All things break. It's the natural order of things. At some point concrete will shatter, steel will shear, and diamonds will cleave. At some point in the future the galaxy will reach a tipping point, then everyone will be in for a wild ride.

The problem is identifying where the shatter point is. Muggle engineers spend years in school, learning complex arithmancy to determine at what point the object will go pear shaped. The human mind however, is much more complex than any bridge or building.

The room was covered in dust. Cold light filtered out from the smokeless torches casting pale shadow and highlights on the dust motes that danced lazily in the air. Little puffs of steam rose up into the pale light, further causing the motes to dance haphazardly.

The human mind in question sat in that dark room, on a cold stone floor, quietly pounding the back of his head against the wall. It was this movement, and the heat generated by the repeatative movements that sent the motes dancing.

"It all started with the tournament." Harry thought to himself. The Great Abandonment. His "friends" deserted him and the ostracization from social interaction.

Every Halloween it happened. Some challenge, a hoop for the trained dog to jump through. An unheard song he was forced to dance to; for everyone's entertainment but his. The Troll, the basilisk, the dementors, and the cup. That thrice cursed cup.

"That damn tournament" he thought. "One shit show to another." Almost killed by a dirty great dragon, the failure that was the Yule Ball. And then the second task. He shook his head, the stone wall grinding against his head.

The entire dragon encounter was a disaster of the highest order. With no one on his side, the preparation fell to him alone. How he had cursed his laziness then. The countless hours spent on wizards chess and exploding snap instead of in preparation for his destiny. How she had tried to get him to work on his studies. To be better. Her love was shown not in acts but in words to prod him along to betterment.

And he had denied her. Had rolled his eyes and laughed at her long hours of study. All in hopes of belonging. To be included. To be just Harry. And what had it gotten him but loss, betrayal, and ridicule.

He had marched to the tent that day with no idea as to what was before him, no one had provided that necessary insight into the challenge that the other contestants were made aware of. And so, like the lamb he was led to slaughter. Hermione had tried to get him to prepare, but like a fool he had believed that the headmaster would protect him.

Upon drawing the Hungarian Horntail from the bag, a shuddering breath had left him. That and he was pretty sure he had peed a little. The shock had settled upon him, with rapid breathing and shaking hands that highlighted his fear for all to see.

The sneer and murmured "Leetle boy indeed" comment from the French competitor was just icing on the cake of his life. The pitying looks of Diggory burned more than the disgust of the French, but did little to actually help. Krum had snorted in barely disguised laughter at his fear, and boldly stated that he smelled of piss and fear.

And as he sat there in the tent, waiting his turn his mind ran rampant with the many ways he would die. Burned to death, crushed, mauled, chewed up. The laughter of his peers, the jeers of the Slytherins who were eager to see him die.

And so when the cannon blast went off, and he marched into the stadium, the Roman Emperor figures of the judges sat ready to cast the final vote of his survival. And as the dragon breathed the fires of Hell towards him, he ran behind the rocks and sat there crying, paralized by his fear. And when the fires had stopped, he had tried to bolster his courage and make his way to the nest, he was found once again.

He never really saw it coming, or understood what really had happened. One second he was making his way over some rocks, the next he was flying through the air. It seemed odd to him, as he had never really flown without his firebolt, and wondered why it had decided to now. And once his brain had started to process the flight, the pain had hit.

The tail of the dragon had swept around from just outside of his peripheral vision. The mass of muscle, bone and spike had hit him with all the force of a fully loaded lorry, and the trauma of it had shut his brain down as quickly as flicking a switch. Dragon Handlers had swarmed the arena, desperately trying to rescue the failure of Gryffindor.

Three weeks he had lain in the care of Madam Pomphrey. His only visitor and caregiver. He wouldn't count the Headmaster as a visitor, as he had come to inform him that since he failed to secure the golden egg, he would not be getting the clue to the 2nd task.

He had written a letter to her, apologizing for his failures. He had poured his heart out to her, begging for her forgiveness. And it had been returned unopened, a scrawled please so not contact me written on the outside.

And so he had spent three long weeks, with nothing but his failure and his mind. Always a dangerous thing, to spend so much time alone in your mind. The darkness of the abyss there always stares back.

With the announcement of the Yule Ball, his thoughts had briefly brightened. Hopeful that things might turn around for him now. The chance to be a teen, to actually enjoy living and loving. But as girl after girl curled their lips in a sneer at his approach, he slowly drifted back into the shadows of darkness.

He informed Professor Magonagall of his lack of a date and she had roughly informed him that if he was competent enough to find a date then she would assign him someone from the third year group, who was hopeful to attend.

He had seen her then, the divine angelic creature dressed in blue. She had descended the stairs with the poise and confidence of a queen. Secure in her knowledge of self and heady with the fame of her date. Krum had asked his Hermione to be his date. And what little bit of soul he had left shriveled up and blew away as dust in the wind.

