Christmas morning at the Burrow was always magical, filled with the cozy warmth of laughter and delicious scents wafting from the kitchen. The room glowed with soft firelight as you settled into a chair near the hearth, enjoying the cheerful chaos. Fred and George, perched near the Christmas tree, whispered to each other, their identical grins betraying their plans for mischief.
The house buzzed with activity—dishes clinked as Molly hummed carols, weaving between pots and pans, and the twins seemed to be plotting something involving a box of shiny Christmas crackers.
“You’re not planning something that’ll get you into trouble, are you?” you teased, raising an eyebrow at them.
“Trouble?” George echoed, pretending to be shocked as he crossed the room. “How dare you accuse us?”
Fred joined him, his voice dropping to a playful whisper. “We’re enhancing Christmas, that’s all. Call it... festive innovation.”