The water was cold. Karkaroff gasped and splashed a few handfuls over his gaunt face, doing his best to scrub away the sweat and grime. There was no time to rinse his hair.
Shivering, Karkaroff gripped the edges of the sink, trying to support his thin frame. His face in the mirror was deathly pale; faint screams in his head and a sharp chill in his chest told him the dementors were waiting just outside the door to take him to the Council. He prayed that he wouldn't pass out in their grasp.
Let this work...Please, let this work...