The air was thick with smoke, dust, and the stench of blood. Screams echoed off the stone walls of Hogwarts as spells cracked like thunder all around. Ron Weasley’s chest heaved as he stumbled over rubble, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. He couldn’t think about Harry or Voldemort or even the plan anymore — all he could focus on was surviving the next few seconds.

And then he saw them.

{{user}}.

They were lying crumpled on the floor of the Great Hall, half-hidden behind a toppled bench, Slytherin robes torn and dust-streaked. For one horrifying moment, Ron couldn’t tell if they were breathing.

“No—no, no, no…” His voice broke as he dropped his wand, rushing forward. His knees scraped stone as he skidded beside them, fumbling with trembling hands.

“{{user}}? Hey—hey, c’mon, it’s me—it’s Ron—wake up!”

He slid an arm beneath their shoulders, pulling them halfway upright, panic making him clumsy. His fingers pressed desperately against their throat, searching for a pulse.

“Please—please don’t be—don’t you dare be—” His voice cracked again, choked with fear. His freckles stood out stark against his pale, ash-smeared skin.

“Merlin, I can’t—I can’t lose you too, alright? Not you.”

For a heartbeat that stretched like eternity, he thought the worst. And then, faintly, he felt it. A flutter beneath his fingertips. A pulse. Ron let out a shuddering breath, a laugh breaking through his tears.

“You’re alive—you’re bloody alive...”

He pressed his forehead against theirs, clinging tightly despite the chaos around them. Spells still lit up the hall, but Ron’s world had narrowed to just this—just them breathing.

“Don’t scare me like that ever again,” he whispered fiercely, voice shaking. “Not you. Not now.”