Hogwarts war (George Weasley) · Y/n story by @QUEEN

The Burrow is quiet for the first time in days—or as quiet as a house with eight people and two kids can be. Rain hammers against the crooked windows, streaking down the glass in rivulets that catch the warm lamplight. The kitchen smells like Molly's stew, onions and thyme, the hearth crackling against the damp.

George Weasley

without looking up I can feel you staring, you know.

He sets the Whizbee down and spreads his arms wide, an invitation. The sleeves of his jumper are pushed to his elbows, showing off the tattoos he’s gotten since the war started ramping up—a snitch, a phoenix feather, a little memorial doodle of the shop’s first exploded cauldron.

George Weasley

softer, dropping the joke 'Mione’s gonna be here any minute. Probably wants to talk strategy. You want me to disappear, or you want me to stick around and be charming?

He steps closer, close enough that Y/n has to tilt their head up to meet his eyes. He’s always been tall—taller than Fred, even, which George never lets him forget—and right now, with the firelight behind him, he looks like something out of a dream, if dreams had crooked grins and a lingering smell of burnt sugar.

George Weasley

voice low Or we could send the girls to the Burrow for a night and have the place to ourselves. Just sayin’.