He attended the ball with someone he did not know, and danced the opening dance where he was able to pull off a manageable waltz. That was before his date had found her friends and ditched him immediately. He had found her off with her friends, having a good time and laughing. When he had approached to ask for another dance, she had rolled her eyes and turned her back on him.

He had shuffled back to the table, a display of sadness and failure for all to see. The whispers echoing around him, the freak. The failure. The disappointment. With all of these thoughts he had finally had enough and made his way back to the tower, where he found that his bed sheets had been ripped to shreds, his positions scattered around the room. He had accio'd his meager possessions and moved into the Chamber of Secrets that night.

As the second task dawned, that cold February morning, he once again marched into the unknown. Upon arriving at the black lake, he found that his date; as well as the dates of the other competitors; had been secured at the bottom of the lake. An hour to retrieve them was all they had before they were lost forever. He lasted slightly longer than 5 minutes in the frigid waters, having never learned the warming charm or the bubble-head charm. And at the end, what little bit of life he had, was changed forever.

Krum had rescued Hermione from the merman village, but had bitten her leg off in the process. She had bled out by the time he had returned. And she was never mourned. They buried her body in the graveyard by the school, beside the ever lonely and lamenting Myrtle Warren. Her family's memories were changed, and no one was the wiser. Malfoy and his lot jeered and laughed, the brightest witch of her age, tossed away like so much rubbish.

Ron had blamed Harry for not saving her and was now the main antagonist in his current horror flick. Ron had become the new Dudley, and his actions hurt more than Malfoy's ever did.

He attended classes but was never interacted with. No one asked him what his plans were for the weekend, who he wanted to snog, or what his career choices were. The ostracizing of the boy who lived was complete.

The third task, winner take all, was just as much a travesty as the others. He had raced through the maze, oddly confident that he would make them all see. That he wasn't a failure. And as he grabbed the cup and was dumped into the graveyard his world turned even darker.

And then, after the tournament had ended, and Voldemort had returned, she happened. Dolores Umbridge. A fitting name, everyone took umbrage with the fact she wasted the air that the trees worked so hard to create. A small giggle escaped him with that thought. "Yes," he thought. "Yes, she really should apologize for wasting the air that they created."

The low giggle slowly worked its way to a maniacal laugh, and it's echoing dissonance caused several first and second years to huddle together and walk that much faster to return to their common room.

He looked down at his hand where the crude scribble of "I will not tell lies" will forever be etched into his skin. "No more" he thought. The last vestiges of the day had finally disappeared behind the mountains surrounding Hogwarts, and in the darkness is when the demons come.

It was somewhere in this period of his life that he realized that Hermione had rejoined him. Always when he was alone, always when he was at his weakest. She had come to him and gave him ideas. Whispered things into his ears that would freeze a normal person's blood.

He looked up from his spot, his course set. Harry slowly stood up, the hours he had been sitting there on the cold stone floor causing his aching muscles to protest the action. The dark spot on the wall, where he had been pounding his head for the last 4 hours, had dark red rivulets running down.

He sat at the desk of his small wooden desk. A frail, broken thing he had lugged down into the chamber. He had found that he got his best ideas sitting at his desk.

"You know what you have to do, right?" Hermione said to him, sitting down in the chair that always sat at just the right angle for her. "Of course I do, Hermione." Harry said aloud. "But do I really have to use the beater's bat?"

"Of course you do. You never plan ahead Harry. If you use your wand, then they can track it."

"That makes perfect sense, Hermione. What would I do without you?"

"You'd be lost as you usually were of course. You need to make a list of her habits, then we can plan her abduction."

"That was a very Hermione thing to say" he thought. But a good idea nonetheless. And so began the first steps of his own private war.

He started the very next day. He was awake and moving before the rest of the castle thought about stirring. Under his cloak, he silently made his way to the great hall, an apex predator waiting on his prey. She walked in sometime later, that stupid simpering smile plastered on her face a mockery of the darkness she harbored. She sat two seats down from the left of the headmaster's chair, he scribbled the notation on the parchment under the cloak.

He slowly walked around, avoiding the simpletons of the wizarding world. "Today, Monday, she ate a simple traditional English breakfast, and she was in the great hall for approximately 37 minutes."

Having broken her fast, she stood up and made her way back to the Defense classroom, and made her way into the backroom. "That must be her office Harry" Hermione whispered into his ear. She always helped him on his adventures.

And so it went, Harry slipping around the castle, unnoticed, their very own Phantom of the opera. With Hermione's help, he slowly built the routine of his tormentor. And after several weeks, he was ready to make his move.

As most things usually do, it started off simple enough. The weekend was upon them, and dinner on that Friday night was the usual affair. The prisoners, I mean students, were all silently eating their food. Everything was right with the world in her eyes. And then the sound registered in her mind. Somewhere between a "thonk" but not quit a "ping", her ears ringing as her vision went sideways.

