Based on the idea that putting a veela infront of somebody is a pretty good way to find out what their sexual orientation is.

Discoveries

'And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce… the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!' boomed Ludo Bagman.

Ginny heard her father wonder out loud what that would be, but then he answered his own question, exclaiming 'Veela!' and stuffing his fingers in his ears. That pretty much confirmed her doubts from earlier that day, when her father had tried starting a fire using a box of those muggle wood splinters. Match-ees, or whatever they were called. 'He's gone off his rocker' she concluded silently. What could you expect from someone collecting plugs…

She was distracted from those profound thoughts, though, quite immediately, by the horde of veela entering her eye-sight. She hadn't known what veela was, but now she certainly did: the most beautiful women she'd ever seen. No, beautiful was an understatement. And they weren't simply the most beautiful she'd ever seen, but the most beautiful. Period. The most that there were and are and ever would be. They shone. Brightly, their skin white, smooth, luminous, flawless, their platinum mane fanning behind them. They looked like the moon split to pieces and then chiseled by the most skillful wizard from ancient Greece, who made their shock of hair from the finest, most delicate strands of silver.

Ginny realized she'd been holding her breath for some time now and exhaled slowly, trying to recall what she was thinking before those faultless creatures had come into view. Her attempts collapsed spectacularly as the veela started singing. Oh, she didn't try to remember now, she didn't try to think, since thinking was quite pointless and useless and nothing mattered except the music, their sweet voices like forest fruit in the summertime, ripe, succulent, addictive, and their hips swaying gently in the rhythm, their voluptuous arms moving slowly to meet their sisters' arms.

Just how much she adored them, they were her goddesses, supreme beings, and they were just in front, she could reach them, attract their attention somehow, they had to see her, she wanted them. She could jump from the top box at them, and they'd catch her, and caress her with their hungry lips, they'd love her, and she'd love them, she'd love them many many times, rocking forward and backward, and forward, and backward, and forward---

Ginny felt her head turn violently to the side against its free will as a hot numbness was forming on her cheek. She realized she had been slapped. She'd also been about to jump from the top box. The red-head climbed back and jammed her fingers in her ears, just like her dad had done before (now she understood why). She was still dizzy. She looked around, at the two bemused twins staring at her, and realized just what had happened… She blushed a deep scarlet to rival with her hair and opened her mouth. And then closed it, and opened it again.

'We didn't---', started Fred.

'---know,' George. 'You should have at least told us.'

'Could have.'

'Might.'

'Or not.'

'Blimey, we had no idea, Ginny.'

An awkward silence. If the yells and screams and shouts of a hundred-thousand crowd could be called silence. The twins really were taken aback. They tended to take turns in speaking even more often than normally when they were that shocked.

'You know we don't---'

'---wouldn't---'

'---mind. Not at all.'

'You're still---'

'---you know…'

'Ginny.'

'That is,---'

'---the same.'

'Just a bit different.'

'Well not really. She was like that forever. We just didn't… know.'

'Got a fair point there, George.'

Awkward.

It would have been more awkward, however, if just at that moment a shower of hard, solid galleons hadn't poured down on their heads. Ginny quickly bent down saved by the gold shining on the floor. Fred and George, after the littlest of hesitations, did the same. She shared a glance with the twins, but they said nothing, and this continued as they sat again to watch the game progress.

After Ivanova's first goal something occurred to Ginny. And then comprehension downed on her. They had not tried to jump off the box, they had not stared open-mouthed and drooling, they hadn't even so much as acknowledged the veela. Suddenly, the way they were clutching hands wasn't simply to egg Krum on, or a sign of excess excitement over the next goal. It was careful, gentle, sensual, loving. She goggled, and her jaw dropped again, disbelieving. Them? But they were family. Family, screw family, they were brothers, no, they were twins. Together… But how had they managed to hide it? Merlin's pants, they've been sleeping in one room, like, forever.

The cheering of Harry and Ron over the next goal woke her out of her stupor. She closed her jaw firmly and forced her head toward the goal posts. No, that'd never be. She'd gotten off easily. Compared to them. No one would ever understand them. It was prohibited, even in the magical world. Twins… Merlin's pants…

Poor Fred. Poor George.