What Souls Are Made Of

Chapter Two - A Trip With Dumbledoor

Harry woke to greenish light. His hand was still clutching his wand - the other one clenched around the time-turner. When he opened it out, the skin was red and cut from where shards of glass had dug in. He fumbled around in the half-light, found his mokeskin pouch, and put the pocket-watch in it with his other trinkets.

He sat up.

The only noise from the room was soft breathing. Harry listened until his heart calmed down. He may be stuck here but at least it was Hogwarts. And there was Voldemort, but he had no reason to kill Harry here.

In theory, it was simple. Stay out of the way.

Find the diary.

Fix the time-turner and go back.

Kill him.

Harry pulled open the heavy curtains and light streamed into the four-poster. He squinted in sudden blindness, groping around for his glasses before realising they were on his face.

The Slytherin bed didn't creak the way his Gryffindor one had and he managed to tiptoe out of it without anyone stirring. He was desperate to leave, but equally so to use the toilet. He settled for the latter. In the half-light of the morning, he managed to find the door. Passing dangerously close to Abraxas Malfoy's bed, he pulled it open, wincing at the sound.

Stone walls, gleaming. Two cubicles, a claw-foot bath behind a wall. A mirror with a snake twisted around it, and several sinks.

Harry moved closer to the mirror. It was disturbingly realistic, in the way magical objects could be. It seemed to writhe , scales glimmering with a blue sheen. An urge came over him to speak Parseltongue. It was only an old mirror. Probably nothing. Yet he wanted.

'You're a new face, dear,' the mirror said.

Harry sprung away from the sink.

'You look tired. You should fix that hair.'

Harry's hands immediately jumped to it and he scowled. Why was he listening to the stupid thing anyway? 'That doesn't work,' he said, and ran his hands though it more out of badness.

The mirror seemed to huff. 'Well, suit yourself. And you should straighten that robe too!'

He finished in the bathroom and went down to the Common Room, which was thankfully empty. The stillness was more unnerving that the crowds had been last night, the whole room like some underwater dungeon. But he had to admit the windows were interesting. Brighter, in the morning light, he saw a piece of algae float past and disappear from sight.

Out of the Common Room, and through the dungeons, his feet guided him to the Great Hall.

He was half expecting Ron and Hermione but the Hall was almost empty. There were two students sitting at the Hufflepuff Table, one girl spooning porridge into her mouth in a zoned out, robotic fashion. No-one was up in Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. But at Slytherin – Harry's stomach rolled unpleasantly – was the boy who had questioned him at supper.

Harry squared his shoulders and went forward, sitting down a good distance away. He reached for the toast – sausages and bacon weren't served until later – and grabbed several slices. He was just buttering them when the Slytherin boy – Edwin, wasn't it? – rose from the table and sat right across from him.

He had a funny face taken up by a large nose. His eyes were too big, his mouth a little thin line, like a frog. 'Early,' he remarked, those eerie eyes staring right at him. Then he glanced down at Harry's plate. 'What are you – starved?'

You wouldn't know the half of it.

'Food's good here.' Harry took a large bite and the boy winced.