmured, and had she been paying close attention she would have heard the barely veiled warning in his tone.

Hermione's frustration over Harry's dismissal however clouded her thinking and deductive reasoning, and so she said quite primly, "So help me Harry I'll hex you if you do not talk to me about this…"

She squeaked when Harry suddenly lunged out of the shadows, and her eyes widened in horror when she felt the cold metal searing against her skin as if it was a brand. Harry's rushed movement coupled with her backpedaling forced her back to the wall, and Harry well inside her personal space; his face mere inches from hers. Hermione's complexion paled even more when she realized that the piece of metal pressing firmly into her lower jaw was actually a pistol, and judging by the feel of it against her neck it was a rather large one to boot. The smell of drying blood impacting her senses only adding to her terror.

"It takes three pounds of pressure," he growled lowly as he glared into her terrified eyes, "two muscles, and one, single, conscious thought to pull this trigger. My doing so will ignite a three hundred grain repository of gunpowder, and this will give the forty four caliber bullet enough kinetic energy to exit the muzzle at one thousand five hundred and eighty feet per second… directly into the soft tissue under your jaw, and into your brain. The bullet will exit the top of your skull; spraying blood, bone, and brain-matter over the walls and ceiling. You need to be careful who you threaten Hermione, because you're way off the map. Here, there be Monsters…"

He couldn't see his own face, but to Hermione his eyes almost seemed to burn as he started at her. His body posture screamed aggression; from the way his hair seemed to waif around by some unseen breeze, to the fire in his dark jade eyes, and perhaps most notably his tightly coiled muscles. Harry stood there holding the gun to the underside of her chin for quite some time before he slowly, as if he was struggling greatly to comply with an unspoken demand, moved away from her and tossing the loaded pistol onto the table. When he finally stopped moving he stood leaning against the fireplace mantel, at last allowing the light to drive away the shadows he was unconsciously manipulating that covered his face and body, allowing Hermione her first clear look at him since entering.

Harry was still dressed as he was from earlier, minus his hood that had clung to his face. Hermione's eyes tracked from his booted feet to the bars strapped to his upper thighs, the bracers that were wrapped around each arm, then her inspection finally ended when she saw the leather weapons kit that was strapped to his chest. The blood she smelt stained parts of his arms and was splattered on his chest. Hermione stood silently for some time before she tried again to talk to him. "Goodness Harry, you look dreadful. Very scary mind you, but dreadful." Her voice slightly shaking from his sudden attack on her but bravely moving forward.

"That…would not be an inaccurate assumption of how I feel," he replied jerkily.

"I… we really need to talk. The way you've been acting, the way you're dressed, this isn't like you…"

Harry was very much still lost to his rage despite the small distance he put between them, and although he had his body under control so that he wouldn't attack, his entire countenance was incredibly hostile. "You want to talk Hermione? You want to talk? Fine," Harry practically hissed the last word through his clenched teeth.

He ignored the girl's frightened expression and pulled his wand, making her flinch. For twenty seconds Harry waved his wand about him; slowly building up the power he needed for the ward he wished to erect. With a quick jerk and slight twist of his wand a burst of blackish distortion that had been gathering about him rushed forth to cling to the walls, ceiling, windows, doors, and floors. Hermione yipped as it passed around her and shivered from the cold it wrought through her entire being. All around them the library was sealed in distorted, almost sentient-seeming blackness.

Harry brought his frigid stare to the very frightened girl in front of him; his gaze burning into hers. "So, let's talk then…"

"Harry… what did you do…" Hermione's quietly asked.

"You wanted to talk, so I cast a privacy ward," he answered lowly, examining her as if she was a very young child.

"That didn't feel like any privacy ward I have ever done Harry."

His chuckle caused her to shiver again. "That wouldn't surprise me; it's only used by Aurors who seal the cells at Azkaban when a prisoner gets too disruptive. Of course, if you're anybody but the Warden and you're caught doing it, it will get you put in that same cell for a month. It seals everything; noise, vibration, all manner of light waves, magic, you name it, this room is sealed. Get too close to any of the exits in this room and you'll find yourself landed with a very nasty surprise," Harry sneered evilly. "Try to open any of them and it gets even more interesting. I know; I've been on both sides of it several times." His smirk turned into a snarl, and she took an involuntary step backwards at his menacing expression. "Now what the fuck do you want to talk about that can't possibly wait until tomorrow morning!"

