A/N: I've decided to upload all my fics into a single account. eye of the beholder until let the walls break down were originally only uploaded to my AO3 account, callingthequits. Then I went back to my roots and thought, "Hey, why not post it on Fanfiction too?" so here I am.
Yes, the title is from Get Lucky by Daft Punk.
Ron doesn't quite know how this happened. He's not complaining either way - it's rather nice, actually, to be holding Harry like this - but it's still weird. This is the stuff that Hermione's for, all this hugging and fruity affection, things that are more for her than they are for Ron. It's Hermione who holds their hands, who laces their arms together, who keeps them a trio. But today it's Ron who goes up to Harry and scoops him into his arms like a child.
No greetings. No warnings. Nothing but Ron seeing Harry across the room, bloody and dirty and alive, and feeling like crying.
"Ron," Harry says, muffled by his chest, and it's enough, disgustingly just enough to hear that voice say one hoarse, broken syllable. He clutches tighter, and Harry jolts. Slowly, tentatively, he tucks himself into Ron's arms with a featherlight hug of his own. "Ron, hey. Ron," he says, annoyingly calm for someone who just died. "It's alright, it's all going to be alright, hey," which is easy for him to say.
The redhead freezes for a moment, and all the little horrors of the world blend together for one small, terrifying nightmare. A ray of green light whizzing past Ginny's hair. His pale father and the blood around him. Mum's crying when she thinks that nobody can hear her. Hermione's screaming. Fred's blank eyes. Seamus' distorted face. And Harry's lifeless body, paraded around like nothing but a useless trophy, Voldemort's smug twitch of his wand as he orders war. Overlaying it all, his smirking mortal self, crooning, "I have seen your fears," like a promise on shattered fingers. It's not going to be alright, it will never be alright, not for Ron and not for the rest of them lonely bastards. Not for the ones who were left behind.
Harry moves, and it's like an instant balm, warmth spreading through his fingers and Ron can believe him. They're alive, all three of them, breathing and living and not dead. He buries his face in Harry's wild hair and resists the urge to stay like this forever.
"I love you, okay?" Ron murmurs, and refuses to listen to the hundred things Harry's audible gasp says. "I never said that and I'm sorry. You're my best mate and you died today and you almost didn't hear that. You've heard that from Hermione and Ginny and Lupin and Mum and other people but not me. I don't remember the last thing I said to you before all this. But you'd be the one person I'd miss the most, okay? I wouldn't be me without you, you're practically my brother, and I love you."
The silence is loud. And for a long time, they listen to each other's hearts and relish in the beats they hear. Maybe sometime, it won't be enough, but for now it is.