He then drug her unconscious body into the nearest classroom, covering her with that marvelous cloak of his. Hernione celebrated their success by jumping around and dancing. After waiting to see if they had been heard, she had him tie her up with some conjured rope and gagged her with Weasley's tie that he had lifted a few days ago. A blindfold of burlap lifted from Care of Magical Creatures, tied tightly around her eyes. Then, once everyone was fast asleep, he levitated her unconscious form into the chamber.

She awakened slowly and with a garbled confusion usually associated with a concussion, not that she was aware of it. As she opened her eyes, she was met with one thing. Darkness. Darkness and a bone chilling cold that usually visits when walking past a graveyard at night. The gag in her mouth prevented anything more than grunts to be vocalized.

She struggled against her bonds, a crude "X" shape that was tilted at just the right angle. Hermione had suggested that. Certain that they would have full access to her that way. Oh how she had struggled. The bonds slowly digging her skin was in divine retribution to what she had done to him. The mad gleam in Hermione's eyes made him all the more sure that he was doing the right thing.

And after some indeterminate amount of time, as her struggles had slowed; Hermione told him it was time to move to the next phase of their little project.

He had removed her gag and the blindfold while she slept, and as she regained her wits he spoke to her.

"It's your own fault you know."

Her head whipped around and she stared into his dull green eyes.

"YOU!" she screamed. "I will have you kissed for this!"

"You will never make it out of here alive." He said this with all the emotion of someone heating a bowl of soup. "Hermione has several things she would like to say to you", and he looked over to his right, where she had always stood proudly.

Umbridge looked around, vaguely wondering what he was talking about. They were alone, in this cold stone chamber.

"LOOK AT HER! DO NOT IGNORE HER LIKE YOU ALWAYS DO! SHE'S WORTH A THOUSAND OF YOU!" he screamed into her face. He roughly grabbed her and turned her to where Hermione stood, screaming profanities and damning her soul to whatever hell she believed in.

And it was at that moment, that precise moment, when Umbridge realized what had happened, and how she had miscalculated. She had succeeded at her mission of demoralizing Harry Potter, but had created the monster that they all feared he would become.

"Too right", he had spoken to Hermione. He looked back at Umbridge with that glazed, no one is home look in his eye. "And now it's time for your detention, you have to learn to respect your betters."

But then he hesitated, wondering if this was the right course. "Do it, Harry. You know she deserves this. How much pain and suffering she had caused."

"This is for posterity, so feel free to let me know how this feels" he spoke, as he walked to his desk to retrieve his potions knife.

And so Harry started writing his lines, "I Must Not Tell Lies". The potions knife was a little harder to hold, but just as effective. The screams of pain echoed loudly around the chamber, but did little to distract him. In fact, he and Hermione had started humming "I've got a loverly bunch of coconuts, standing proudly in a row". He giggled at the silliness but set back to his task.

He was very meticulous about his task. Always stopping when she was no longer coherent. And for days this went on. For days and days he carved lines into her body. Sleeping beside her, eating, discussing various topics with Hernione. Until one day, he stopped and looked at what he had wrought.

"It's done, Hermione." he said aloud. He stared at her body, covered in blood. She slowly breathed in and out, her mind shattered from the days of torture. He stunned her then. Cut her down from her cross, and tenderly took a wet rag and wiped away the blood that had crusted over days ago.

"What time is it?" he asked as he turned to Hermione. "Just an hour or two before breakfast Harry" she replied, not looking up from her book that she was always reading at his desk.

"Perfect."

Harry slipped out of the chamber and made his way to the infirmary. From Madam Pomphey's potion stores he lifted a drought of Dreamless sleep. "Absolutely perfect", he mumbled to himself. He didnt want to be rude, so left a note to the one person who had shown any kindness to him in the last few years. "Thank you" was scrawled across a piece of parchment and left in the place of the potion bottle.

Once back in the chamber, he levitated the sleeping form of Madam Umbridge and made his way out of the chamber and into a stall to wait until time.

After the noise of hundreds of kids starting their day grew louder, then quieter again he knew it was time. He made his way to just outside the great hall, and making sure he wasn't disturbed, pulled the cloak off of her. He cast a cheering charm multiple times until her laughter echoed around the passageway, then banished her into the great hall.

The screams were delightful, but it was time to see his Hermione again. Donning the cloak, he raced back to the chamber, back to her. And she was waiting for him, a tear in her eye as she hugged him, forgiving him for all his sins.

But he was tired, so very tired. She pointed to his medicine, which he had always hated, and downed it in one go. Then as his world slowly started to fade as the sleeping draught took effect, he crawled into the water beside the statue of Salazar, Hernione holding his hand.

And his skeleton will lie in the chamber forever.