With no sign of the screeching ghost, he walked over to a mirror at the far end of the room, above an old, mint green row of sinks placed in a circle around the huge pipe that stood in the centre. Sweat dripped down his neck from the residual heat of Hermione’s body against his and so he removed his vest and tossed it to the floor beside him. Water poured from the tap when he turned it and no sounds of Myrtle's wailing came from the stalls, he was alone. He splashed frigid water on his face and rolled up his sleeves so they wouldn't get wet as the water cleared from being stuck in the pipes for so long. Grey eyes from his reflection peered back at him from the ancient mirror, covered in chips and black age spots. His hair was dishevelled, not at all the way he usually wore it, in perfect disarray with several of the wizarding world's finest hair potions lathered in. Lines from where Hermione’s fingers had run through it were still visible as it sat stiffly in place, with a mind of its own for now. The white of his shirt and hair lit up the dull room as he searched the space with disinterest, taking note of an old rusted cauldron stuffed under one of the many sinks.