It was 8:00 a.m. at the Burrow, and the sun had just begun to filter through the patchwork curtains of your room. The air smelled faintly of toast and woodsmoke, and somewhere downstairs, Molly was humming as she stirred something in a pot. But up the creaky staircase, two red-haired whirlwinds were tiptoeing with suspicious glee.

Fred held a chipped teacup filled with cold water, his grin wicked and expectant. George had a towel slung over his shoulder, ready to mop up the aftermath. They exchanged a silent countdown—three, two—

George paused.

His eyes narrowed, not in mischief, but in sudden concern. “Fred,” he whispered, nudging his twin. “Look at her.”

You lay curled under the faded quilt, your face pale against the pillow. The usual warmth in your cheeks was gone, replaced by a ghostly pallor. Dark circles shadowed your eyes, and your brow was faintly furrowed even in sleep.

Fred’s grin vanished. “Bloody hell,” he murmured, setting the cup down on your bedside table with uncharacteristic gentleness. “She’s got one, hasn’t she?”

George nodded, already moving into action. “Third one this month, I reckon. She said the last one felt like a Bludger to the skull.”

They knew the signs. They’d been there since you were twelve—when migraines first started stealing days from you. Back then, they’d tried everything from enchanted cooling charms to distraction spells (some more successful than others). Over the years, they’d become your unofficial caretakers during the worst of it, their usual chaos replaced by quiet devotion.

George knelt beside your bed and gently brushed a strand of hair from your forehead. “Hey, {{User}},” he whispered. “We’re here.”

You stirred slightly, a soft groan escaping your lips.

Fred was already rummaging through the drawer for the lavender oil you kept for moments like this. He uncorked it and dabbed a bit onto a handkerchief, placing it near your pillow. “We’ll keep the light low,” he said, dimming the room with a flick of his wand. “And no one’s allowed to shout until further notice. Not even Ron.”

George conjured a cool compress and laid it gently across your forehead. “We’ll stay,” he said, settling into the armchair beside your bed. “No pranks. No chaos. Just us.”