Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince - J.K. Rowling

J.K. Rowling
HARRY POTTER AND THE HALF-BLOOD PRINCE
reminiscent gleam in his eyes. “Only time I’ve ever seen Dad as angry as
Mum. Fred reckons his left buttock has never been the same since.”
“Yeah, well, passing over Fred’s left buttock —”
“I beg your pardon?” said Fred’s voice as the twins entered the kitchen.
“Aaah, George, look at this. They’re using knives and everything. Bless
them.”
“I’ll be seventeen in two and a bit months’ time,” said Ron grumpily,
“and then I’ll be able to do it by magic!”
“But meanwhile,” said George, sitting down at the kitchen table and
putting his feet up on it, “we can enjoy watching you demonstrate the correct
use of a — whoops-a-daisy!”
“You made me do that!” said Ron angrily, sucking his cut thumb. “You
wait, when I’m seventeen —”
“I’m sure you’ll dazzle us all with hitherto unsuspected magical skills,”
yawned Fred.
“And speaking of hitherto unsuspected skills, Ronald,” said George,
“what is this we hear from Ginny about you and a young lady called —
unless our information is faulty — Lavender Brown?”
Ron turned a little pink, but did not look displeased as he turned back to
the sprouts. “Mind your own business.”
“What a snappy retort,” said Fred. “I really don’t know how you think of
them. No, what we wanted to know was how did it happen?”
“What d’you mean?”
“Did she have an accident or something?”
“What?”
“Well, how did she sustain such extensive brain damage? Careful, now!”
Mrs. Weasley entered the room just in time to see Ron throw the sprout
knife at Fred, who had turned it into a paper airplane with one lazy flick of
his wand.
“Ron!” she said furiously. “Don’t you ever let me see you throwing knives
again!”
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