As he watched, the hair seemed to be slowly retracting, shortening incrementally as if the change was still in progress.
Maybe by the afternoon, it would eventually become shorter. Perhaps it would stop at shoulder-length. But hopefully it would return to its original length. He grabbed another handful of the silver strands, running them between his fingers with a mixture of fascination and horror.
"Hmmm, hopefully the color will come back, too." He murmured to himself.
Neville quickly washed up, going through his morning routine. He brushed his teeth, splashed cold water on his face, ignoring how his silver hair clung to his wet skin. He dried off and struggled to put on comfortable clothes as his hair caught on them repeatedly.
Denial was a powerful coping mechanism.
After getting dressed in a simple shirt and loose pants, he made his way to the kitchen area. His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten yet.
