He looked at his reflection and sighed. He changed, again. It almost wasn't worrying him now. After all, after almost a month of these changes, he would be surprised if he looked in the mirror and nothing happened.
The changes were not big; he hadn't even noticed them at first. But they were there. Steadily increasing paleness of his skin, lowering of his body temperature, decreasing appetite and a tendency to forget to breathe.
Today it was his eyes. They were glazed, hollow looking depths, unblinking jewels. His vision had changed too. Everything was clear now. Maybe too clear even. If he tried really hard, he thought he could see the fabric of world itself. But that was only his imagination.
He looked at his reflection again. He was pale, his skin so white and translucent that it almost glowed. It looked cold and he knew that it was. He was slightly thinner too, his features a bit more pronounced, like he hadn't eaten well in a while. And indeed he hadn't; he hadn't eaten in more than a week. His fingertips and his lips were bluish, like from a lack of oxygen, and he knew he hadn't breathed for two days. And he was looking at himself with same kind of look Cedric had after his life left him.
He looked dead.
And Harry knew, then and there, that indeed he was. Somehow during the last month, not realizing it, he had died.
How was he going to explain this to his friends?