The two pairs of eyes stared at each other unblinkingly, challenging each other.
Harry lost the battle in a moment. Uncle Vernon had more bark than this, but George… He believed that man could chew him like a rabid dog without so much as barking, figuratively speaking.
Thus he eagerly seized the chance to take a bath that the man offered, running into the bathroom as soon as George showed him the way.
He only realised that his clothes were not his own when he was about to take them off. What should he wear after his bath, too?
His alarm grew when he found nothing in the pockets of the new britches. Where was his shrunken trunk?
Where was the blue stone? He lost it again…
Soft but firm knocking on the bathroom door startled him into jumping a few inches off the tiles. He nearly said, "Yes, Aunt Petunia," before remembering where he was. (The knocking was too polite for any of his relatives, anyway.)
He peeked out of the door, and a folded set of clothes was thrust under his nose. He looked up, then, and braved George's stare for a moment, inquiring with gaze alone.
The lone eyebrow visible through the crack of the door lifted, as if saying, "Just wear them."
Harry lost the battle, again; now even without participating actively in it.
Mumbling his gratitude half-heartedly and grabbing the change proffered to him, he ducked back into the bathroom. His subsequent bath was uneasy, even though nobody bothered him all the while. But he also swore that he would not be rattled so easily by George again afterwards.
Sadly, he had to forswear it the moment he stepped out of the bathroom. No one was in the main room. The bed he had been sleeping in, set against one corner, was made. His backpack sat in the chair George had occupied, and a note lay on the nightstand on the opposite side, one of its corners pinned under a new tray of meal. Where was the man?
He strode towards the nightstand and carefully pulled the note from under the tray. Frowning, he read it under the illumination of the ceiling lamp.
Harry,
Don't stray out of the room. I mean it. There are subtle wards around my flat that will keep you save and hidden.
I'll be away until around tomorrow evening. Dinner is on the tray. You can eat it at any time. (It's warm till then.)
George
Gone? Where? And where was here, actually?
Harry spent some time staring blankly at the note. He had been skilfully manoeuvred into a trap, apparently, and now he was in a worse situation too. The man could still tackle him flat even without being there…
Then again, who was George, aside from being the son of his father's godfather?
Filled with a new determination, Harry scoured the whole flat, going as much as peeking into the wardrobe and dresser.
He found nothing; lost, again…