"You should go out with me."
Fred waited for Ron to finish coughing after spitting his drink all across the table. The sixteen-year-old stared at him. "What?"
"Go out with me." It wasn't a demand, exactly, but it certainly wasn't a question. When Fred Weasley wanted something, or more specifically someone, he always got it in the end. It may take time, but it was invariably worth the wait. Ron would come around.
Ron stared for a minute more, then shook himself. "You're mental," he said, rolling his eyes at what he seemed sure was merely another of Fred's practical jokes.
"Mental!" he exclaimed dramatically. "My own brother accuses me of such a thing. Ronniekins, I assure you, I am being perfectly serious." The corner of his mouth twitched upward, but he held Ron's gaze steadily, if with a slight twinkling in his eyes.
Ron stood up and took his dishes to the kitchen, adding them to the pile in the sink that was washing itself. "You should have gotten George to ask, as he hasn't got a girlfriend," he said tiredly.
"Nor have I."
Ron looked up. "Oh? I think Angelina would disagree."
"Nope," Fred replied cheerily. "I broke it off with her weeks ago."
"Why?" Ron asked suspiciously.
"Because, Darling, I want you."
Ron sighed. "Two weeks. Can't you hold off on the jokes for two weeks until I go back to school?"
"I can't wait," Fred told him, taking his hand, "because you'll be gone."
Ron stared at Fred's hand on his, then back at Fred. His expression hardened and he pulled his hand away in disgust. "You're sick. This is taking it way too far, Fred." He turned his back and walked out into the front yard.
"Well, that went… well," George said, appearing at the foot of the staircase.
Fred grinned. "Did you see him hit me?"
George rolled his eyes in response.
"It went well!"