This is an older story, which I wrote in 2006.
Ron stared at his blank cast and sighed. The game had just finished, he could hear the cheers through the window. Sounded like the Gryffindors; Harry must have caught the snitch in time. Ron sighed again. Pretty soon, the rest of the team would tromp up the stairs to sign his cast and heckle him.
There was an insistent tapping sound from the window. Ron glanced over, and almost fell off the bed. Fred was tapping on the glass, while George picked the lock. They were still in their quidditch robes. The window swung suddenly open, and the twins fell into the room and promptly became entangled in their broomsticks.
"Pomfrey's going to kill you," Ron said.
"She went back," said Fred, untangling himself.
"To watch the end of the game," finished George, standing up.
"Shouldn't have missed that bludger."
"Staring off into space."
"Like a cow."
"It's your job to watch the bludgers," Ron said. "Bloody wankers."
"At least you didn't let the quaffle by," George sighed. "Look mate, you need to do something about this crush."
"What crush?" Ron snapped.
"You idiot." Fred shook his head.
"You're deluded," George said.
"Luckily for you," Fred continued, "the rest of our brilliant schoolmates are also all duffers."
"What the bloody hell are you taking about?" Ron wished they'd sign his cast and go away. He didn't like where this conversation was going.
"What we're talking about," Fred and George said, after a few more lines about what a moron Ron was. "Is this giant crush you've got on you're best mate."
Ron blinked. Then blinked again, and grabbed for the least incriminating reply. "I- I don't- Hermione and I are just friends!"
"Hermione's not your best mate, now is she?"
Ron felt his ears turning pink, and he covered his face. "Shit shit shit."
"That's what we said," the twins said.
"So you'd better start imagining him covered in ungodly pimples," Fred said.
"Or ask the bloke out," George finished triumphantly.
