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Harry stared into the mirror. His reflection stared back at him.
He wondered how much of him was James Potter. He’s heard that he’s got his father’s dark skin and messy hair and bad eyesight. He’s heard that he gets into just as much trouble as James did.
Cedric’s body hits the ground with a dull thud.
He’s also been told that he was as arrogant and idiotic and impulsive and attention-seeking as his father. The reflection in the mirror looked tired.
“We can take the cup together! On the count of three!”
The white porcelain sink was cold under his sweaty hands. The paled skin marring his forehead burned as bright as the harsh bathroom lighting. It was odd how the color, there, where the scar ran deepest through his forehead reminded him of Voldemort’s skin.
His vision blurred. The reflection in the mirror was shaking like a leaf. It felt like he’s about to throw up again. Was he going to pass out?
Was he like his mother? There were the eyes. Her green eyes on his face. He’s always wondered why. Why were the only things he got from his Mum her eyes? Surely there was something else that she was that he could be. But he wasn’t good at school like his Mum. He wasn’t kind to everyone like Mum. He wasn’t confident or empathetic or strong or determined like Mum. He was just some vessel carrying the name The Boy-Who-Lived. As though some time ago everything that was meant to be Harry was hollowed out of him and no one thought to replace it with something else.
There were tears running down the face of the person in the mirror. Their arms were shaking with their white-knuckle grip on the sink. Was it late? Were his dormmates waking up soon?
Did he have detention tonight? Or was it last night? Did Umbridge give him another? Did McGonagall lecture him today? Or was it a disapproving glance? Why wouldn’t Dumbledore talk to him? He needed to figure out what he did wrong. He needed Dumbledore to forgive him. He needed Dumbledore so he could tell Dumbledore that something’s wrong... What was wrong with him again?
He should talk to Sirius. But Sirius wasn’t good at this. Sirius would tell him he loves him and pretend that it has solved everything. But it never has. It just made him question why Sirius spent time caring about him. It made him wonder if Sirius only liked him because he didn’t know the worst of what he has done. It only scared him that Sirius would decide he wasn’t worth loving one day.
He glanced out the door. The room was dark and warm and filled with the soft sounds of sleep. Of rest and peace. He looked forward again.
There was someone in front of him crying. They looked terrible. They were sick and hurt. How did he not notice before? They needed help. He had to get help. But help won’t work. Who was left to help? He was alone. They were alone. There was nothing left. The graveyard was empty save for the dead beneath their feet. The lights flashed brighter. Were they still alive? He shut his eyes against the pain building in his head. His thoughts faded from his conscious.