Hermione gathered her courage, and surprisingly gained enough to actually hiss back at him, "THIS! This attitude you have! You walk around not talking to anyone unless you're having a laugh at their expense; you're not trusting anyone, even ME with what you are doing. For God's sake Harry, you've knocked out two of your friends and just held a gun to my head! Do I even need to mention the blood? What is going on with you Harry?"

Harry stepped towards her, forcing her to back up a step to counter his advance. "What gives you the right to ask, no, demand anything of me after what you've done! You walk around with your high and mighty morals and ethics judging ME!"

"What could I have possibly done to you Harry?"

"What HAVEN'T YOU DONE? My fucking God where do I begin?" Half drunk and already overwhelmed with what he'd had to do earlier Harry could feel he was at his most volatile. He had been trying to come to terms with Hermione and dealing with all of his past Shades but she kept ambushing him trying to get him to talk her; she just had to keep pushing, just had to invade his privacy, just had to know… and he was sick of it. I should have just shot her…

Harry pointed his finger at Hermione. "You sent be back here! AGAIN!" Harry accused raging.

"What? Again? What…"

Harry turned away from her; placing his hand on the wall and letting the freezing chill of the wards to help calm him down while looking unseeingly out the window. "I didn't want to be here… I was supposed to be dead… but no: Hermione Granger knows what is best for everyone. Hermione Granger knows how to fix everything because she knows everything…"

"Why would you do that to me Hermione?" Harry turned to look but her baffled confused look did not seem to register to him. "The one time I thought you died it never occurred to me to bring you back. I did everything I could before I had to summon Legion because I didn't want to bring you back against your will. Even then I never fought you when you did find me. I don't know what that says for how I feel about you or if maybe it had something to do with my respect for you. I never feared death itself -resented it a few times but never feared it. Everyone dies, or at least they are supposed to. We've had that conversation a few times in various Shades so I know you know what I am talking about…"

"Harry, perhaps we should get Professor Dumbledore. He could help you with whatever you're going through…"

She was trying to be helpful, and so Hermione was stunned when Harry started laughing in response to her suggestion. It wasn't the laugh she was used to, it was mocking and cold. Harry didn't pay any attention to her sputtering. "You are so adamant in respecting and following authority figures no matter what your eyes tell you, aren't you? So full of belief they will take care of us like they are supposed to, but what have they done? It was two eleven and one twelve year old kids who protected the Stone. You do remember when we went to McGonagall don't you?"

"Be reasonable Harry," she countered, "how was she supposed to know it was anything more than just a couple of kids jumping to conclusions?"

"If we were intelligent enough to figure out the stone was there then she might have wondered what else we knew - but okay, I'll give you that one. Dumbledore being gone was just him getting out played so I'll pass on that, and you know what? I'll not even mention the jokes they made for the traps they left to guard the damn thing.

Remember what you told me later after I got out of Hospital? You said Dumbledore found you dragging Ron to the Hospital Wing. He asked you a question. Remember what it was?"

In a quiet voice that she hoped wouldn't enrage him anymore she answered, "Harry has already gone after it, hasn't he?"

Harry chuckled mirthlessly; his eyes cold like chips of ice. "Makes you all warm and fuzzy don't it, eh 'Mione? He knew that we knew, and let it happen anyways. I wonder if the traps weren't more than some kind of bizarre test to see what I would do, not really meant to guard the stone. It would make sense with the way Quill blew through it. Then again looking back I can think of at least a dozen ways we could have gotten past them without harm to any of us or playing by the rules the traps laid down."

