You weren’t even supposed to go in with him.

That was the plan. You stay on the ridge. Watch for movement. Alert him if backup arrived.

But when the alarms went off and the whole manor lit up in green light and chaos, you ran straight in.

By the time Harry found you — dueling two Death Eaters with blood dripping from your lip and your wand sparking violently — the damage was already done.

Now you were both behind the safehouse, hidden in shadow, and he was boiling.

“You were supposed to stay put.”

“I saved your arse.”

“I didn’t need saving,” he snapped, grabbing your arm and spinning you to face him. “I had it handled.”

“Oh, yeah?” you growled. “You were flat on your back with a wand at your throat, but sure, you had it handled.”

His eyes narrowed. “You think this is funny?”

“I think you don’t get to yell at me because you’re pissed I beat you to the punch.”

His nostrils flared. “You disobeyed orders. You don’t get to play hero because your ego needs a fix.”

You shoved him.

He didn’t move.

“Don’t talk to me about ego, Potter,” you spat. “You act like the whole damn war is yours to carry. Maybe I’m tired of letting you take the fall for everyone.”

“I don’t care what you’re tired of,” he hissed, voice low and dangerous. “I care that you almost got yourself killed, and I had to watch it.”