He frowned as something metallic clanged to the floor, and when he picked it up, he stiffened, his eyes widening.
He knew what this was, had seen one at the end of his third year, but how did a time-turner end up in his robes?
There was a room full of them in the Department of Mysteries, maybe one fell in there whilst he, Luna and Neville had passed through?
Harry couldn't be certain.
All he was focused on now were the possibilities this little device presented.
He had used it once before to save Sirius, why couldn't he do it again?
"Awful things happen to wizards who meddle with time…"
Hermione's words did little to deter him. Sirius was dead, and his friends were hurt.
Awful things had already happened.
With his mind made up, he felt oddly calm as he entered the dormitory, though his mind was frantically planning just what he would do.
It was nearing eleven pm.
They had left the castle at close to three and it had taken them hours to reach London on the Thestrals, so long that it had been dark when they had arrived.
He breathed a sigh of relief.
He had time. To do what, he didn't know yet, but if he could arrive at the Ministry before himself and the others, he could prevent all that had befallen them.
But how? How could he reach London before them?
The Knight Bus.
Although he had vowed to never use the nausea-inducing vehicle again, it was his best hope. His firebolt was still locked up somewhere in the castle and he didn't have time to look for it.
No, the dreaded triple-decker was the only option.
He would need his cloak, and perhaps the map. Maybe the penknife Sirius had brought him for Christmas?
He took a deep breath to calm himself.
Not knowing what may come in useful, he threw all his belongings into his trunk before shrinking and pocketing it.
He felt unprepared for what he was going to do, but at the very least, he had his anything and everything he owned that could be needed.
With everything prepared, he turned his attention back to the time-turner, his stomach filling with butterflies.
What if he failed? What if something else went wrong that would not be fixable?
He shook his head of those thoughts. It would serve no purpose to dwell on what-ifs, and he would only be wasting time if he continued to ponder things much more.
Sirius needed him, his friends needed him.
The clock next to Ron's bed chimed in the coming of the hour.
It was eleven pm, and if he remembered correctly, the group had not arrived at the Ministry until almost seven.
An additional two hours of time should suffice, six turns of the device would do it. That would allow him time to overcome any unexpected occurrences he faced as he made his way to the Ministry, and if fortune favoured him, he would reach it long before the others.
"Six turns," he decided firmly, bracing himself.
It would be perfect. The rest of the castle would be in the Great Hall for dinner, leaving his path clear to make his exit.
Carefully, he took the device in his fingers and began turning it whilst whispering the number of revolutions to himself.
"Four…five…six."
Nothing happened, and Harry felt his heart sink before a sudden, albeit delayed rush of energy dragged him into the void.
Try as he may, his eyes would not open, but the feeling of spinning felt as though it would never end.
That was until he felt himself slam hard into the ground.
Allowing himself a few moments for the sickness to pass, he groaned before pushing himself to his feet, relief washing over him as the late afternoon sun poured in through the window of the dormitory.
"It worked," he whispered.
His gaze shifted around the room. Where Dean and Seamus had been sleeping behind their drawn curtains only a moment ago, the beds were all empty.
Satisfied, he left the dormitory and headed down the spiral staircase, frowning as he heard music coming from the common room below.
That was odd. It was not often that music was played in the castle.
The muggleborns and half-bloods couldn't play it as their devices wouldn't work here, and the purebloods just didn't seem to have much interest in it. Only at the opening feast when the school song was played was there any semblance of the art at Hogwarts.
All thoughts of music, however, left his thoughts as he reached the bottom of the staircase. The soulful song continued from an old gramophone that had been placed on a table, but that was not what had grabbed his attention.
In the centre of the room where the tables and sofas had seemingly been swept aside from was a girl. Her back was to him, but long, black ringlets of hair spilled down her bare shoulders, the creamy skin of her torso on show as she waved her wand in intricate patterns, transfiguring several items that had been placed around her to the melody of the music silently.
Much to Harry's relief, the girl was at least dressed from the waist down, a long, grey skirt flowing down the lengths of her legs.
A white blouse and a jacket that matched the skirt had been thrown over the back of one of the chairs whilst the girl carried out her risky display.
Did she not realise that anyone in the house could walk in at any moment?
Harry had, and he cursed for finding himself in such an awkward situation, but before he could bid his retreat, she turned towards him, her large green eyes widening in horror at being found in such a position.
She didn't scream, likely from the shock she felt, but she did level her wand at Harry who returned the gesture.
He did not recognise her, though if truth be told, he didn't pay much attention to anyone in the house other than the boys he shared a room with and Hermione.
"What on earth are you doing here?" the girl demanded in a strong northern accent, her free arm coming up to cover her breasts, that were, thankfully, concealed for the most part by a brassiere.
"Me?" Harry squeaked. "What are you doing dressed like that in the common room?"
The girl's cheeks reddened.