He could see her about to interrupt his observations but cut her off immediately. He didn't know whether or not it was just his vindictive side coming out to play; to tear down all of what she had always believed, or whether it was in the hope that by laying before her the mountain of evidence he had against authority it would break her from her bad habit and he'd have his best friend back. "What about the Chamber then?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, "You figured out it was a basilisk moving around the pipes, and you were what, thirteen? The teachers, whom altogether totaled hundreds of years of experience, found nothing except for the victims left in the beast's wake. Hell 'Mione, Dumbledore had a hundred years of experience and knowledge over you by himself, and yet it was you, barely a slip of a girl, to figure out what the beast was with the same evidence everyone else had."

"That's not true Harry," she protested, but much to his delight he could hear the uncertainty in her tone. "You told us that you heard something talking behind the walls. The teachers wouldn't have known that!"

"You think the Portraits wouldn't have told them about that? Think about this Hermione, how many hallways in Hogwarts don't have Portraits?" When she couldn't answer Harry nodded in satisfaction, "They all report to the prior Headmaster Portraits who then tell the Headmaster. It's one of the ways the teachers can keep track of so many hormonal teenagers in a great castle full of hidden cubbies with only minimal staffing - otherwise half the girls over fourteen would be pregnant while the other half would be working on it. Not to mention the possibilities of rapes, assaults, and other nasty things.

"I'll pass over our third year because I think that had more to do with Sirius's skills than any failure on our teacher's part. Still it is rather frightening to think that an escape convict could roam all over the grounds and castle with teachers and half the Dementors of Azkaban on the watch. So let's look at Fourth Year now, shall we? You remember me telling you about Crouch Sr. in the Forbidden Forest? I got to thinking, considering that Crouch Jr was Polyjuiced as Mad-Eye since before Term started; I bet they had his arse since then under the Imperious. Dumbledore asked Crouch Senior if there was any way to get me out but he said no; that the rules were clear on the matter. It was during the wait before the second task I found the reference that talked about the escape clause for Houses with only one Heir, or Houses in Ascension. I'd lay very respectful odds Dumbledore found out about the Crouches before the term started and let it play out Hermione, and don't you dare deny it." Her opening mouth quickly snapped shut at his glare and hiss in his voice, and he nodded sharply when he saw that she wasn't going to interrupt again.

"I got thrown to the wolves; a proverbial bleeding goat if you will, just so Dumbledore could find out what Voldemort's game was. He looked very pleased when he found out Voldemort used my blood for the Ritual you know; he knows a lot of what is going on and is playing his own game - a game, mind you, that I know is going to get me killed unless I change the rules." He looked at her incredulously, "And after all that you expect me to trust Dumbledore with anything important? No thank you. With Voldemort on the loose I don't need any help getting killed." Harry chuckled darkly to himself and leant his back against the wall with a bitter expression on his face. "That's one thing I never had much trouble with actually… one thing I plan to change drastically this round. It's not my job to jump feet first into hell anymore, just to make sure it's crowded when I get there."

Hermione felt her breath coming in hard fought for gasps; her eyes wide as she listened to Harry and put together the pieces of the puzzle, but she was praying she was wrong; it did explain everything however. Being wrong was not something she ever hoped for in the past, but she desperately prayed for it now. She knew she wasn't though; there were just too many things that didn't add up unless a person knew what she did. "How bad was it?" she asked in a small voice.

Harry finally turned to look at her, and she knew just by looking into his eyes that Harry knew exactly what she was asking. His voice was rough when he answered her, and the words he spoke made her heart clench painfully. "Which time?"

"Which… No, oh God no, I did it more than once?"

"A few, yeah," he admitted with a growl, "I only remember you doing it twice. Pretty sure you're the one who did the others though, because I never heard of anything else like it in any Shade."

Harry watched as she sat down weakly and made no move to approach her. He could hear her clearly even when she raised her hands to cover her face. "Saints preserve us, what have I done?" Harry watched, almost amused by her reactions. Her eyes shined sorrowfully between her fingers. "How many times Harry?"

"Seven that I can remember. It's possible the first time may have been done a few or something. That one's pretty fuzzy but I remember the last six pretty clearly."

Hermione moaned as if in pain. "I must have thought I had compensated for the Ouroboros Theory. I haven't gotten that far yet."

