"Take one for the team, George," Fred nudged the box of puking pastilles towards his brother. It was the perfect plan (and it had worked before). "Just one puking pastille and both of those girls will be put off us for good."
"You eat the puking pastille, if you're such a genius!" With that, George shoved the box back towards his brother, the wood scraping against the table and making a sound as awful as the sweets themselves. It was no secret that McGonagall disapproved of their Skyving Snackboxes, so the twins had moved their own stash into a pretty little wooden jewellery box (which, yes, may have come from their sister's room back at the Burrow).
"I ate the nosebleed nougat last time!" Fred protested, pushing the box back again, thinking back to the last time the twins had some admirers. Apparently, "funny" was attractive to all genders.
"That's nowhere near as horrible as puking your guts out all day."
"Only until you eat the other half of the sweet. You know that, Georgie."
By this point, George had stopped pushing the box towards Fred, and the box sat in front of him. George picked up the purple and orange sweet, contemplating the pros and cons of this particular mission. There were definitely more positive outcomes, even if it involved a little (or a lot of) vomit.
"Sorry about this, Freddie," George said, a smug smile spreading across his lips.
"Sorry? About w—-"
Before Fred could finish asking what on Earth his brother could be sorry for, George had broken the sweet in two, and shoved the orange side of the sweet into Fred's mouth.
There was no time to argue, he could get his brother back for this later. Looking uneasy, Fred stumbled into the middle of the common room, towards those poor, unsuspecting girls. But Fred and George had no idea how to act around someone who actually wanted a romantic relationship with them, so this was the best (and only) solution that they could think of. Stop them wanting that romantic relationship all together.
It happened no more than a few seconds after he got there. Fred puked all over the unfortunate girls' potions essays. George glanced over at the parchment strewn across the floor where they were sitting, they were definitely un-salvageable. That should be enough to keep those girls away from the twins – if they weren't utterly disgusted by the vomiting, they were going to be angry about those nearly-finished essays. George wasn't even sure of the girls' names; perhaps Bethany, or Lucy. Something so generically muggle-born, he thought. Perhaps they were half-blood, though. You could always tell the names which had originated from the muggle world: they were so plain (of course, their father had gotten their names from a muggle book he had read once - they were still annoyed that their mother hadn't stopped him).
Before much longer, George rushed over with the other half of the puking pastille, stopping Fred's sickness. With a small smile to the girls, they turned their back on them, and returned to their dorm room.
The Weasley twins were alike in almost every way, including their opinions of the "fairer sex" (a phrase which they resented). Oh, they didn't mind women, as long as they were able to take a joke. And it wasn't that they like guys either, they just weren't interested in romance. Fred didn't mind the idea of it, but it just didn't particularly interest him. George, however, felt that romance was the equivalent of a puking pastille with no purple side. It was one of their few differences. Sex was another thing which the twins remained indifferent to. Rather, they spent most of their time perfecting their Skyving Snackboxes. It was worth it.
And when a disgruntled Ron made his way into their room, complaining about Lavender Brown, the twins headed straight towards him with a devious smile and a puking pastille at hand.