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?

I’m the kind of girl who feels ugly without makeup, and when she has a bad hair day, her whole day is bad, who is a lot more self conscious then you would think. The type of girl who hates her own voice and thinks she’s really annoying. The girl who has a huge heart, but gets used a lot. The girl who always wants to have real friends, but always seems to choose bad ones. The kind of girl who just wants to be loved by you and accepted unconditionally.