His face is mostly clean before the bath finishes filling, and he wrenches of the bath taps, and then the basin taps, swiping his face roughly one last time with a clean towel that he tosses to the floor. He sags forward and hangs his head, hands gripping the edge of the basin and breath coming in ragged gasps, naked shoulders heaving. He straightens to stare at himself in the mirror – miserable and hollow – the muscles in his back sliding beneath the skin as he moves, all shifting shadows and light-struck skin by the oil lamps burning smokeless at the walls. He stares at himself, and then his eyes catch on Hermione's figure reflected in the mirror, and he flinches with fright.