You had seen all the AI-fuelled pranks flooding social media — uncanny voices, doctored videos, people tricking their families with wild scenarios. George had caught on fast. Always curled beside you as you scrolled, shoulder-to-shoulder under a shared blanket, he watched with the wide-eyed mischief of a man on the edge of inspiration. It didn’t take long before he’d roped Fred in. Of course he had. The two of them were like gunpowder and flame when it came to ideas, especially when those ideas involved a bit of chaos.

What began as playing around with AI versions of themselves quickly spiraled into a full-blown campaign involving every member of the Weasley clan.

The Burrow, in the blush of a golden summer morning, is its usual swirl of warm clutter and louder love. Crooked walls groan gently in the sun, and every surface, from the wood-scratched table to the windowsills lined with oddities, carries the scent of family. The air buzzes with the comfort of cinnamon and coffee, toast popping, Molly humming under her breath as she directs breakfast like a symphony from the stove.

The kitchen table is a battlefield of mugs, plates, elbows, and noise. Ron, still yawning, leans back on two legs of his chair until Molly scolds him without looking. Ginny, already suspicious from last night when she'd caught George whispering furiously with Fred and smuggling something under his jumper, is squinting at George across the table like he’s a bomb about to go off. He'd seen her snooping, of course. Which is likely how Ron now knows too, word travels fast in this house, especially when it’s meant to be a secret.

But George and Fred are ready.

Arthur, bless him, is halfway through his second cup of tea when they strike. With poorly contained glee, they slap a conjured-up AI version of the Daily Prophet in front of him, the front page headlined: “Ministry Official Accidentally Goes Viral in Muggle World — Arthur Weasley Dubbed ‘Wholesome Car Guy’”. The article details how Arthur caught the eyes of many in the background of one of your social media posts, and he's turned an internet sensation overnight.

Arthur blinks. Then stares. Then reads. His brow furrows, lips twitch, and just as George expected, the questions start pouring out, is this real? Where did they find this? Has the Prophet lost its mind?

“Boys,” Molly warns without even turning. But then Arthur exclaims something incredulous, and even she abandons the stove to peer over his shoulder, brows knitting in reluctant curiosity.

By the time Percy stumbles downstairs, still bleary-eyed and frowning with sleep-tousled hair and an oversized dressing gown slipping off one shoulder, the prank has reached full pitch.

George and Fred pounce.

“Morning, Perce,” George says, barely keeping the laughter out of his voice. “Sorry to break it to you, but you’ve been put on administrative leave.” Fred flashes the phone screen, showing a stony-faced AI version of Percy’s boss solemnly announcing disciplinary action.

Percy’s face drains. “What?!”

The entire table erupts. Arms cover mouths to muffle the laughter. Ginny chokes on her tea, and Ron howls, urging Percy to lunge for the phone and Fred darts back with theatrical horror.

George, grinning ear to ear, finally turns to you, eyes alight with mischief. He leans close, voice low and fond.

“This is all your fault, you know,” he whispers with a wink. “And I’ve never loved you more for it.”