Harry raised an eyebrow, "Care to explain that one to the lab rat here?"

Hermione's head ducked further into her hands, but he heard her when she started talking. "The Ouroboros Theory is a theory in Time Travel that states that if it was ever achieved it would create a loop in time from the point of the event to the target point. This happens because the mistake the sender wishes to correct just keeps happening. The cycle is unbreakable; the target would just keep doing it over and over. It's one of the reasons Time Travel is forbidden. It ends the time line by creating an endless loop that can't be broken."

Harry nodded slowly. That sounded like what he'd been through. "I take it this is something unique with the tactic you used for me by sending memories instead of body's and souls?"

Hermione smiled weakly at Harry's knowledge, happy she didn't have to explain everything, and that he was at least somewhat following. "Yes. If you sent the soul you create a double entity in the body of the target which, in theory, would cause either one or the other to cease their existence: the Gemini Effect by another name. Joinings have been theorized but there is a serious risk of instability, insanity, or death - sort of defeated the point if I used that method. Physical transportation is doable, like the Time Tuners, but the mass to energy ratio scale is so exponential I would have needed to convert the entire planet into a battery to power it. It's not only impossible, but even if it was possible it just couldn't be done by a small group of people, which is all I figured I would have if I had anyone at all.

"This is why I settled on sending memories back. Mass to energy ratios are in my personal abilities without the debilitating side effects to the target body, plus there was always the thought that the person whose memories I'd be sending back would have been near death or hurt in a way that couldn't be cured, but the memory sending would negate that if I could hit the right time. The only problem was the Ouroboros Theory. I had just decided a few weeks ago to change the format of the spell into a ritual in order to help compensate for some of the more tricky elements, but didn't get much further than that."

"Ahh," Harry said mockingly, "so basically you don't know how the other Hermiones fucked up then?"

That got a reaction from her. She raised her head in indignation before she deflated when she saw the state of him once more; tired, wary, and with eyes that held pain and emotions that one his age should not possess – that nobody should possess. "Yes, I guess we did. I did. She…well they…curses, how do you keep this all straight?" she asked, flustered.

Harry held up the tumbler he just finished filling with a slight smirk, "Now you know why I drink. Well, one of the reasons." He knocked back a large dram to make his point.

Hermione stood from the chair she had collapsed into and walked over to Harry; standing in front of him with a serious expression on her face. "Okay Harry. I admit that when I first started this project it was solely with the thought that if something happened and it was bad enough we would use it to make things better. If I ever got it to work, of course. I also knew that I might have done this already and I had to keep my eye out for signs, and judging from how you are acting things must have been pretty bad, but Harry, you're not alone. Talk to me. It'll help. I can help."

Harry felt his shoulders sag a bit, and when he spoke his voice was a near whisper and filled with anguish and age. "About what Hermione? About the friends I lost? The loves? The children I no longer have? Do you want to know who died and how many times and in what ways? Do you really want to know about how many people I've killed or how? The Second Shade didn't divert much from the first but they started getting crazy after that. I don't know who or what you think I am but the Harry you knew is dead; died a long time ago, and this broken old bastard is all that's left," he said, motioning to his body with venom written all over his face.

Hermione's eyes were very compassionate when she slowly embraced him, and she felt him tense in her arms. "You are in there Harry. Somewhere, I know that you are in there. I understand enough now, so share it with me Harry. I won't judge you, I won't hate you. I…I'm responsible for what's happened to you. Let me help you."

She held him tight while Harry stood stone still, and it felt like hours that she stood there with Harry in her arms with no response, but slowly, very slowly she felt him start to tremble. She felt her heart break at the shudders that ran through his frame, and when the dam broke she was dragged to her knees by the sobbing, broken man in her embrace.

Authors Note:

Thank you all for reading and Please Review. Hope you all enjoy this chapter. I would also like to thank everyone who added this story to alerts or favorites and for the reviews I have received not to mention how honored I am with the Fav Author hits. You are all appreciated.

Shout Out! A great story to read if any are interested is Parallels by Bobmin356. An old story but one I've reread many times. Also an inspiration to this particular story.