I don't own Harry-or Ron, for that matter.
Nobody expects maniacs, who think levitating muggles is fun, to be nice. But that doesn't mean they have to set the campsite on fire! Most of the tents were charred black and some of them were still smoking. Luckily, ours wasn't one of the ones damaged.
I opened the tent flap and looked at my three older brothers. Bill had a black eye that was turning a nasty shade of purple. Charlie had a deep cut on his shoulder and Percy had a cut lip. All of them looked immensely relived to see us and they was on their feet in an instant, shouting questions at us.
"Where's dad?
"What happened to your arm, George?"
"It's a wonder you're not dead, with those maniacs out there!"
"Come on, George, what really happened to your arm?" That was me, I was really worried about George. Usually, I can tell exactly what he's thinking. Don't ask me how, I don't know how. But now he was shutting me out completely, refusing to say anything. More color had drained from his face, if that was possible, and he was swaying on the spot, clutching his arm.
Charlie must have noticed too because he said, "Come on, George, I'll fix you up." He took out his wand and muttered "Frewido." (A/N ha ha ha) Nothing happened. "That's weird," he muttered. Charlie started trying other spells, not all of them in English. I figured that this was a good a time as any to find out what happened to my brother.
"Come on, George, tell us." I said. His eyes met mine and he nodded. Then he started his story.
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