George is here. I left them alone to talk while doing some laundry but not even half an hour later George flings himself in the bathroom.
I've not the time to retort that he closes the door behind him with an appalled expression and booms
'He asked me how Fred is! He has been dead these twenty years!'
First time ever I hear George mentioning voluntary Fred or his death. This is a mark he is really stunned.
'I know, he has some mind blanks'
'Some mind blanks?' he hisses 'There is nothing left in there!'
'What did you tell him?' I ask directing my wand, hot hair sprouting from it, on the clothes hanged on the rack to dry them up.
'I didn't say anything... I was so stun I didn't know what to say… I think I blabbed something about the loo.'
'For the best perhaps… Now he has got the time to think. Probably when you will get back, he will have remembered'
But he is not listening to me anymore. He is staring fixedly at the rack.
'What?' I ask following his gaze.
'Hermione, I realise your sexual life with my brother is probably not one of the most exciting but at least for Harry's sake you could wear something a bit more enticing, don't you think?' he says taking my panties from the racket and observing them sceptically.
I snatch them back enraged, and I throw him a dirty t-shirt from the pile while he leaves the bathroom sniggering.
When George is gone, I found Harry fidgeting uneasy.
'Something wrong?' I ask while I'm taking my wand to change his appearance for the day so we can go out.
'Fred is dead, isn't it?'
'Yes, Harry, he died long time ago'
'I wondered that much' he mutters and then he takes a pondering expression.
'Did I …by any chance… Did I kill him?' he says wavering after a few minutes.
I almost let my wand drop in surprise. 'Of course not! Why are you saying that?'
He frowns 'I don't know, I feel like it is my fault if he is dead, but I don't remember why'
I sigh. The poor man. 'No, it's not your fault' I say opting for a deep chestnut for his eyes today 'He has been killed unfortunately but not by you'
'Why are you changing my face?' he asks innocently staring at me with now some brown eyes that, unfortunately, are scarcely less dazzling than the green ones.
'So, we can go out.'
'Can I not go out with my face?'
'No Harry, better not'
'Why?'
Why am I feeling as if we are spiralling down at a monstrous speed?
'Because people are going to harass you'
'Why?'
'Because you are famous'
'Why?'
This conversation reminds me forcefully of when Hugo was three. A maddening time in which this question obsessed me day and night.
'Because when you were young you did something extraordinary, and people admire you for that'
He is silent reflecting on my words while I'm lengthening his hair and thinning his lips in an unsuccessful attempt to render him less handsome and more a nobody.
After some time, I hear him saying under his voice 'The Hogwarts' battle…'
Ok. I think we are on the right track.