Waking up the next morning, Harry had managed to write the whole thing off as a nightmare.
That lasted for about two minutes, however, until he stood up and noticed his body aching all over, bruises forming where he had hit the ground, and his wrist and ankles stinging painfully.
He almost wanted to lay back down again.
But he pressed on, heading for the bathroom, held upright only by the horror and confusion that the realization brought him. He had actually traveled back in time, through whatever trick the mirror had pulled on him. Harry sighed, and drew the shower curtain close behind him. Why did these things always happen to him?
When Harry stumbled across Malfoy on his way into the Great Hall for breakfast, white, blazing anger overcame him. He had to physically halt himself, right in the middle of the stairs, to keep himself from rushing over. To threaten him into giving Harry information, or to send a few hexes at him, Harry wasn't sure. He couldn't help but want to blame Malfoy for what had happened. After all, Harry would've never stepped foot into the strange room if it wasn't for him.
He quickly dismissed both urges. Harry had stepped through the mirror in his own will, and he firmly doubted Malfoy had any more information than Harry on it.
No, if he wanted to find out anything about it, he had to do it himself. Thus, after he'd finished breakfast, Harry went to the library, voluntarily for the first time in his life. Desperate times, desperate measures, right?
It was quiet there, more so than when Harry had spent time there with Hermione and Ron, rare thought that was. Harry walked to the back of the room, setting his bag down in one of the small alcoves next to the bookshelves.
Then, he went to search.
He was searching for something about time travel, in the hope to find some explanation of what had happened to him yesterday. He had the sinking feeling the event wouldn't leave him alone otherwise.
Harry walked to the front of the shelves, reading their inscriptions. He had almost gone over all of the shelves slowly approaching the end of the room, disappointment, and frustration settling in his stomach when he caught sight of the word ' Time' in one of the labels.
He swiftly turned into the section and sped up. He ran his hand over the book spines, quickly skimming their titles. Much to his disappointment, almost all of them were about the concept of time, months or years, or about any spells that had to do with showing or manipulating time, such as the Tempus charm. Harry supposed they'd be worth looking into if he didn't find anything else.
Then, at the end of the section, he came across a single book called 'The History of Time and Magic'. Harry thought the title sounded a bit odd, but he'd take what he could. So he picked it up, and, looking the shelves over once more, walked back to his place.
Inside the alcove there was a small window, letting just enough natural light in so that Harry didn't have to depend on the artificial lights of the library. He kind of hated those. It was one of the reasons why he didn't like going to the library much. He opened the book eagerly and skimmed over the index, which was in the back of the book, for some reason.
The strangeness of the book aside, most of it only seemed to cover the history of time and the spells concerned with it. But there was also a bit about Time-Turners, and Harry quickly flipped through the stained pages to the chapter at the end of the book.
It wasn't long, much to Harry's disappointment, the whole chapter lasting only a few pages, and he'd read through it quickly. There, he discovered that Time-Turners didn't have nearly the same range as the mirror from yesterday, as they were only able to turn back a few hours. Apparently, the Ministry had put an Hour-Reversal Charm on them, to avoid tearing the fabric of time.
Harry looked at the few pictures on the pages, although it was impossible to make out much, they were so faded. One was even partially torn off. Hermione and Madam Pince would both have a fit if they saw those pictures.
Still, Harry looked over them. There, he could see various time turners of different sizes and shapes, some quite different from the ones he and Hermione had used in their third year.
There were ones with a round glass ball in the middle, or ones that were stretched out rectangularly, or even a mixture of both. He even saw a red one, which came closest to the faint light the sheet inside the mirror had given off. However, whether the Time-Turner itself glowed in red light, or if it was just colored glass, was unclear.
Other than that, however, they showed very little similarity to the mirror. By now, Harry suspected that the mirror was an entirely unrelated, possibly undiscovered patch of magic. Great.
He sighed and shut the book.
It sounded quite interesting in itself, Harry thought. Imagine all the possibilities of having a mirror that could travel back in time, uncontrolled by the ministry. How many options that would bring. Think, a dark part of his mind whispered, how many people he could save. Sirius, his parents, Cedric...
But no, there was no use dwelling on dead people for now. He couldn't consider that until he found out more, couldn't give himself that hope. There were too many things to consider. First, he'd have to look if the 1940s were the only time the mirror could travel to. He hadn't really concentrated on anything the last time, so next time, he'll have to concentrate on one specific even–
Next time.
He was actually thinking of going back.
Of course, he would be intrigued, Harry thought to himself, trying to rationalize his thoughts. It was time travel, after all, a subject that had interested mankind ever since they discovered the concept of time. But surely he wouldn't willingly go back there.
