practice ends the way it usually does—loud, messy, someone arguing about a call that doesn’t matter anymore.

harry lands a bit harder than he means to, boots hitting the ground, broom still buzzing faintly in his grip. his shoulders ache in that dull, satisfied way that means he flew well.

he doesn’t look for ron straight away.

doesn’t have to.

“you flew like a maniac,” comes from his left, already close.

ron is flushed from the cold air, hair worse than usual, gloves half-off like he gave up halfway through pulling them off. he’s grinning, though. wide, easy. not thinking too hard about anything.

harry shrugs, breath still a little uneven. “won, didn’t we.”

“barely,” ron says, but he’s still smiling like it wasn’t even close.

they start walking without deciding to. off the pitch, across the grass that’s already going dark with evening, the castle lights starting to come on one by one.

ron bumps his shoulder into harry’s. not hard. just enough.

harry doesn’t move away.

a second later, like it’s the most natural continuation of that, ron’s arm comes up and settles across his shoulders. loose. easy. like he forgot it wasn’t already there.

harry exhales, slow.

he leans into it a fraction. not enough to be obvious. enough to feel it.

they walk like that for a bit, no rush. boots dragging slightly through the grass, the noise of the pitch fading behind them.

ron starts talking again—something about practice, about one of the chasers missing an obvious pass—but it’s softer now. less for anyone else to hear.

harry listens this time.

properly.

not because he’s trying to. just because it’s easy.

ron’s thumb shifts slightly where it rests near harry’s shoulder, absent, like he’s not paying attention to it at all.

harry is.

he glances sideways for a second.

ron’s looking ahead, still talking, posture half-slouched again now that it’s just them. the earlier intensity gone, replaced with something looser. familiar.

harry nudges him lightly with his elbow.

“you’re insufferable, you know that.”

ron huffs a laugh. “you love it.”

harry doesn’t answer straight away.

just lets the corner of his mouth lift a little, barely there.

“yeah,” he says, after a second.

ron doesn’t react like it’s anything new. just tightens his arm slightly around harry’s shoulders for a moment, like that’s answer enough.

they keep walking.

slow. close. easy.

like there’s nowhere else they’re meant to be.