Chapter 4
Harry gasped at the shock of the cold water on his face and straightened his back. His reflection in the mirror seemed like a joke, mocking him. Certainly this blurry, splotchy red face, dripping with water and staring back at him through droplets of water on his eyelashes could not be someone who had died not a day before? Someone who had saved the wizarding world? Could not be him? He shook his head and saw the jet black hair of the derisive reflection scatter as he did, standing up untidily even when wet. He moved closer to the mirror and his hard face came into focus. He stared at it solidly, his blood rushing through his veins, and was surprised to see an ugly expression come over his face. He felt a rush of sick pleasure at the spiteful look twisting his features. So this was their hero. Somehow it seemed oddly fitting.
He shook his head again and lowered it once more to the sink, away from the hateful reflection, to the running water which he splashed over his face again and again, with growing ferocity, as if he could rid his mind of the unbidden thoughts chasing each other around his head. He felt his lungs screaming for air as he held his breath and his face growing raw and numb under the chill of the ice cold water, and still he continued throwing the water over his face. Finally he could take no more, and he shuddered away from the water, gasping for air, gasping at the painful cold of the water, gasping because his lungs cried out for breath even as he drew in the air, gasping because the great, rasping breaths he drew felt like something, gasping because he could not think what else to do. He shuddered against the sink, leaning on it, trying to support his weight, still drawing breaths that shook his body.
After what felt like hours, his breathing steadied and his trembling arms finally collapsed, depositing him on top of the still running sink, his throat raw and aching, his chest ready to burst. With one final, shuddering gasp, Harry stood and gingerly replaced his glasses, still smeared with dirt and sweat and blood and dust. He felt the aching emptiness of the room pressing down on him from all sides and, carefully avoiding looking in the mirror, slowly stepped out of the bathroom and immediately feeling chilled by the echo of his footsteps.
When Harry reached the Great Hall again, he felt the now-familiar clench of his stomach that he had come to expect. He passed the people around him dazedly, unsure of who next he needed to speak to. He saw Neville and his grandmother and ducked his head to avoid being seen. He passed the Weasleys, still clumped together, keeping each other safe. He was briefly, distantly relieved to see George was no longer on his own, but was now standing among them, though he was still pale-faced and hugged himself possibly more tightly than he had before. Harry saw out of the corner of his eye that Hermione and Ron were holding each other close, protecting each other. He didn't dare look directly at them. It was then, as he desperately avoided being seen by or even looking straight at the Weasleys, that he saw another person he was obliged to speak with, to comfort.
Harry moved slowly toward the slouched figure, his footsteps echoing in his chest and resonating in his head. As Harry sat carefully next to him, Dennis Creevey looked up, and his desolate face immediately filled with wonderment.
"Harry," Dennis said, sounding dazed. "Your glasses are dirty…" Harry shook his head gently, ignoring Dennis' comment.
"Dennis," Harry began, and looked down at the face staring up at him. The face that was so young and innocent, but somehow seemed cracked. All he could think to say was, "I'm so sorry."
Dennis nodded dully. "I can't – I can't believe he's gone," he responded slowly, rolling the words carefully over his tongue. "I still…have his camera." His voice cracked on the last word. Harry drew a careful breath and closed his eyes, but reopened them after only a moment to find Dennis' eyes bright. "But you did it, Harry," he continued more strongly, "We knew you would. Colin always knew you would. You're the Boy Who Lived. You're…you're the Boy Who Triumphed." Harry looked down into Dennis' shining face, the face that was so like his brother's, and shuddered.
"No, Dennis…" he tried to counter, but Dennis was gaining momentum.
"Me and – and Colin, we were waiting, all last year, and people gave up on you, but we knew. Just like – just like you brought him back his first year, how you closed the chamber of secrets. You came back, and you – you saved us. You saved us…all," he finished, his mouth set in almost a smile, his eyes wide, hopeful, awed and desperate. His face was clear and luminous, but hard. "You did it…" he repeated softly, his bright eyes staring up at Harry, who saw they were still filled with tears. Harry felt his lungs screaming for air again, just as they had when he had feverishly splashed his face with water.
Harry's footsteps echoed in the corridor as he returned once more to the bathroom. He was dimly relieved.