Because, as far as he knew, he wasn't actually able to leave the room, so going back would only give him loads of problems, including finding a way out and risking his personal safety, and not only because chances were he would meet Riddle again.
Wait.
There would be no need to search a way out of the room, if Riddle was right there in it, the perfect opportunity to make everything all right again. After all, if he was dead, all those people like Harry's parents, Sirius and Cedric would still be alive.
So it was decided then.
He would go back to the 1940s and kill Tom Riddle.
Harry left the alcove quickly after that, keen on leaving the library behind. After all, there was no book called "How to Defend Yourself Against a Future Dark Lord". Or at least, Harry strongly suspected it. No, what he needed right now was a plan.
He went back to the shelf where he'd picked up the book from, his bag on his shoulders this time, and put the book back. It had been fairly unhelpful, all things considered, but that was hardly the author's fault. Harry doubted there were any books about the particular type of magic the mirror used.
How would one go about detecting the magic type of an object anyway? Maybe you could look at inscriptions or runes in the objects, or something like that. Or were there spells that could simply tell you, like those diagnosis spells Harry had seen Madam Pomfrey used? He doubted it. That sort of spell sounded too straightforward.
He chuckled and turned into the main corridor of the library. Gigantic shelves shot up to both sides, golden labels marking their subjects. Harry marveled at them.
Magic truly is marvelous, Harry thought as he watched books flying through the air, finding their place on the shelves completely on their own. There are study tables nestled throughout red-carpeted rooms crisscrossed and walled with full bookshelves, a few of the secret passages that Harry had stumbled upon by accident. He suspected Filch and Madam Pince used them to move quickly in the library.
As Harry glanced over the library in passing, his eyes caught Hermione striding away from one of the study tables, two heavy books tucked under her arm. He froze mid-step and looked around frantically for somewhere to hide. But nothing but long bookshelves and tables surrounded him.
Not the most ideal hiding places, if he was being honest.
So he decided to keep walking as discreetly as possible – which, being Harry, didn't mean much–and hopefully, Hermione wouldn't even notice him.
"Harry!"
He froze once more and, with a thousand swear words running through his head, turned to face her. He tried to plaster a nice smile on his face, but he wasn't sure if he succeeded.
Now, don't get him wrong. He loved Hermione over everything and suspected he'd be dead a hundred times over if it wasn't for her. But, well, Harry had an inkling she wouldn't be so pleased with the recent events.
"Hi, Hermione," he said, his smile growing nervous.
On her face, however, a huge grin grew, "What are you doing in the library? I thought you and Ron hated it here."
"Yeah, er, I really hate the light and all that. Gives me headaches." He scratched his neck absentmindedly, "I was just doing some research. I stumbled over an interesting, er, subject a few days ago."
"Which one?" she asked, and Harry swore she had literal stars in her eyes at the thought of him doing research.
He stared at her blankly for a few seconds, mind turning to come up with something convincing. "Fluxweed?" he said almost questioningly, running his fingers anxiously through his hair and Hermione's brows furrowed in confusion.
"The plant we looked at in last week's Herbology lesson?"
"Er, yes?"
She sighed, "What is it really, Harry?"
The hand brushing through his hair froze, and he let it fall down to his side. Should he tell her? Maybe she'd have some clues about the mirror's mechanics, or what to do with Riddle. He could really do with Hermione's moral advice right now. She always knew what was right and what wasn't, like if it was right to kill a person for the crimes they had not yet committed.
But no, she'd think it was a terrible idea. And it was, Harry admitted, but he was the one who apparently had the destiny to kill Voldemort and blame him for thinking killing the guy as a teen would be far easier. And there was always the plus point of bloody saving his parents and everyone Riddle brutally murdered up until now.
Besides, she probably wouldn't believe him anyway. She hadn't believed him about Malfoy, and she wouldn't about this. So, better wait till he had some solid evidence.
"Look, can I tell you sometime in the future? I have to do something else first."
She fixated him with a stare that made Harry break out in cold sweat, and then reluctantly said, "If you're sure... You'd come to me if it was life-threatening, right?"
Harry smiled and lied through his teeth, "Of course I would, Hermione."
Later, as he sat in his bed, the curtains drawn tight, Harry devised his plan.
He quickly came to the conclusion that overpowering Riddle with pure strength would be difficult. Last time's match had proven that. Even as a teenager, it seemed that Riddle was tactical and very, very powerful, far more so than Harry, who had been chased by a madman since he was eleven. He wondered how he got to all that knowledge.
'I'll just ask him myself, next time' Harry idly thought, flopping down on his back and twirling his wand in his hand. Because, instead of dueling once more with Riddle, already proven that he possibly would not survive that, he'd attack him when it was least expected.
That meant Harry would have to play nice and become Riddle's friend instead.