#plahntbox

birds eye views

   The Burrow was eerily empty. Not a soul was home, not even Errol, not even Pig, who’s constant fluttering, albeit annoying, was missed. It was just you, George, and the impending night.    You were busy watering the lavender flowers on the windowsill outside of the kitchen. You felt the wind pick up and the skies were growing darker by the second. You shivered and pulled your cardigan closely around you. Suddenly, you saw George stick his head outside of the door. “Y/N,” he called, and still, his deep voice took you by surprise. “It’s getting darker--I reckon you should come inside, now, I don’t want you getting hurt. We dunno what’s out there.”    “Just a moment,” you called back, fixing the drooping flowers. Even with all of the water you’d been giving them, they were sulking. The world was growing gloomier, sadder, more dangerous. War was coming.    There was a constant humming of the howling of the wind in the distance and of the ruffling of the leaves around you. You shivered once more, feeling the goosebumps rise on your arms and hurriedly headed inside. The door to the Burrow shut behind you with a push of the wind, and George was standing at the kitchen sink mixing a bit of tea. He turned towards you, his eyes quickly met your glance. He handed you the cup and told you, “Rest, Y/N, it’s been a long day.”    You nodded and sat yourself down on the couch near the fireplace. You sipped the hot tea slowly, grateful that your most loyal confidant was reliable in the smallest ways, even in the most troubling of times. George placed himself down next to you, and it was comforting in a way nothing else ever would be. It was comforting, having him next to you, when all you could do was wait for a scrap of news.    “I’m worried,” you admitted. Panic rose in your throat. “I’m really scared for this war, George.”    He had always been good at turning your worry into laughter by smirking devilishly at you and making a teasing sort of comment. But this time, when his eyes slipped momentarily from yours, to your lips, and back to your eyes, he merely offered, “So am I.”    You glanced back towards the door, spotting your packed bag right next to it. You sighed, not wanting to leave, not wanting to be traveling home alone in the dead of night. You swallowed down your fears and said, “I best be getting home, then.”    You slowly stood up from the couch and placed a hand on George’s shoulder. After one last sip of your tea, you dragged your feet begrudgingly towards the entrance of the Burrow when you felt a hand on the small of your back.    “No,” you heard him whisper. “No, Y/N, please.” He was pleading and it was slowly breaking your heart.    You sighed, clutching the straps of your bag even tighter in between your fingers. Blood was pounding in your ears and you glanced at the ground, and then once at him, and back towards the ground. “Oh, George--”    But he cut you off by stepping closer to you, his lips close enough to brush yours, his body hovering so closely to you, you were almost touching. You were watching his eyes, but you could easily see the rise and fall of your chest with every deep breath.    “You don’t have to leave,” His voice washed over you in a way that it never had before. “I...I don’t want you too. Just...please stay the night. Please.”    You stared willingly at his lips while you bit down on your own. The tension you felt--it’d been building up in all of the years you’d been friends, confidants, pranksters together--it had all been leading up to this. This moment.    You immediately felt the warmth of his embrace around the small of your back, his hands in your hair. You welcomed it by inching yourself closer towards him, placing your hands on his chest. The two of you were almost still, bodies shaking lightly in the deafening silence between you both. There was a momentary pause when the edges of his lips curled ever so slightly before sinking into you. Your eyes fluttered shut in the surprise, and you pressed your body to his as you intensified the kiss you’d been waiting years for.    He pulled away, smiling a bit as you ran your fingers across his jawline, over his lips, through his hair and down his arms, taking in every second of this moment, the moment you knew the friendship was over entirely. The moment it turned into something much more.    He caressed your cheeks slowly with his fingers and goosebumps rose all over your body when his hands made their way down your shoulders and arms, and eventually he took your hands in his. He guided you upstairs so swiftly it felt as though you were prancing on clouds. When you reached the second floor, his fingers grabbed at your waist as he hungrily pulled you closer to him to kiss you again. You both stumbled lightly, clumsy and confused and nervous, lips still locked together, when you heard the creak of the door next to you open slowly when George pushed on it with his foot.    You glanced inside and noticed a neat bed and dim lighting just a few feet from you, wonderfully inviting and nerve wracking at the same time. You turned back towards George, who jumped at the sound of the thunder, and you immediately gasped when the heavy hail and rain began pattering loudly atop the Burrow. The war was coming and there was no time to do anything except everything you’d always wanted. You met George’s eyes again; they looked heavy and solemn and needy. You stroked his cheek softly with your fingers and he closed his eyes.    “Okay,” you told him breathlessly. He peered at you, his thanks seeping through the cracks in his lips. “I’ll stay.”    His smirk, both teasing and grateful, made the butterflies in your stomach dance quicker than ever before. You backed up into the room, George’s hands in yours, and you closed your eyes once more when he nipped at your neck and then again at your bottom lip, and you heard the slam of the door before falling into an entanglement of blankets and George’s welcoming body.

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