Mr Weasley dropped to his knees beside George. For the first time since Harry had known him, Fred seemed to be lost for words. He gaped over the back of the sofa at his twin’s wound as if he could not believe what he was seeing.
Perhaps roused by the sound of Fred and their father’s arrival, George stirred.
George’s fingers groped for the side of his head.
‘Saint-like,’ he murmured.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ croaked Fred, looking terrified. ‘Is his mind affected?’
‘Saint-like,’ repeated George, opening his eyes and looking up at his brother. ‘You see… I’m holy. Holey. Fred, geddit?’
Mrs Weasley sobbed harder than ever. Colour flooded Fred’s pale face.
‘Pathetic,’ he told George. ‘Pathetic! With the whole wide world of ear-related humour before you, you go for holey?’
